Erwin frowned, staring at the accumulating wizarding acclaim in his status parchment. It had built up considerably again, but he had no intention of wasting it on a basic draw. At his current level of power, those rewards offered little more than a slight nudge. Only the rare chromatic or legendary gold prizes could truly elevate him further—and the odds of pulling those from a standard pool were laughably slim. He could burn through every point without landing anything worthwhile. A total waste.
What he needed was another limited-time event, like the Yule lottery from last term.
"System," he said aloud, "is there a limited-time Yule draw this year?"
[Ding! The limited-time Yule lottery appears only once and will not reappear!]
Erwin wasn't surprised. He'd half-expected that. Was the pool exhausted, or had the System simply run dry on surprises? Either way, it didn't matter.
"And the conditions for other limited-time pools?" he pressed.
[The conditions for limited-time prize pools are randomized. Explore to discover them!]
"The rewards you're offering now are starting to feel outdated," Erwin muttered.
A pause followed, then the chime returned.
[Ding! Host strength detected as sufficiently advanced. System Upgrade Mode activated. Use wizarding acclaim to upgrade the System. Post-upgrade, access a specialized prize pool draw! Guarantees and rewards scale with upgrade level. Activate Upgrade Mode?]
That confirmed his suspicions. The System existed to push him toward greater power, but its gifts couldn't keep pace with his growth. In the early days, it had showered him with essentials for survival, leaving reserves stretched thin now. This upgrade mechanic was the fix—a way to evolve alongside him.
"How much acclaim for the first upgrade?" Erwin asked.
[Current level: 1. Upgrade to level 2 requires 1,000,000 wizarding acclaim. Cost doubles per level thereafter!]
He glanced at his total. Close enough. Spending acclaim on minor boosts wouldn't yield real gains anyway. Better to invest in the System itself. If its core purpose was his advancement, the upgraded rewards wouldn't disappoint.
Erwin dismissed the panel with a wave. At his current rate of acclaim growth, he'd hit the mark by the holidays without strain. No pressing threats demanded an immediate power spike, so why rush?
As for the turmoil rippling through the other ancient pure-blood families, it barely registered as a crisis to him. He'd already neutralized two besides the Demos lot. The Solent estate lay in ruins after his visit—they'd be licking their wounds for months. And the Alva family? Best not dwell on them. Nazeri's wide-eyed innocence had left him with a twinge of guilt, even after putting her down.
Settling at his desk in the Head Boy's bedroom, Erwin pulled a sheet of parchment from the drawer and uncapped a quill. He jotted notes in quick, precise script.
"The Teresa family (annihilated): Dragon Speaker bloodline."
"The Alva family: Depulso affinity."
"The Cavendish family: Multiple magical surges, bolstering magical reserves."
"The Demos family: ?"
He set the quill aside, eyes scanning the list. Aside from the Demos mystery, the other three bloodlines screamed Dragon Speaker heritage—versatile, potent, and eerily familiar. Drawing from tales of Merlin's legend he'd read before arriving in this world, Erwin suspected they formed a fragmented whole, Merlin's own powers splintered among the lines. So the Demos gift? Likely spell mastery at its peak—a heightened affinity for charms, or perhaps command over arcane incantations.
He couldn't pinpoint it without confronting Deimos. But intuition whispered that confrontation loomed near. The veils over certain truths were thinning.
Erwin's fist clenched, and the parchment ignited in a flicker of flame. Before it could fully char, he rapped the desk. Golden light surged, compressing the blaze into harmless embers that winked out. With another flick, the ashes vanished entirely.
He stretched, satisfied. Another productive day in the books.
The next morning, a insistent buzz from his Communication Rune yanked Erwin from sleep. Groggy, he cracked his eyes open to Old Tom's voice.
"Master, the Alva delegation has arrived at Cavendish Tower."
Erwin yawned, rubbing his face. "You sought them out?"
"No, sir—they showed up unannounced at first light."
"Them?" Erwin echoed, brow furrowing.
"Aye, four in total. Civil as you please. I directed them to the conference room; they didn't protest."
"Keep them waiting. I'll grab breakfast first."
"As you wish, Master."
The connection severed, and a sly grin tugged at Erwin's lips. Interesting. The Alvas, knocking on his door of their own volition? Wiser than he'd credited them.
"Charlotte," he sent via the Rune, "fetch Zoe and meet me in the Great Hall."
"Yes, Master."
Sighing, Erwin scooped up Ebony curled at his bedside. Ebony blinked sleepily, then nuzzled his hand in recognition before Erwin unceremoniously deposited him on the floor. The pup shimmered into a golden monkey, scampering after him as he headed to the washbasin.
By the time Erwin and Ebony reached the Great Hall, Charlotte and Zoe waited by the entrance. Zoe fidgeted, her face pale with nerves. She'd been dead to the world, lost in a dream of devouring a massive plate of roast chicken—the kind Hogwarts house-elves whipped up like no other. Life here had been a dream, really, save for the constant dread of Erwin's unpredictable temper.
But Charlotte's predawn summons? It screamed trouble. Was this it—Erwin finally deciding to end her? Panic welled up; tears pricked her eyes. She wasn't ready. There were still so many wizarding treats untried: treacle tarts, pumpkin pasties, the works. The thought spiraled, her imagination running wild with grim scenarios.
...
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