Deep within his heart, the tidal wave stirred by Words Become Law was still surging and roaring.
Power.
Unprecedented power—power capable of distorting reality itself.
Eric's chest burned hot, the rush of blood so intense that a faint ringing echoed in his ears.
But he forced it all down.
Perfect Logic activated like a precision cooling system, instantly suppressing the boiling emotions and bringing them under control.
The stronger the trump card, the calmer the mind required to wield it.
In Hogwarts—a castle where hidden dragons lay coiled and fledgling phoenixes slept—under the watchful gaze of Dumbledore's all-seeing blue eyes, no single trump card was ever enough.
Never enough.
Eric's consciousness sank once more, diving into the absolutely private system space that belonged to him alone.
The halo of primordial light left behind by the opening of the Supreme Treasure Chest had yet to fully dissipate. And on the other side of the space, another chest floated silently.
Platinum.
Its entire body was forged from some unknown metal, its surface flowing with a liquid-metal sheen. Ancient patterns too complex to comprehend were engraved across it.
It did not possess the sovereign, world-dominating majesty of the Supreme Chest.
What it radiated was something else entirely—
An extreme, icy terror that seemed capable of freezing the soul itself.
This was the gift of the Sorting Hat.
Born from the S-rank fear that the thousand-year-old hat had erupted with when it glimpsed the depths of his soul.
Its quality—its potential—might even surpass that of the silver chest contributed by the gloomy Potions professor.
Eric's will hardened into an unquestionable command.
"Open the Platinum Treasure Chest."
Buzz—
There was no blinding radiance, no earth-shaking spectacle.
The platinum chest opened silently, releasing a darkness so deep it seemed almost tangible.
That darkness rapidly converged, condensing into two completely different forms.
[Congratulations, Host. Talent acquired — Magic Perception Eye!]
The system notification echoed in his mind.
Without the slightest hesitation, Eric chose to activate it.
In an instant—
An indescribably cool sensation spread from his cerebral cortex straight into his eyes.
The world before him was utterly overturned!
He was still inside the Ravenclaw Tower dormitory, surrounded by familiar stone walls and blue curtains.
Yet everything was fundamentally different.
His gaze fell upon the stone wall.
It was no longer cold, lifeless rock.
Countless strands of magical patterns—thinner than spider silk and glowing with faint blue light—interwove and spread deep within the stone blocks, forming an ancient, dormant network. Like sleeping circuits, they sustained the most basic functions of the castle.
He lowered his head and looked at his palm.
Beneath the skin, within flesh and blood, a brighter, more active current of magic flowed steadily in a precise rhythm.
A miniature galaxy of magic—belonging solely to him!
Eric could even see that when he formed a thought, the flow rate of this galaxy shifted by an almost imperceptible margin.
This was only the beginner stage.
Perfect Logic immediately began its deductions.
If this talent were strengthened further, could he directly see through the magical structure of a spell?
Could he distinguish the magical attributes attached to different enchanted items—or even… emotions?
He could see the flow of magic.
He could sense traces of causality.
No longer would he need to stumble blindly, relying on memories from his previous life or shallow observation to search for needles in the ocean.
With these eyes, he could directly filter targets worthy of investment.
Who were the true "key figures"?
Whose bodies were entwined with thicker, more promising causal threads?
Under these eyes, nothing could hide.
This talent was a perfect match for his Causality Investment System.
Eric forcibly suppressed the emotions rising once more and shifted his focus to the second reward from the platinum chest.
The strangest reward of all.
It was neither a sphere of light nor a skill book.
It was a rune.
A rune composed of pure, flowing shadow—constantly twisting and changing. Merely gazing at it gave Eric the illusion that his very sense of existence was being stripped away.
[Congratulations, Host. Divine Skill acquired — Soul Grafting!]
Eric's heart skipped violently.
The blood in his veins seemed to reverse course in that instant.
Perfect Logic began operating at unprecedented speed, each word carving itself into his mind like a chisel!
Causality… concept… grafting?
This was no mere illusion.
No advanced confusion spell.
This was alteration at the most fundamental rules of the world itself.
One bold, insane plan after another instantly formed, simulated, and concluded within his mind.
Evade all forms of divination and tracking!
If he were to explore the Restricted Section of the library at night, he could beforehand graft the causal concept of his "night excursion" onto Filch's cat—Mrs. Norris.
Then even if Dumbledore whimsically decided to use a Pensieve or other prophetic magic to trace events—
All clues would point to a cat lazily strolling through the corridors, yawning as it went.
His own existence would be completely erased at the causal level!
The deductions continued.
If he were to cast a powerful ancient spell—one strong enough to trigger alarms at the Ministry of Magic—
He could, at the very moment of casting, graft the causal concept of the caster onto that Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who wrapped his head in a ridiculous purple turban all day long.
Quirinus Quirrell.
At that point, every tracking spell, every prophecy, every shred of evidence would converge on a single conclusion—
Professor Quirrell was the one who had unleashed that powerful magic.
And Eric Prince would merely be an innocent first-year, quietly reading in the Ravenclaw common room at the time of the incident.
This went beyond evading pursuit.
This was framing.
A divine skill for creating the perfect alibi.
True… perfect crime.
Eric slowly, inch by inch, clenched his fist. His knuckles turned white as faint cracking sounds escaped from the joints.
The world in his eyes had completely changed.
Magic Perception Eye, which pierced the essence of all things, handled scouting and detection.
Perfect Logic, rivaling a supercomputer, handled planning and deduction.
The ancient magic Words Become Law, capable of warping reality, was his spear—his strongest offensive tool.
And the causality-altering Soul Grafting was his deepest shadow—his perfect concealment and defense.
Reconnaissance, planning, offense, concealment…
A flawless closed loop had formed.
At last, he possessed the qualifications to truly let loose in this perilous, dark hunting ground—to pursue those high-risk, high-reward major investments.
Eric opened his eyes.
His consciousness returned to reality.
Outside the window, cold moonlight spilled through Gothic arches onto the deep-blue velvet carpet of Ravenclaw, leaving behind a quiet silver glow.
Tomorrow—
Would be the first "inspection" of his deal with Snape.
He was looking forward to it.