Roger turned obediently, steadying his breathing while his thoughts raced.
This kind of collecting was something the Old Wizard could finish in an instant with a single spell. Why make a clumsy apprentice like him do it?
Why not use magic?
A bold thought sprang to mind.
The Dark Wizard was injured, badly injured, so badly that he could not even cast magic on a magical creature like a unicorn.
That explained why he had stayed here for two whole months, brewing potions without rest.
And the unicorn blood the Old Wizard wanted was the best ingredient for a healing potion.
Evening.
Only the last streaks of sunset remained. The entire camp was swallowed by shadow, yet there was no wind.
Roger carried a conical glass flask and pushed open the door of another wooden shack, bound by a powerful restraining spell. Only magic of that level could hold a unicorn.
Inside, a young unicorn lay in a specially forged iron cage. Its coat, once a brilliant gold, now looked dull and lifeless. Its eyes were closed, its body slumped on the ground, its breathing barely perceptible.
A deep gash on its thigh exposed bone, a sight that tore at the heart.
Unicorns stand for purity and holiness. Their blood holds powerful magic that can extend the drinker's life. Therefore, illegally drawing their blood is a grave crime in the magical world. Anyone who drinks it suffers a lifelong curse from the unicorn's soul.
"How did the old man get a unicorn?" Roger wondered, recalling what he knew about them from the story. He was secretly shocked by the Old Wizard's power. Any escape would have to be carried out with extreme caution.
In the world of Harry Potter, unicorns were pitifully rare, found only in a few hidden places under heavy guard. Even Lord Voldemort would find it no easy task to capture one.
Roger drew a quiet breath, held it, and edged closer. Following the Old Wizard's orders, he placed the mouth of the flask against that terrible wound.
The glass opening suddenly writhed like a living thing, reshaping into a sharp needle that stabbed deep into the injury.
The flask pulsed like a throat, gulping down the faintly silver blood. The unconscious foal let out a nearly inaudible whimper and twitched.
Roger swallowed his pity, held the flask steady, and forced most of his attention into activating the Bio-computer's observation mode.
Through the Bio-computer's vision, the conical flask appeared as a mass of violet energy threads, layers of magical filaments tangled into an intricate, stacked three-dimensional web.
Countless tiny, stardust-like purple motes flickered and flowed along those lines, forming a sight that was both eerie and profound.
The unicorn's own violet energy network was far vaster and more complex, blazing like a small sun. But as its blood was siphoned away, those purple threads streamed toward the mouth of the flask, and the creature's aura gradually faded.
After a whole night's work, when the last drop of silver blood had been drained, the foal no longer breathed. In the Bio-computer's view, the radiant web of magic within it shattered into countless dim fragments that scattered through the corpse.
Roger was exhausted, barely holding himself together. Maintaining observation mode had taken a heavy toll on him.
But the task was not yet finished. His legs felt filled with lead as he sealed the flask and made his way back.
The Old Wizard took the heavy flask, a flicker of surprise flashing in his cloudy eyes. There was a little more than he had expected.
So the apprentice was of some use after all.
"Hmm… not bad." His voice was hoarse, with a hint of concealed disappointment. He had lost an excuse to hit Roger with Crucio.
Strangely enough, that excruciating Dark Art gave the caster a near-addictive, twisted pleasure. No wonder it was a staple among Dark Wizards.
He shoved Roger back into the rundown shack and, unable to wait, carried the blood into his own hut to begin brewing.
Imperio database created…
Container, conical flask, database created…
Unicorn database created…
Though exhausted to the bone, Roger skimmed through the Bio-computer's recorded observations on Imperio, the flask, and the unicorn.
The analysis had already confirmed one thing. An energy form completely unknown on his previous Blue Planet existed here. The magical patterns on both the flask and the unicorn were proof.
"What properties does this unknown energy have?" Countless elegant experiments flashed through his mind, but escape was the priority for now. Still, his progress was decent. He had gained a small measure of the Old Wizard's trust.
Over the next few days, the Old Wizard's mood seemed to improve, allowing Roger out to do odd jobs.
When Roger used the camp's last bread, carrots, eggs, minced meat, soft cheese, mustard, and crushed almonds to make a sandwich, the Old Wizard stared at it for a few seconds, then actually picked it up and ate it.
Clearly, in the eyes of this pragmatic Old Wizard, the apprentice's value had risen a notch. Roger was no longer just a punching bag and a pack mule.
He was now permitted to attend the Old Wizard. He could watch spells being cast at close range and even steal glances at several old parchment scrolls on the workbench.
For Roger, who possessed a Bio-computer, that was more than enough.
Human eyes have high resolution, but they focus on a single point, automatically filtering out peripheral information to save mental effort. Under the Bio-computer's precise control, however, Roger's eyes functioned like top-tier scanners.
Subtle adjustments of the ciliary muscles produced crystal-clear images. The Bio-computer then analyzed, zoomed in, and recorded everything in real time, storing every stolen detail without loss.
Whenever he had a spare moment, Roger would quietly activate observation mode and study the Old Wizard, and what he saw shocked him.
The Old Wizard's entire cerebral core appeared like a massive, cracked block of black energy.
From those fissures extended countless twisted black tendrils that coiled through his body like poisonous vines, forming a sinister, fractured pattern. Each time he drank a potion, the cracks shrank slightly, further confirming Roger's suspicion that the man was gravely injured.
Roger's attention, however, was soon drawn to the contents of the parchment scrolls.
For several days, three scrolls lay open on the workbench. Two contained complex potion formulas, useless for escape, so Roger skimmed them and set them aside. The last was the Old Wizard's personal research notes, recording his insights into magic.
Roger narrowed his eyes, held his breath, and poured every ounce of concentration into decoding that notebook in his mind. By the time a new day dawned, he had gained a preliminary understanding of the wizard's essence and the magical system described within.
The notes were almost insane. A wizard wielded pure will to command nature's energy and matter, even twisting the forms of life itself. Light could be conjured from nothing. Reality could be shaped by thought.
This was the so-called "wizard's will," a power that, to wizards, seemed natural, yet shattered all of Roger's beliefs. It was a metaphysical, near-miraculous force.
Another day passed, and the Old Wizard seemed to have run into an insurmountable wall. His face was as dark as the bottom of a cauldron.
At noon, as he stalked out of his cabin, Roger hurried over, deftly set out a wooden chair, and smoothly placed a well-worn, shiny old sheepskin cushion on it.
"Sir, please sit. Lunch will be ready right away," he said, bowing respectfully.
The Old Wizard snorted through his nose and dropped heavily into the chair.
A sandwich, a small piece of smoked meat, a few roasted potatoes, and a steaming bowl of apple soup. Everything was laid out without a single fault.
Yet the Old Wizard's mood remained foul.
He had realized that his plan was stuck. He lacked a truly useful assistant. Right under the Ministry of Magic's nose, it was no easy task to "procure" a wizard, make him obedient to a Dark Wizard, and have him willingly join an evil scheme.
Frowning, he sat in brooding silence for a while before starting to eat.
His eyes flicked toward Roger standing nearby and lingered there. At last he rasped, his voice like sandpaper on wood, "You… what's your name again?"
"Roger, sir. Roger."
"Ah, Roger…" The Old Wizard chewed slowly, his cloudy eyes fixed on him. "Of all the apprentices I've taken, you're the sharpest. Quick hands, quick eyes…"
Hearing the softened tone, Roger quietly let out a breath. The old man's trust had clearly grown. The wizard paused, then hissed, "It's a pity you never received proper teaching. But these days you've behaved well and served well. I'm satisfied. So I've decided to take you as my true student and teach you magic."
Alarm bells rang in Roger's mind, yet his face instantly filled with ecstatic disbelief. His voice trembled. "I… I… Master! Thank you so much!" He bowed deeply.
"As long as you're obedient and believe in me…" Beneath the hood, the Old Wizard's mouth seemed to curve into a cold smile.
He drew his wand and murmured an unfamiliar, harsh incantation. A beam of black light struck Roger's arm.
Roger rolled up his sleeve and stared at the complex mark that had appeared on his skin, saying nothing.
Clearly, the Old Wizard still did not fully trust him. After finishing his meal, the old man's restlessness flared again. He rose at once and strode back into the cabin.
Roger narrowed his eyes at the closed door, his thoughts racing.
He still did not know exactly who this Old Wizard was in the wizarding world, but that single act of magic, reminiscent of Lord Voldemort's Dark Mark, was more than enough to prove that his power was immense and unfathomable.