Ch: 55-63
Chapter 55: The Cold Dawn and the Hatching Tyrant
Moen White pushed open the heavy stone window in the Ravenclaw Tower corridor.
Whoosh—
The biting dawn wind, carrying the unique scent of frost and snow from the Scottish Highlands, slapped his face like a cold hand and poured into the collar of his thin shirt.
A layer of fine goosebumps instantly appeared on his skin, and his body shuddered involuntarily.
"So cold..."
Morn murmured softly, but a look of extreme enjoyment curled the corners of his mouth.
This was the first time in months that he had truly felt "cold."
He was no longer a walking furnace that had to soak himself in cold water at all times due to a soul fever; now, his body temperature was constant at 37.2°C.
This chill, which mortals avoid at all costs, was for him the real feeling of being alive, a proof of the perfect harmony between body and soul.
He reached out and caught a snowflake landing on the windowsill, watching it melt slowly on his fingertip instead of evaporating instantly as it would have before.
"System."
[Physical State: Stable.]
[Soul Load: Normal.]
Although this body was still only at the limit of a mortal and far from being able to carry a higher-order soul evolution, at least the alarm had been cleared... Breakfast time. Great Hall.
A medium-rare steak sat in front of Morn.
He cut off a piece of tender meat with traces of blood and put it into his mouth; the raw, sweet taste of the meat greatly soothed his appetite, which had become more voracious due to his physical strengthening.
Plop. A tawny owl soared over the long table, dropping a rolled-up parchment cylinder into his plate, splashing a few drops of meat juice.
Morn unfurled the note, which had only a single line of handwriting that looked like wild cursive even with a quill: "It's about to hatch! I need the person who understands temperature! — H"
He looked up and happened to meet the gaze of Harry Potter from the Gryffindor table.
Harry was also clutching an identical note, his expression both excited and nervous, clearly surprised that Hagrid had also invited Morn. Ron, meanwhile, was glaring at him warily from the side, like a red-haired gnome guarding its food.
Morn smiled and raised his glass of pumpkin juice in a distant toast before tilting his head back to drain it.
The show is starting... When Morn knocked on the door of Hagrid's hut, a suffocating wave of heat hit him.
The inside was like a steel furnace running at full capacity. The curtains were drawn tight, the fire in the fireplace was burning fiercely, and the wood crackled and popped in the high temperature.
"Quick! Come in! It's coming out!"
Hagrid was dripping with sweat, his face shining red behind his massive beard.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were already gathered around the table, everyone's eyes fixed on the large, jet-black egg in the center.
Morn closed the door behind him, sealing out the cold wind.
[Thermal Affinity (Green)] activated automatically, converting the uncomfortable surrounding heat into a pleasant warm current that was absorbed into his body.
He walked to the table but did not sit down, instead standing in a position where he could overlook the entire scene.
The black egg on the table was shaking violently, and a strange clicking sound came from inside the shell, as if something were tapping stone with a chisel.
Crack!
A crack suddenly appeared on the surface of the eggshell.
With a harsh scraping sound, the eggshell burst open.
A wet creature, looking like a broken black umbrella, scrambled out unsteadily.
Its wings were large and spiny, looking somewhat disproportionate to its body. Its bulging, orange-red eyes looked around blankly, and two plumes of grayish-white smoke puffed from its nostrils.
"Oh, heavens, look at it..." Hagrid choked out a word of praise, "Isn't it beautiful?"
Hagrid reached out his massive hand, wanting to touch it.
Just then—Whoosh! The baby dragon sneezed, and a burst of orange-red flame mixed with sparks shot out, nearly igniting Hagrid's beard.
"Watch out!" Hermione cried out, shrinking back.
A pale, slender hand intercepted the baby dragon's head mid-air with extreme precision.
Morn had made his move.
His movement was as fast as a hunting snake, his fingers pressing firmly against the baby dragon's throat, which was covered in fine scales (the location of the fire glands).
The moment of contact—Hum—
Morn's originally calm pupils snapped shut to the size of pinpricks.
On the system panel, a purple warning as bright as fresh blood instantly popped up, occupying his entire field of vision.
—[Analysis Lock]— Target: Norwegian Ridgeback (Hatchling) State: Developing / Fire Gland Overheat Manifesting Talent:
[Dragon Blood (Purple)]: Epic Talent. The pinnacle of legendary creatures. Grants the owner absolute magic-immune physique, limb regeneration, and exponential physical strength.
[Tyrant Dragon Breath (blue)]: (Weakened Hatchling Version) Breathes high-temperature dragon fire with magical properties that cannot be extinguished by ordinary water. —————————————————
Purple.
That was the color of the Epic tier.
It was the best purple Talent Morn had seen to date, even surpassing Dumbledore's Legilimency.
In that second, time seemed to stand still in Morn's world.
An unprecedented, ultimate greed originating from the depths of his soul roared in his mind.
It was a hungry monster snarling: "Eat it! If you devour this dragon, even as a hatchling, the physical enhancement gained will be enough to completely solve the problem of the fragile vessel! No more worrying about fevers, no more worrying about self-destruction!"
Morn's fingers on the dragon's neck tightened slightly, his knuckles turning white from the excessive force.
The baby dragon felt the killing intent and let out a sharp "hiss," opening its mouth to bite Morn's finger.
The absolute logic of [Trinity] was like a bucket of ice water, ruthlessly dousing that crazed appetite.
He couldn't make a move here.
Killing it here would be equivalent to breaking with the entire Dumbledore camp and would even draw the Aurors from the Ministry of Magic. The gain was completely disproportionate to the risk.
"Phew..."
Morn let out a long breath in his mind, forcibly suppressing that killing intent back into the depths of his heart.
His stiff fingers instantly softened, and [Thermal Affinity] activated, drawing out the stagnant fire toxin in the baby dragon's throat.
The struggling baby dragon immediately felt a wave of comfort; it retracted its fangs and obediently rubbed against Morn's cool fingertip, making a purring sound like a kitten.
"Its lung development is perfect, Hagrid."
Morn looked up, his expression gentle and calm, not letting anyone see the internal struggle he had just endured. "Fire glands are clear; it's a healthy... tyrant."
"It recognizes you! Look, it likes you, Morn!" Hagrid was so excited that tears were nearly falling.
Harry and Ron looked at each other, the wariness in their eyes dissipating quite a bit. Someone liked by magical creatures couldn't be too bad... right?
"Give it a name." Morn withdrew his hand, picking up a rag from the table to wipe the mucus from his fingertips, masking the slight tremor of his palm.
"Norbert," Hagrid said affectionately, looking at the little dragon. "His name is Norbert."
While everyone was gathered around Norbert in wonder, Thump, Thump. A rapid, frantic, yet suppressed heartbeat of excitement abruptly entered Morn's [Omni-Perception] radar.
The sound came from outside the window.
Morn turned his head slightly, and from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a very conspicuous strand of pale blonde hair moving in the gap of the heavy curtains.
Draco Malfoy.
That platinum head had its face pressed against the glass, grey eyes wide, trying to see the situation inside the room.
At this moment, Ron was standing with his back to the window, his broad frame blocking Malfoy's view.
If Malfoy couldn't see clearly that it was a dragon, he wouldn't go to Professor McGonagall to snitch, and the following plot would break.
"This tea is a bit cold."
Morn spoke suddenly, his voice not loud, but just enough to catch Ron's attention. "Mind giving me some hot water, Weasley?"
"Oh... sure." Ron subconsciously stepped aside to reach for the teapot.
The instant Ron moved out of the way.
The gap in the curtains, the hatchling on the table, and the still-fire-breathing Norbert formed a perfect line of sight, exposed without reservation to Malfoy's view outside the window.
Malfoy saw it clearly.
His pupils shrank violently, and his face showed a mixture of wild joy at catching them and fear.
He didn't even dare to stay a second longer, turning and bolting away; the sound of his leather shoes on the gravel path was clearly audible to Morn.
"What's that?" Harry seemed to hear the noise outside and looked back in confusion.
"Nothing, probably just a rat."
Morn picked up the cup of tea that had long since gone cold, a playful, cold smile curling his lips. "Or perhaps... a canary that found a big secret."
He watched the retreating figure fleeing in panic outside the window.
The spark had been sown.
Next, it was just a matter of waiting for this fire to burn, dragging everyone into that dark forest. And there, that was the true stage he had prepared for the purple Talent.
Chapter 56: The Spark Leaving the Nest and the Midnight Informant
Crack.
A tooth-aching crack, accompanied by the pungent smell of burning sulfur.
The Norwegian Ridgeback hatchling named "Norbert" had now grown to the size of a hound.
Its orange-red eyes were full of tyranny, and its large, fanged mouth bit down hard on an iron bar—originally a skewer Hagrid used for roasting sausages, it was now twisted into a pretzel by that terrifying bite force.
"Oh, don't do that, Norbert! That's for Mommy's cooking!"
With tears in his eyes, Hagrid tried to stroke the hatchling's back, which was covered in hard black scales, but was struck on the arm by a flick of Norbert's tail.
Smack.
A red mark instantly appeared on Hagrid's skin, which was thicker than tree bark.
The temperature inside the house was absurdly high, and the air was thick with the strong smell of brandy, rotting chicken blood, and dragon dung.
Harry and Hermione hid in the corner, looking at this completely out-of-control "cutie" with faces full of terror.
Only Moen White dared to approach it.
He walked to the table, his pale hands unprotected as he reached directly for the dragon's head, which was still puffing out black smoke.
Norbert let out a threatening hiss, the spines on its neck suddenly standing up, preparing to breathe fire.
[Talent Activated: Thermal Affinity (Green)]
Morn's palm pressed against the dragon's neck.
In that moment, he felt the scalding blood surging wildly beneath his palm—that was the terrifying vitality brought by [Dragon Blood (Purple)].
Although it was still in its infancy, that violent energy, which seemed capable of igniting everything, was already beginning to show.
"Truly... a perfect biological engine." A flicker of barely perceptible desire flashed in Morn's eyes, but his movements were as gentle as if he were stroking a cat.
He silently drained the restless fire elements from within Norbert, channeling the high temperature—enough to trigger a rampage—down his own arm and converting it into his own mana reserves.
The previously frenzied Norbert instantly seemed to have its bones removed; it squinted its eyes comfortably, let out a purr like a steam engine releasing pressure, and slumped limply into Morn's arms.
"You really have a way, Morn," Hagrid sighed, applying a huge slab of raw beef to his arm. "It really listens to you. Maybe it thinks you're one of its own?"
"Maybe."
Morn responded indifferently, his fingertips brushing over the black scales, feeling the metallic coldness. I'm not one of its kind, Hagrid. I'm the butcher... waiting for it to grow up, then dismantling and devouring it... A week later. The Hospital Wing.
Ron's hand was swollen like a giant moldy loaf of bread, his skin showing an unsettling dark green. Norbert's teeth were poisonous; although not fatal, they were enough to make the wound difficult to heal.
"It's all over."
Harry sat by the hospital bed, his face pale as he lowered his voice. "Malfoy borrowed Ron's book... Charlie's reply was tucked inside! He knows everything! We have to take Norbert to the Astronomy Tower at midnight on Saturday!"
"He'll go and report us." Hermione paced back and forth anxiously, her heels clicking an anxious rhythm on the floor. "If the Professors catch us, Hagrid will be fired, and we'll be kicked out of school!"
Morn, who had been leaning against the window reading, closed his book.
The afternoon sun fell on him, but it failed to bring even a hint of warmth to his deep blue eyes.
"No, he won't report you immediately."
Morn's voice was calm and certain, like a sedative breaking through Hermione's anxiety. "Draco Malfoyis a typical Slytherin. To him, a simple report is too boring. What he wants is to see you caught the moment you make a mistake—the thrill of 'catching you red-handed'."
He walked up to Harry, looking down at the panicked savior.
"This is a game, Potter. He'll lie in wait at the Astronomy Tower on Saturday night, waiting to see you make fools of yourselves."
"Then what should we do?" Harry looked up, his eyes full of helplessness.
"Proceed as planned."
A meaningful curve tugged at the corner of Morn's mouth. "As long as you're careful enough when 'delivering the goods' and don't get caught by him... then the only person out at night breaking school rules will be him."
...Saturday. Midnight.
Hogwarts Castle was immersed in a deathly silent darkness. Moonlight filtered through the towering Gothic windows onto the empty corridors, casting pale shadows.
Near the Trophy Room, which was on the way to the Astronomy Tower, a thin figure was sneaking around behind a suit of armor.
Draco Malfoy was staring intently at the end of the corridor, an excited smile of impending revenge on his face.
"Just you wait, Potter..." he muttered under his breath, "when I catch you with that contraband..."
He didn't notice at all that on the gargoyle statue above his head, another invisible person was standing.
Moen White maintained his [Void Walker] state, like a calm night owl, overlooking this farce.
Within his [Omni-Perception] radar, two moving signal sources were clearly displayed.
One was Harry and Hermione, struggling up the stairs with a crate under the invisibility cloak.
The other was Professor McGonagall, patrolling the floor below.
"If Malfoy actually runs into Harry, things will get complicated."
Morn calculated in his mind. If the two sides met, it might lead to an argument, causing Harry to be exposed. What he needed was for Harry to successfully send the dragon away (eliminating the risk), and then get caught (triggering detention).
Therefore, Malfoy had to be removed from the stage first.
Morn raised a finger and flicked it lightly toward the staircase where Professor McGonagall was.
[Talent Activated: Sonic Deterrence (Green) —> Simulated Sound Source: Peeves.]
CLANG! A loud sound of armor collapsing echoed near the corridor where Malfoy was hiding, followed by Peeves's signature high-pitched cackle (phantom sound).
"Who's there?!"
Professor McGonagall downstairs was instantly alert. Dressed in her tartan dressing gown, she moved with surprising agility, rushing up the stairs with her wand raised.
Malfoy, hiding behind the armor, was startled. Before he could react, Professor McGonagall's stern figure appeared at the end of the corridor.
"Homenum Revelio!"
There was no Peeves.
But she immediately saw the platinum-haired boy who hadn't had time to pull his head back.
"Mr. Malfoy?"
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled with anger, the light from the tip of her wand illuminating Malfoy's suddenly pale face. "In the middle of the night, what are you doing sneaking around the Trophy Room?"
"Professor! I'm catching Harry Potter! He has a dragon!" Malfoy shouted frantically, trying to explain.
"Absolute nonsense! How dare you make up such a lie!"
Professor McGonagall angrily grabbed Malfoy by the ear. "Come with me! Twenty points from Slytherin! And detention!"
Watching Malfoy's retreating back as he was dragged away, Morn, standing high above, smiled silently.
The first chess piece has entered the game... Half an hour later.
Harry and Hermione ran down from the Astronomy Tower, filled with the wild joy of a narrow escape.
Norbert had been taken away by Charlie's friends. That hot potato had finally disappeared.
"We did it! And Malfoy got caught!" Harry was flushed with excitement, unable to stop himself from laughing in the dark corridor, even starting a silly little tap dance.
The two were so immersed in the joy of victory that they made a fatal mistake—they left the invisibility cloak at the top of the tower.
In the shadows of the stairs, the hunched figure holding Madam Norris had been waiting for a long time.
"Still celebrating?"
Filch's raspy, malicious voice suddenly rang out, like a bucket of ice water poured over Harry and Hermione's heads.
"So late... it seems Gryffindor is in trouble too."
Harry's smile froze on his face.
It's over... When everything settled.
Moen White only then deactivated his invisibility, slowly walking out from the other side of the stairs in Ravenclaw Tower, holding a thick Defense Against the Dark Arts book as cover.
At this moment.
Harry, Hermione, Neville—who had been caught because he got lost—and Malfoy, who had tried to report them.
These four key figures were all sentenced to detention by Professor McGonagall.
And in this season, the only place for detention was that place known as the "Land of Death"—the Forbidden Forest.
Morn returned to his dormitory and pulled out a small leather suitcase he had prepared long ago from under his bed.
Inside, he had placed several bottles of [Scent-Masking Potion] he had "conveniently" brewed in Potion Class, along with several sharp scalpels.
"The stage is cleared."
Morn looked out the window at the pitch-black forest, his eyes flashing with the cold light unique to a hunter.
Chapter 57: The Silver Curse and the Night Hunter
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest at midnight, the air was as thick as a pool of stagnant water.
Pale moonlight spilled over the gnarled roots of ancient trees, casting countless twisted and hideous shadows.
Moen White stood quietly on an oak branch ten meters above the ground.
The force field of [Void Walker (blue+)] perfectly folded his figure into the gaps of light and shadow, so that not even the night wind blowing through his robes made a single sound of vibration.
Below his field of vision, Filch's dim oil lamp swayed in the wind, illuminating four pale little faces—Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Draco Malfoy.
"Enjoy yourselves," Filch said in his raspy, duck-like voice, dripping with malicious schadenfreude. "After this, you'll learn that if you want to stay in this school, you have to learn to keep your heads down."
Hagrid strode out of the darkness, carrying a massive Stone Crossbow in his hand and a quiver full of arrows slung over his shoulder. Fang clung tightly to his leg, letting out an uneasy whimper.
"Alright, Filch, I'll take it from here." Hagrid's voice was low and serious, completely devoid of his usual warmth. "Tonight's task is dangerous. I don't want even one of you falling behind."
Morn looked down at the group from his high vantage point.
His [Omni-Perception] didn't lock onto Hagrid, but instead swept through the magnetic field of the entire forest like radar.
The air was filled with a scent that made him uncomfortable, yet made a certain predatory instinct within him stir—it was a mixture of damp moss, decaying leaves, and a strangely sweet, heavy scent of rust.
"Unicorn Blood..."
Morn took a light breath, the cold air entering his lungs through his nose, making his deep blue eyes glow slightly in the dark. "And it's draining fast. That 'Holy Grail' is about to shatter."
...The group soon went deep into the dense forest.
Here, the canopy blocked out the sun and sky, making it almost impossible to see the heavens. The path diverged ahead.
"We're splitting up," Hagrid said, pointing to a puddle of silver liquid gleaming in the moonlight. "That thing is badly hurt and won't get far. Hermione, Neville, and I will take this path. Harry, you and Malfoytake Fang and go that way."
"I want Fang!" Malfoy immediately shrieked. Looking at the pitch-black woods around them, his aristocratic poise had long since been thrown to the wind.
"Fine, but I'm warning you, he's a coward," Hagrid snorted.
Watching the group split in two, Morn did not hesitate.
He leapt silently between the treetops like a weightless ghost, landing lightly on a branch above Harryand Malfoy's side.
Choosing Harry required no thought.
That boy with the scar was the perfect bait. In this night filled with Dark Arts creatures, Harry's presence itself was like a searchlight in the dark, certain to attract the most dangerous predator... Drip.
A drop of thick silver liquid slid off a large fern leaf and hit the moss below. Instead of soaking in, it condensed into a brilliant bead of mercury.
Harry held the lantern, his palms covered in cold sweat.
"Look here," he said, pointing to a large splash of silver blood on a tree root, his voice trembling. "It's badly hurt... and this was left recently."
Hiding above, Morn narrowed his eyes slightly.
He didn't care about Harry's fear; his attention was entirely on the bloodstain.
[System scan complete.]
[Substance: Unicorn Blood.]
[Status: Highly Active/Cursed.]
[Characteristic Analysis: Half-life existence. The moment the drinker's lips touch the blood, they will possess a half-dead, cursed life.]
"Truly... a low-level and crude way of feeding."
Morn gave a cold evaluation in his heart.
For someone like him who pursued the sublimation of the essence of life, this act of lingering on by drinking blood was simply a desecration of the ingredients. It was like gnawing on a rare treasure just to fill one's stomach.
"The true essence isn't in the blood, but in the pure Spirituality that overflows the moment the blood runs dry."
Morn turned his gaze toward the depths of the dense forest.
He could feel that sacred life fluctuation weakening rapidly.
Like a candle about to burn out.
If he arrived too late, the most essential part would dissipate into the world.
"Hurry up, Potter."
Morn looked at Harry, who was still moving cautiously below, and frowned with some impatience.
He even had the thought of using Illusion Magic to create some terrifying noise to force these two little guys to run faster.
Just then. Whoosh—a sudden cold wind rose from the ground, blowing out the lantern in Harry's hand.
The surroundings fell into absolute darkness, with only the scattered silver blood on the ground emitting a faint glow, like guiding lights to the underworld.
"What's happening?!" Malfoy cried out in terror, clutching Fang's collar so tightly he nearly strangled the big dog.
"Quiet!" Harry suddenly shouted. "Listen!"
From behind the bushes not far ahead came a rustling dragging sound, accompanied by a heavy, wet breathing.
Morn's eyes instantly became sharp.
Found it.
He ignored the two terrified Young Wizards. [Void Walker] operated at full power as his body turned into a distorted transparent ripple, instantly crossing dozens of meters and silently lurking at the edge of the clearing... It was a highly impactful scene.
In a forest clearing barely lit by moonlight, a glowing white Unicorn lay slumped by tangled roots.
Its legs were twisted at an unnatural angle, and there was a massive gash on its slender neck.
It hadn't completely stopped breathing yet.
Those beautiful, sorrowful large eyes were staring into the void, and with every weak breath, a fountain of silver blood welled from the wound.
And upon its white corpse crouched a dark shadow.
It was a humanoid creature cloaked in a hooded robe, but its movements now were like those of a greedy beast. It knelt over the Unicorn's wound, its hands pinned firmly to the still-twitching body.
Gulp, gulp.
The hair-raising sound of swallowing echoed through the deathly silent woods.
The dark shadow was frantically sucking the hot blood gushing from the Unicorn's wound.
Every time it looked up for air, drops of silver liquid could be seen dripping down its obscured chin, staining the pitch-black cloak.
A strong surge of magic, filled with evil and depravity, erupted from the dark shadow as the blood was ingested, spreading around like poisonous vines.
Snap. Harry and Malfoy, who had caught up, stepped on a dry branch.
The dark shadow stopped its movements.
It slowly turned its head, its face hidden by the hood, facing Harry's direction.
Though its features were unclear, Morn could clearly feel that gaze—it was the cold, violent, and murderous stare of a venomous snake disturbed while feeding.
Aaaaaahhhh—!!!
Malfoy let out a piercing scream as fear instantly shattered his psychological defenses.
He didn't even think to help Harry; he turned and bolted, with Fang following close behind him with his tail between his legs.
Only Harry remained in the clearing.
"Ugh..."
Harry clutched his forehead, falling to his knees in pain.
His scar felt as if it were on fire; the intense pain made it impossible for him to even hold his wand, and he could only watch helplessly as the monster with a mouth full of silver blood stood up and glided toward him.
And in the shadow of an ancient tree less than ten meters from Lord Voldemort.
Moen White lowered his hands, his fingertips twitching slightly as several threads of deep blue magic silently blended into the air.
He watched the dark shadow approaching Harry, like a patient hunter watching another hunter stepping into a trap.
"I'll be taking this meal."
Chapter 58: The Profane Saint and the Perfect Scapegoat
The cloaked figure didn't walk but glided silently across the ground covered in rotting leaves like a weightless mass of black smoke.
As it approached, the surrounding temperature plummeted to freezing. Tiny ice crystals condensed in the damp air, falling on Harry Potter's face, which was twisted in pain, feeling like tiny needles pricking him.
Harry felt like his head was about to split open. The burning sensation from his scar left him unable to think, only able to vaguely see that silver-blood-stained claw slowly reaching for his throat.
"Meddlesome little bug..."
A raspy voice, sounding like two rusted iron plates rubbing together, came from deep within the hood. It wasn't just a sound; it was a surge of malice piercing straight into the soul.
Just as the claw was about to touch Harry's skin—
This was the only absolute blind spot, where the monster's attention was completely occupied by the savior.
Whoosh.
A transparent ripple, which even the Dark Lord failed to notice, bloomed silently beside the Unicorn's corpse less than ten meters away from Harry.
Moen White's figure, under the extreme cover of [Void Walker], instantly crossed the spatial distance. He didn't care about Harry's life or death; instead, with his back to Lord Voldemort, he knelt on one knee beside the white corpse that was gradually losing its warmth.
At this moment, he was a thief more greedy than the Dark Lord.
Morn spread his fingers and pressed them hard against the Unicorn's forehead, which still held a lingering sacred radiance, his fingertips even sinking into the soft fur.
Upon contact, the familiar, ice-blue system data stream flashed frantically across his retina, unreservedly dissecting all the secrets of the sacred corpse before him.
—[Analysis Lock]— Target: Adult Unicorn. Status: Physically dead / Spirituality dissipating rapidly. Manifested Talents:
[Pure Source (Purple)]: The core status of a sacred creature. Absolute resistance to Dark Arts and curses; blood has a miraculous life-extending effect (but carries a curse).
[Natural Resonance (blue)]: Child of the Forest. Movement speed increased by 50% in natural environments, and gains a friendly attitude from all neutral creatures.
[Magic-Breaking Glow (blue)]: Passive skill. Emits a weak Purification Field around the body, automatically neutralizing low-level negative statuses. —————————————————
"Purple... Pure Source."
Morn looked at the tempting purple entry, a flash of desire crossing his eyes.
But he quickly calmed down. This corpse had already been ruined by that idiot Lord Voldemort; the blood had run dry, the body was damaged, and the complete purple Talent was shattered, unable to be carried.
"Then I'll settle for the next best thing and make use of all the remaining dregs."
With a thought, Morn made his choice.
[System Fully Active: Spiritual Plunder (Power MAX).]
[Target Locked: [Pure Source (Fragment)] + [Magic-Breaking Glow].]
[Fusion Plan: Refine into high-level passive trait.]
Hum—!!!
No sound was made, but in the dimension of the soul, a roar like a whale sucking in water suddenly exploded.
The soft fluorescence on the surface of the Unicorn's corpse, which had been slowly dissipating back to the world, was suddenly pulled back by a domineering suction force, as if encountering a powerful black hole.
Following Morn's arm, that massive, pure flood of energy, carrying a sense of holiness that made one want to weep, surged frantically into his body.
[System settlement complete.]
1. Obtained Talent: [Purification Field (blue+)]
Type: Passive / Solidified ability.
Effect: Your soul receives a sacred attribute bonus, automatically becoming immune to low-to-mid-level Dark Arts curses and negative mental states.
2. Obtained High-Level Source Essence: [Pure Soul (S)]
Definition: Top-tier soul fuel / Evolution material.
Effect:
[Baptism]: Immediately cleanses residual violent impurities in the soul (such as the Acromantula's bestiality).
[Expansion]: Permanently increases the upper limit of [Soul Load].
"I see... 'Talents' are the software, and 'Source Essence' is the power to upgrade the hardware."
Morn instantly realized in his heart.
At that moment, he felt as if his soul was soaked in a warm, golden spring. It wasn't the joy of gaining a technique, but an extreme sense of fulfillment brought by the explosion of basic attributes. It was like an overheated engine suddenly being injected with top-tier coolant and aviation fuel.
And in the real world, that originally jade-like, beautiful Unicorn corpse,
was undergoing a horrifying change visible to the naked eye.
The pure white fur instantly lost all its luster, becoming grey and withered, like bones weathered for a hundred years.
The muscles shriveled, and the originally spiritual shell turned into a mummified corpse within just two seconds, as if all its essence had been drained by a curse.
Meanwhile, Lord Voldemort's claw had touched Harry's neck.
But he suddenly stopped.
As a former master of the Dark Arts, Lord Voldemort's sensitivity to soul fluctuations was top-tier.
Just a moment ago, he felt an extremely strange suction force coming from behind—it wasn't a simple Dark Arts spell; it was a more thorough "plunder" that even he would be wary of.
"Who's there?!"
Lord Voldemort Suddenly turned around,Abandoning Harry at his feet,Those red eyes, flashing brightly, were fixed on the direction of the unicorn's corpse..
But there was no one there.
Only that suddenly grey and withered corpse lay quietly under the moonlight, emitting a hair-raising deathly stillness.
"invisibility cloak? No... it's an illusion."
Lord Voldemort let out an angry roar. He felt he had been played; someone had stolen the most precious part of the spoils right under his nose, leaving him with only a useless empty shell and a mouth full of cursed blood.
He raised his wand, which was borrowed from Quirrell, and was about to release a Killing Curse at the empty space.
Snap.
Morn didn't run away.
Since he had eaten his fill, he didn't mind giving the fallen savior a hand—after all, if Harry died, Hogwarts would close, and his long-term meal ticket would be gone.
Hiding in the shadows of the treetops dozens of meters away, he lightly snapped his fingers.
[Talent Activation: Phantom Force Field (blue) —— Mirror Flower, Water Moon.]
In Lord Voldemort's vision, the surrounding trees suddenly began to twist.
Harry Potter, who had been lying on the ground, disappeared.
In his place, a massive mercury mirror appeared out of thin air. The mirror's surface was smooth as water, clearly reflecting Lord Voldemort's current appearance—
A monster parasitizing the back of someone else's head, mouth full of fresh blood, neither human nor ghost.
"Look at yourself, Tom."
A low, aged voice, carrying immense authority and mimicking Dumbledore's tone, echoed in the air from all directions. "Is this the immortality you seek?"
"Dumbledore?!"
This name was like a spell.
Lord Voldemort's body stiffened abruptly, the wariness etched deep into his soul making him instinctively take a defensive stance. He waved his wand, and a green light violently shattered the mirror in front of him.
Crash! The mirror fragments shattered, turning into countless spots of light and dissipating. There was no Dumbledore, only the empty woods.
"Fake... it's an illusion!"
Lord Voldemort realized he had been tricked, and the rage of being humiliated made him let out a sharp roar.
Just as he was preparing to use a wide-range Dark Arts spell to level this forest and force out that hiding rat—
Da-da-da-da-da!
A burst of rapid, thunderous hoofbeats came from the nearby dense forest.
The ground vibrated, and a strong wind whistled as it arrived.
"Get away! Monster!"
Accompanied by a roar full of anger, a Centaur with platinum-blond hair and a strong horse body—Firenze—charged into the clearing like a silver bolt of lightning. His front hooves rose high, hooves strong enough to crush rocks striking down at Lord Voldemort's head.
Lord Voldemort glanced unwillingly at Harry on the ground, then at the "plundered" withered Unicorncorpse.
His current state was extremely poor, the side effects of drinking the blood were backfiring, and if he were entangled by the Centaur and really drew Dumbledore there, it would be trouble.
"I will find you... thief."
Lord Voldemort left this venomous curse toward the direction where Morn was hiding, then his body turned into a mass of black smoke, gliding swiftly along the ground into the darkness and vanishing without a trace... "Harry! Are you alright?"
Firenze didn't pursue but anxiously helped the limp Harry up from the ground.
"That thing... it was Lord Voldemort, wasn't it?" Harry gasped, cold sweat sliding down his face from his forehead, a great deal of fear still lingering in his eyes.
"Don't speak that name." Firenze's expression was grave as he turned his head to look at the Unicorncorpse lying by the tree roots.
Chapter 59: The Burning dark mark and the Mental Defense Line
In the next second, the well-traveled Centaur revealed a look of extreme shock and grief.
He walked slowly to the corpse, his hand trembling as he stroked the gray, withered fur.
"So evil..." Firenze's voice was trembling, his bright blue eyes filled with angry tears. "That monster... he not only drank its blood dry, but even completely devoured its pure soul. This corpse... it looks as if it has been weathered by a curse for a hundred years."
Harry also saw the tragic state of the corpse clearly.
It didn't look like a creature that had just died at all; it was more like a piece of rotten wood abandoned on a wasteland, devoid of any vitality, only filled with endless dead silence.
"Lord Voldemort... he can actually go to such lengths?" Harry felt a chill, and his fear of Lord Voldemortdeepened once more.
"This is the price of the Dark Arts, Harry Potter." Firenze stood up, his voice sorrowful. "To prolong his half-living life, he is destroying the most beautiful things in the forest."
Dozens of meters away, atop a tall oak tree.
Moen White leaned against the trunk, one hand in his pocket, while the other toyed with a withered leaf he had casually plucked from beside the Unicorn's corpse.
Listening to the conversation between the Centaur and the savior below, a corner of his mouth curled into an elegant yet ironic smile.
No one suspected that there was a third person present.
All the sins, all the desecrations, and all the unforgivable acts were perfectly pinned on the fleeing Dark Lord.
"Thank you for the hospitality, Your Excellency the Dark Lord."
Morn felt the surging, extremely pure power deep within his soul, as well as the newly acquired [Purification Field].
This was probably the 'cleanest' and most 'expensive' meal he had had since coming to this world.
He loosened his fingers, letting the withered leaf flutter down.
Then, his figure melted back into the night, gliding silently toward the Castle.
However, what he didn't know was this.
On this night of a bountiful harvest, another pair of black eyes, filled with scrutiny and suspicion, was waiting for him at the entrance of the Castle's cold dungeons.
Moen White's leather boots stepped onto the perpetually damp stone floor of the Hogwarts dungeons, the echoes they made sounding light and even somewhat inappropriate.
He felt wonderful right now.
The [Pure Soul (S)] he had just plundered was surging through his veins like a high-purity hallucinogen.
With every heartbeat, that warm golden power was pumped into his four limbs and hundred bones, leaving him not only without fatigue but also with an arrogant urge to hum a little tune in the corridor at three in the morning.
[System Prompt: Soul Load 82%...85%.]
[Warning: Mental state is in the 'Excitement' range. Please pay attention to your disguise.]
"I know, you're so nagging."
Morn chuckled in his mind, raising a hand to press his throbbing temples, trying to suppress that overflowing sense of power back into the depths of his eyes.
His Omni-Perception had become somewhat noisy due to being overly sensitive from the soul enhancement.
He could even clearly hear a spider crawling through a crack in the wall twenty meters away, its bristles rubbing against the rock to make an extremely faint 'rustling' sound;
He could smell the scent of every grain of dust floating in the air, as well as the sour rot emanating from a toad specimen soaking in a jar of formalin deep in the dungeon.
However, just as he turned the dark corner that was the mandatory path to the Slytherin Common Room—
Sss—
A strong, nauseating smell of wormwood, mixed with the scent of anxious cold sweat, abruptly crashed into his nostrils.
Immediately after, a tall, black figure, appearing like a bat, peeled out of the shadows without warning, blocking his path like a wall.
Morn's footsteps came to a sudden halt. In that instant, the blood that had been boiling in his body felt like it had been doused with liquid nitrogen, cooling instantly.
Severus Snape.
This Potion Class Professor's current state was absolutely terrible.
By the light of a dim torch on the wall, Morn saw that sallow face, pale as paper and covered in fine beads of cold sweat; those originally hollow and deep black eyes were now bloodshot, revealing a nearly crazed agitation and killing intent.
The most striking thing was his left hand.
Snape was gripping his own right forearm tightly, his fingers pressing so hard his knuckles were white, as if he wanted to gouge the flesh out of there.
The dark mark was burning.
Morn's pupils contracted slightly.
It seemed that Lord Voldemort's outburst in the Forbidden Forest, or perhaps his anger while fleeing just now, had caused this double agent a great deal of suffering.
"Mr. White."
Snape's voice was low and silky, yet it carried the dangerous vibration of a snake's hiss. "Three in the morning. It seems that for a Ravenclaw genius, the scenery of the dungeons is more attractive than the bed in the dormitory?"
"I couldn't sleep, Professor."
Morn quickly adjusted his facial muscles, putting on an expression that was panicked yet struggling to appear calm.
He subconsciously hid his right hand, which was stained with dirt from the Forbidden Forest, behind his robes. "I just wanted to come out for some air..."
"For some air?"
Snape sneered, the sound squeezed from between his teeth. He did not step back; instead, he took a step forward, his large hooked nose almost poking into Morn's face.
"At this depth? Covered in mud, rotting leaves... and a scent of..."
Snape suddenly stopped.
His nostrils flared violently, as if he had smelled something he found extremely loathsome, yet also terrifying.
It was a faint metallic scent (blood), mixed with an extremely holy, pure fragrance that was completely out of place in this dark dungeon.
That was the lingering scent from the depths of Morn's soul that hadn't had time to dissipate after he had finished devouring the Unicorn's essence.
"Unicorn."
Snape's pupils contracted violently. His left hand, which had been gripping his arm, suddenly let go, and with a speed too fast to see, he drew his wand and pointed it directly at the center of Morn's brow.
"You went to the Forbidden Forest. You have the scent of that thing on you... that nauseating 'holy' stench."
"P-Professor?" Morn's voice carried a perfectly timed tremor, but his hand in his pocket had already quietly gripped a High-Explosive Flash Rune.
"Look at me!"
Snape gave him no chance to explain.
At this moment, he was in a state of stress brought on by the intense pain of the dark mark.
Lord Voldemort was nearby, and at this critical juncture, a student carrying the scent of a Unicornappeared in the dungeons; it was too suspicious.
Was he possessed? Or a Death Eater recruit? Or... that person's messenger?
He had to confirm it.
Snape's black eyes suddenly became hollow and void, like two tunnels leading to an abyss, locking onto Morn's eyes with a death grip.
"Legilimency!"
Boom!
The real-world dungeon, the torches, and the damp walls all vanished in this instant.
Morn felt as if his brain had been violently stabbed by a red-hot, rough iron hook.
It was a highly aggressive mental force, carrying intentions of scrutiny, searching, and destruction, crudely tearing through his surface mental barriers and heading straight for his memory center.
[System Red Alert!]
[High-level mental intrusion detected!]
[Intrusion Source: Severus Snape.]
[Intensity: Master level.]
Within Morn's spiritual world...
The originally calm ocean of data instantly churned with monstrous waves. A giant snake composed of black mist was circling outside his Mind Palace, frantically slamming against that invisible firewall, trying to burrow inside to see what was hidden within.
"I cannot counterattack," Morn issued a dead order to himself in the depths of his consciousness.
If he activated the system's counterattack program now, Snape's brain might be instantly fried, or he might be judged as a 'hostile target' by the system and eliminated. Either result would immediately expose that Morn possessed strength far exceeding that of a first-year freshman.
"And I can't let him see the truth either." If he let him see the memories of devouring the Unicorn and toying with Lord Voldemort, then killing him to silence him would be the only path left.
[System Defense Protocol activated.]
[Option A: Violent Interruption (May cause brain death of the caster).]
[Option B: Data Stream Maze (To stall for time).]
[Option C: Memory Forgery and Induction (Constructing a false underlying layer).]
"Choose C."
Morn's consciousness was terrifyingly calm at the center of the storm.
"Show him what he wants to see. Give him a... perfect, logical 'truth' that is against the rules but not evil."
[Command confirmed.]
[Calling assets... Asset Library: [Greedy Student], [Potion Fanatic], [Witness].]
[Real-time rendering of false memory fragments... Progress 100%.]
Morn gave up all outward resistance.
He even actively opened the door leading to the 'depths of his memory,' allowing Snape's black mental serpent to drive straight in, crashing headlong into that meticulously arranged trap filled with lies.
Chapter 60: The Perfect Lie and the Filled Hole
Gray mist rolled violently in his vision; it was a temporary stage constructed by Occlumency.
In this memory sequence deliberately "edited" and pushed to the forefront, the camera shook violently, filled with the physiological dizziness brought on by fear.
In the scene:
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest at midnight, the bushes were roughly pushed aside.
The "Morn" in the memory was deathly pale, lacking his usual calm elegance, looking like a desperate gambler with nowhere to run.
He was kneeling in the muddy ground, holding a small, rusty silver shovel, frantically digging up the roots of a magical plant emitting a faint red glow—the ashes and unhatched shells left behind by a Fire Ash Serpent.
Snap.
The sound of a branch snapping was infinitely amplified in the memory.
The "Morn" in the memory looked back in terror, his pupils contracting sharply. From the distance came Malfoy's shrill scream.
The terrified "Morn" scrambled to shove his findings into his robes and clumsily crawled out of the bushes.
In the process of fleeing, his robes accidentally brushed against an ancient oak tree—on its trunk remained several silver-white Unicorn hairs and blood that had not yet dried, which explained the scent Snape had smelled.
"I shouldn't have come... I shouldn't have come..."
The boy in the memory roared desperately in his heart; the fear of being expelled and the dread of death were suffocatingly real.
Twang!
A crisp sound, as if a harp string had snapped, exploded in the real world.
Morn felt as if his head had been shoved hard; he staggered back two steps, his back slamming heavily against the cold, damp stone wall of the dungeon.
His stomach churned—a physiological rejection reaction following a forced intrusion by high-level Legilimency.
Severus Snape, standing opposite him, fared no better.
This Potion Class Professor abruptly withdrew his wand, his chest heaving violently. He closed his eyes, and the bloodshot veins in his once dark, hollow eyes were slowly receding.
Snape had seen what he wanted to see.
No Death Eater meeting, no dark dealings with the Dark Lord, and no conspiracies.
Only a student who had become greedy, stupid, and audaciously bold just to stay alive.
"For... Fire Ash Serpent Egg shells?"
When Snape opened his eyes again, most of the murderous rage had dissipated, replaced by a cold expression that was a mixture of extreme disappointment and contempt.
He looked at Morn as if he were looking at a rat that had fallen into a cesspool while trying to steal cheese.
"And Bicorn horn powder? Is this why you sneaked into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night and made yourself reek?"
"I had no choice, Professor."
Morn leaned against the wall, gasping for breath.
He reached into his robes—actually into a hidden layer of his space-extension bag—and pulled out the evidence he had prepared long ago.
It was a dirty glass bottle containing the Bicorn horn powder he had pilfered during Potion Class, along with the herbal residues he had just "dug up" in the memory.
"Madam Pomfrey's medicine is too slow..."
Morn lowered his head, his voice hoarse, playing the part of a paranoid terminally ill patient. "My body burns every day... I need a stronger Potion. I saw a recipe in a book..."
"That is deadly poison! You idiot!"
Snape suddenly roared in fury, snatching the glass bottle from Morn's hand.
He uncorked it and took a sniff; the complex scent of the ingredients confirmed everything—it was indeed the remains of Bicorn horn and Fire Ash Serpent Egg.
"Were you planning to poison yourself to death in the Ravenclaw dormitories to earn points for your house? Hmm?"
Snape glared at Morn, but the heavy stone in his heart finally dropped.
The dark mark was burning, indicating that Lord Voldemort was indeed active nearby. But the student before him was clearly just an unlucky intruder—he had only gone to steal ingredients and had fled back in terror after being spooked by the commotion in the Forbidden Forest.
This explained the dirt on him, the scent of blood, and why he had appeared in the dungeon at this time.
The logic was sound.
"Look up, White."
Snape's voice regained that suffocating, oily quality it usually had as he stuffed the glass bottle into his black robes. "Configuring prohibited Potions without permission, stealing stock materials, wandering the Forbidden Forest at night..."
He leaned down, a malicious glint in his black eyes.
"If you were a Gryffindor, you could pack your bags and get out right now. But since it was because of that... pathetic desire to survive."
Snape seemed to remember something (perhaps Lily's death, or some complex attitude toward life); his mouth twitched, revealing a look of disgust.
Ravenclaw deducts fifty points. For your stupidity and recklessness.
"Furthermore..."
Snape clutched his still-aching left arm and turned around, his black cloak whipping through the air with a sharp arc. "From now until the end of the term, you will spend all your weekends in detention in the dungeon. I will show you that handling slugs and cleaning cauldrons is far more effective than your self-righteous 'life-saving Potion'."
"Now, get back to your bed. If I see you wandering the corridors again, I'll turn you into a specimen and stuff you into formalin."
"Yes, Professor. Thank you... Professor."
Morn kept his head down, acting like a student who had just survived a disaster, and quickly slipped around the corner, hugging the wall.
Only after his figure disappeared at the end of the stairs did Snape lean against the wall and take a deep breath.
He painfully rolled up his left sleeve. The dark mark—a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth—was now a dark, bruised red, writhing on his skin like a living thing.
"Since it wasn't this student..." Snape stared into the void, muttering to himself, "then who exactly was in the Forbidden Forest tonight?"
...Ravenclaw Tower, dormitory.
Morn closed the door and applied three layers of Silencing Charms around him.
He walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water hard onto his face.
The boy in the mirror was pale, but in those deep blue eyes, where was there even a hint of fear or panic?
"Heh..."
Morn looked at himself in the mirror, the corners of his mouth turning up bit by bit, until he finally couldn't help but reveal a smile tinged with madness.
"Passed."
He had not only kept the [Pure Soul] he had just devoured but had also conveniently defused the "stolen Potion ingredients" landmine that had been hanging over his head.
Using the identity of a "greedy student," he had perfectly masked the truth of being a "cold-blooded predator." It was a textbook-level psychological misdirection.
Morn wiped the water droplets from his face, feeling the seemingly infinite power deep within his soul.
He walked to the window and looked out at the pitch-black night sky.
The direction of the Forbidden Forest was still shrouded in an ominous mist.
Snape's Occlumency is indeed powerful. For a moment just now, he almost saw through the underlying firewall.
Morn touched the space between his eyebrows, which still throbbed with a dull pain.
"Although the system can simulate it, that's passive. I need to truly learn this technique... and make it my instinct."
Just then, his gaze fell on the nightstand.
There lay a calendar page torn from a hogwarts express timetable.
One month until final exams.
Not long until the day Quirrell and Harry go through the trials.
"Rest well, the savior."
Morn extinguished the candle, plunging himself into darkness.
"When you face the final BOSS... I will be standing behind the curtain of the stage, preparing an even grander curtain call for you all."
Chapter 61: The War on Paper and a Late Epiphany
The air inside the Great Hall was so stifling it felt like a pot of thick soup being simmered over a low flame.
The "rustle" of hundreds of quills scratching frantically against parchment merged into a wave of irritating white noise, which, mixed with the acrid scent of cheap ink and the sour smell of students' nervous sweat, filled every inch of the space.
Moen White sat at the end of the Ravenclaw table, the quill in his hand sliding across the parchmentwith a constant and elegant rhythm.
[Talent Activated: Absolute Memory (blue) + Multi-threaded Thinking.]
[Retrieving Keywords: Medieval Assembly of Wizards, 1289, Uric the Oddball.]
[Data Retrieval: Complete.]
To him, this wasn't an exam, but merely mechanical transcription.
In his deep blue eyes, there was a faint glimmer of data streams that only he could see.
Every punctuation mark in the textbooks and every dull sleep-talk from Professor Binns' classes were like high-definition photographs, neatly arranged in his Mind Palace, ready to be used at any time.
He stopped writing and gently blew the ink dry.
He looked up at the Gryffindor table not far away.
Hermione Granger was writing frantically, fine beads of sweat breaking out on the tip of her nose, her lips moving silently as if she were reciting the entire book, History of Magic.
Ron Weasley was gnawing on the end of his quill until it was full of bite marks, staring blankly at the ceiling.
And Harry Potter... Morn narrowed his eyes. the savior was pressing one hand against the scar on his forehead, his expression pained and distorted, while his other hand scribbled haphazardly across the exam paper.
"The scar is hurting," Morn idly twirled the quill in his hand. "It seems that Dark Lord's mood is becoming increasingly volatile. This pain signal crossing the soul connection is more accurate than any alarm."
He was the first one to stand up and hand in his paper.
Under Professor Flitwick's surprised gaze, Morn placed the parchment filled with model answers on the podium, and then, amidst hundreds of envious or jealous stares, he strode out of the stifling Great Hall... Evening, by the Black Lake.
The setting sun dyed the lake's surface an unsettling blood-red. A breeze finally dispelled the day's heat, bringing with it the damp earthy scent characteristic of the Forbidden Forest.
Morn sat under a beech tree not far from the shore, holding a copy of Moste Potente Potions, but he hadn't turned a single page.
His [Omni-Perception] was like an invisible net, cast over the three figures basking in the sun on the grass nearby.
"Finally over," Ron stretched, his voice full of the relief of a survivor. "This week has been a nightmare. Regardless of whether I pass or not, at least we don't have to memorize those... Harry? What's wrong?"
Harry wasn't laughing.
He suddenly sat up from the grass, his face appearing pale as paper in the reflection of the setting sun. He stared fixedly at the chimney of Hagrid's hut in the distance where smoke was rising, as if it had suddenly turned into a giant trap.
"Something's not right..."
Harry's voice was trembling. "It's too coincidental, isn't it?"
"What's too coincidental?" Hermione asked, putting down her book in confusion.
"Hagrid has always wanted a dragon... and then suddenly a stranger appears at the Hog's Head with an illegal dragon egg in his pocket? And just happens to be willing to lose it to him in a card game?"
Harry stood up abruptly, his words coming out rapid-fire like a machine gun. "How many people walk around all day with a dragon egg? It's illegal! That stranger wasn't being kind; he did it to get close to Hagrid! He did it to..."
"...To get information out of him."
Under the shade of the tree in the distance, Morn closed his book, the corners of his mouth curling into a satisfied arc. "Finally figured it out, Potter? Though the reflex arc was a bit long, that intuition is indeed causality-level."
"We have to go ask Hagrid!" Harry shouted, not even waiting for Ron and Hermione to react before bolting toward the hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "He must have told that person something he shouldn't have!"
Morn watched the trio's retreating backs and didn't move.
He didn't need to run.
He simply closed his eyes slightly, extending the focus of his [Omni-Perception], following the medium of the wind to stretch his hearing into that hut filled with the sound of barking... A few minutes later. Hagrid's hut.
"What did you tell him? This is important, Hagrid!"
Harry's voice was full of panic, accompanied by Fang's excited barking and the crisp clinking of teacups.
"It was nothing..." Hagrid's deep voice sounded a bit guilty. "He bought me a few drinks... asked if I could look after the dragon... I said if I could keep even Fluffy alive, what's a dragon..."
"Was he interested in Fluffy?" Hermione pressed sharply.
"Of course! That's a Cerberus! Who wouldn't be interested?" Hagrid seemed to be trying to remember. "He asked me how to control such a fierce beast... I said Fluffy is actually easy to deal with, he's just a guard dog... you just have to play him a bit of music, and he'll fall right asleep..."
The words had just left his mouth.
A deathly silence fell over the hut.
Even from hundreds of meters away, Morn could feel Hagrid's instantaneous regret and fear.
"I shouldn't have said that... I shouldn't have told you..." Hagrid groaned in despair. "Hey! Where are you going?! Harry!"
...Under the shade of the tree.
Moen White slowly opened his eyes, his deep blue gaze appearing exceptionally cold in the twilight.
"Music."
He whispered the word, his right hand subconsciously reaching into his pocket, his fingertips touching a cold metal object.
It was an alchemical music box he had secretly modified in Charms Class.
All the puzzle pieces had come together.
The final obstacle guarding the Philosopher's Stone—that ferocious Cerberus—was now a mere decoration.
And Harry's actions just now had undoubtedly confirmed that the "stranger" already possessed this secret.
"Tonight."
Morn stood up, brushing off the bits of grass clinging to his robes, and looked toward the massive Castle as its lights gradually flickered on in the night.
"the savior will act. The Dark Lord will act."
"And I..."
He straightened his collar and turned toward Ravenclaw Tower, his step as light as a gentleman about to attend a ball.
"I should also go change into clothes suitable for the'stage'."
Chapter 62: The Empty Throne and the Hunter's Armory
The marble staircase railing was bone-chillingly cold; Moen White's fingers rested lightly on it, feeling the rapid vibrations coming from beneath the stone steps.
It was the sound of three pairs of soles desperately slapping the floor, accompanied by Harry Potter's nearly breathless gasps, echoing through the empty entrance hall in a rhythm of despair.
"Professor Dumbledore?!"
Professor McGonagall, clutching a stack of books in her arms, looked in surprise at the three Young Wizards who had suddenly rushed up to her.
The stern scent of ink and parchment on her was significantly dispersed by the heat wave Harrybrought with him.
"He is not here," Professor McGonagall frowned, her tone carrying a hint of confusion. "Ten minutes ago, he received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic. Just now, he has already flown to London."
"He's gone?!"
Harry's voice was shrill and off-key, the sound of something called 'hope' shattering. "At a time like this? But it's a trap! This... this is to lure him away!"
"Potter!" Professor McGonagall interrupted him sternly, the books in her hands creaking under her grip. "I don't know how you found out about the Philosopher's Stone, but it is protected very securely. No one can steal it. Now, go back to your tower!"
Standing in the shadows of the second floor, Morn's lips curled up slowly.
He looked down at the pale-faced trio as if watching panicked white mice in a cage.
"Luring the tiger from the mountain."
He recited the phrase in his mind.
The letter was fake, of course, forged by Quirrell.
But for Morn, it was an unmistakable starting pistol—the Castle's most powerful guardian had left.
Tonight, the Hogwarts underground would no longer be bound by any rules.
It would become a true, masterless hunting ground... Harry and the others turned and left, looking dejected.
But just as they passed the corner of the corridor, the surrounding temperature dropped abruptly.
A cold aura, smelling strongly of wormwood and brewing Potions, enveloped them without warning.
Severus Snape, like a giant black bat, slid silently out of the shadows and blocked their path.
"If I were you, Potter."
Snape's silky yet dangerous voice echoed in the corridor, laced with undisguised malice. "I wouldn't be wandering around the Castle so late. Especially... when someone is planning some foolish act of heroism."
Harry stopped abruptly, his whole body stiff. He glared at Snape, his eyes full of hostility—he was convinced the man before him was the thief who would strike tonight.
"We'll be careful, Professor," Harry said through gritted teeth.
Snape's hollow black eyes stared intently at Harry, as if trying to see through what was inside the boy's brain, which was filled only with Fluxweed. After a moment, he let out a cold snort, his black robes billowing as he turned and vanished into the darkness.
"He's warning us," Harry watched Snape's retreating back, his voice trembling but firm. "He's going to make his move tonight."
On the second floor, Morn shook his head helplessly.
"Poor Severus," he mourned for the scapegoat for a second in his heart. "The more you try to protect him, the more he thinks you're the villain. However... this misunderstanding comes at just the right time."
...Night fell.
In the dormitory of Ravenclaw Tower, silvery moonlight spilled across the floor through the arched windows.
Morn did not light a lamp.
He stood before the full-length mirror, shedding his oversized school robes to reveal a lean but sturdy physique.
Beneath his skin, the golden essence derived from the Unicorn still flowed slowly, making him seem to emit a faint glow in the dark.
Morn opened the black leather trunk beneath his bed.
A stale scent of leather and the cold tang of metal wafted toward him.
He picked up the specially-made Scalpel, its blade reflecting a chilling glint in the moonlight.
"Some things a wand can't handle, but the laws of physics can."
Morn skillfully tucked it into a hidden pocket in his sleeve. For a hunter always prepared to "dissect materials," nothing was more reassuring than holding a sharp blade.
Everything was ready.
Morn closed his eyes, sinking into his mental space to check his status one last time.
After this half-semester of hunting and devouring, his status panel had long since undergone earth-shaking changes.
————————————
[Character Status Panel: Moen White]
Current Level: Hogwarts First-Year Student / Mortal Realm Predator
Status: Soul Overflow (S-rank Essence digesting)
soul strength: 2.49 (Evaluation: Embryonic Immortal Species. Your soul density has completely surpassed human limits. Success rate for devouring conventional blue Talent is corrected to 100%.)
Talent Slots: 4 (Fully Loaded) Current Configuration (Daily Mode):
Slot I: [Trinity (blue)]
Slot II: [Demonic Skin (blue)]
Slot III: [Omni-Perception (blue)]
Description: A spherical 3D reconnaissance network with a 50-meter radius centered on oneself, ignoring obstacles.
Slot IV: [Photosynthetic Digestion (blue)]
Soul-Solidified Passives:
[Purification Field (blue+)]: Derived from the Unicorn. Immune to low-to-mid-tier curses and mental pollution.
Talent Inventory:
[Void Walker (blue)]: High-tier invisibility, folding light, shadow, and presence. (Advanced form of the original [Ghost Step])
[Phantom Force Field (blue)]: Regional five-sense deception. (Mirror Flower, Water Moon)
[Biological Acid (blue)]:
[Thermal Affinity (green)]:
...————————————————
"The daily configuration is too clunky. Tonight isn't for taking hits; it's for being a ghost."
Morn looked at the panel and calmly issued tactical adjustment commands.
"System, switch to combat configuration."
[Command confirmed.]
[Unload: Slot IV [Photosynthetic Digestion].]
[Unload: Slot II [Demonic Skin].]
[Load: Inventory Talent [Void Walker (blue)] —> Slot II.]
[Load: Inventory Talent [Phantom Force Field (blue)] —> Slot IV.]
With the Talent switch complete, Morn felt the heavy, rock-like texture on his skin vanish, replaced by a sense of weightlessness, as if his body could melt into the shadows at any moment.
His mental power also became more active, seemingly able to interfere with the senses of those around him at any time.
11:30 PM.
Morn stood by the window, watching three small figures' footprints crossing the courtyard.
He blew out the candle.
[Talent activated: Void Walker.]
Without a sound, Morn's figure was like a pencil drawing being erased, vanishing bit by bit from his toes up until he completely dissolved into the air.
Even if Filch's cat passed by, it wouldn't be able to catch a single scent.
The hunt has begun.
Chapter 63: The Broken Gatekeeper and the Silent Spectator
"Alohomora."
Hermione Granger's voice was as soft as a sigh, but the faint light from the tip of her wand was enough to pry open the forbidden lock.
With the harsh grating sound of turning hinges, the oak door at the end of the third-floor corridor slowly swung inward.
A thick, almost visible wave of stench and heat instantly rushed out, a mixture of rotting raw meat, old straw, and the distinct body odor of a giant canine.
Moen White, invisible and clinging to a corner of the ceiling, even had to hold his breath and activate [Internal Circulation Breathing] mode to avoid being choked to tears by the smell, which was like a biochemical weapon.
The room was dim and cramped.
Most of the space was occupied by a suffocatingly massive three-headed dog.
It was lying on the floor, deep in sleep, its massive chest like a malfunctioning bellows, each rise and fall causing the surrounding dust to tremble violently.
"It... it's asleep?" Ron whispered from behind Harry, his voice trembling.
"Look over there," Harry pointed near one of the giant dog's paws.
An exquisitely crafted harp stood there, its strings jumping automatically without anyone plucking them, flowing with a monotonous yet hypnotic melody.
"Snape has already been here," Harry said through gritted teeth, his face pale. "He left an 'alarm clock' for this thing."
Floating above, Morn narrowed his eyes.
Using the infrared vision of [Omni-Perception], he saw details that Harry and the others had overlooked—this watchdog named Fluffy was not sleeping peacefully at all; in fact, its state could be described as tragic.
Its three heads were in a strangely twisted posture:
The head on the far right hung limply on the ground, with a clear scorch mark on its snout, as if hit head-on by some high-intensity jinx. It was currently in a deep coma—a "greeting" left by Quirrell (Lord Voldemort).
As for the remaining middle and left heads, they were tightly entangled even in sleep.
The left head was biting the middle head's ear, while the middle head's paw was pressed against the left head's neck.
"The nervous system is completely fragmented," Morn coldly evaluated his "masterpiece" in the void.
Ever since he had plundered this creature's core Talent [Trinity] a few months ago, these three brains had lost their coordinating central processor.
Current Fluffy was less a Cerberus and more three mad dogs with clashing personalities forcibly sewn together.
"Hurry!" Hermione urged, her eyes locked on the large trapdoor beneath the giant dog. "We have to while it's still asleep..."
*Twang.* The sharp sound of a harp string snapping suddenly rang out.
The harp, which had been overloaded for a long time, finally exhausted its magic, and the melody came to an abrupt halt.
Dead silence.
A hair-raising silence enveloped the room. Then, the previously thunderous snoring vanished.
"Oh, no..." Ron let out a desperate groan.
Roar—!!!
Two roars, not overlapping but rather chaotic, rang out simultaneously.
Fluffy woke up.
But this wasn't the majestic awakening from the original story where all three heads rose at once; it was a chaotic disaster.
The left head snapped its murky yellow eyes open, instinctively trying to raise its head and roar, but forgetting that its ear was still in the middle head's mouth.
The intense pain sent it into an instant frenzy. Ignoring the intruders in front of it, it bit back directly at its middle brother, who had just opened its eyes.
Crunch!
The sound of massive fangs clashing was enough to set one's teeth on edge.
The middle head went mad with pain. Its massive body rolled uncontrollably on the floor, its huge tail sweeping across and smashing the harp to pieces.
As for the right head knocked out by Quirrell, it was like a heavy sandbag, dragged around by its two crazed brothers, making dull thumping sounds against the floor.
"It's gone mad! It's fighting itself!" Harry was stunned by this sudden scene of internal strife, nearly getting kicked away by a wildly flailing hind leg.
"The flute! Harry! Play the flute!" Hermione screamed, pulling Ron tightly into a corner.
Harry scrambled to pull out the crude wooden flute Hagrid had given him, put it to his lips, and blew a few out-of-tune notes with trembling breath.
Toot—Toot-toot—
Though the tune was awful, it was Fluffy's only weakness.
The two heads that had been fighting each other froze.
The music seemed to trigger some switch deep within their genes, and their bloodshot, furious eyes began to glaze over.
The left head slumped down first, thudding heavily onto the floor.
The middle head held on for two seconds, still trying to bite some phantom in the air, but eventually, it too collapsed, crashing down on top of the unfortunate right head.
"Go! Quick, go!"
Harry didn't dare stop playing. While blowing intermittent notes, he signaled Ron and Hermione with his eyes to pull open the trapdoor.
"It's so heavy!" Ron's face turned beet red as he and Hermione worked together to pull open the large iron ring.
A damp, cold, musty scent surged up from the pitch-black opening.
"I'll go first!" Ron took one look at the massive heads dripping saliva right above him, steeled himself, and jumped straight into the darkness.
"Harry, hurry up!" Hermione followed him down.
Only Harry remained in the room, still playing the flute.
He moved slowly toward the opening while playing. Once half his body was inside the darkness, he suddenly threw the flute away and slid down.
"Ahhh—"
As Harry's cry quickly faded, the trapdoor remained open, leaving a black hole leading into the abyss.
The room fell silent once more.
But this silence lasted for less than three seconds.
Without the suppression of the music, Fluffy's two conscious heads began to twitch again, their eyelids fluttering violently, about to wake from their frenzy once more.
Ding—Dong—
A crisp, ethereal, and exquisite melody, like the clinking of crystals, rang out abruptly from the shadows of the room.
It was a variation of 'The Nutcracker,' each note carrying a specific magical frequency.
Fluffy, who was just about to crack its eyelids open, seemed to have its spine removed. It let out one last unwilling whimper and slumped completely to the ground, turning into three massive lumps of unconscious meat.
In the corner of the ceiling.
The air rippled like water, and Moen White's tall, slender figure slowly materialized. He held an automatically rotating Alchemy Music Box, his black Dragonhide Hunting Gear almost blending into the shadows in the dim light.
He was in no hurry to go down. Instead, like a discerning connoisseur, he walked toward the gargantuan creature with elegant steps.
Morn looked down at the right head, scorched and swollen by Quirrell's Dark Arts, his fingertips lightly brushing the lingering magical fluctuations at the edge of the wound.
"A Blasting Curse plus a High-Level Stupefying Charm... How crude, Senior Tom."
He shook his head. "Is this how you treat school property?"
Then, his gaze swept over the other two scarred heads.
Those were the'side effects' he had caused. Without the coordination of [Trinity], this hellish creature had become a schizophrenic defective.
Morn reached out his right hand, clad in a dragon hide gloves, and pressed it against the middle head's wet nose.
*Buzz—* The system panel popped up. But this time, there was no brilliant flow of data, only a few lines of dismal gray text.
—[Analysis Lock]—
Target: Cerberus (Fluffy)
Status: Intellectual Regression / Nervous System Disconnection / Soul Fragmentation
Talent Analysis:
[Magic Resistance (Fragmented)]: Retains only basic biological fur resistance.
[Plunderable High-Level Talents]: None.
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"As expected, nothing is left."
Morn looked at the empty panel, a flicker of boredom in his eyes.
As early as that contact at the beginning of the school year, he had completely drained the creature's essence. Current Fluffy, besides being massive and a bit thick-skinned, was a walking corpse on an occult level.
"No wonder Hagrid said it's getting more irritable but also'stupider.'"
Morn withdrew his hand, dismissing his original intention to take samples with a knife.
Flesh without the blessing of high-level Talents was just a pile of worthless protein; it would even be a waste of space to take back for experiments.
"Even though I caused it... I suppose this counts as a form of'safety processing.'"
Morn indifferently brushed the dog hair off his gloves. To him, this contributor that had once granted him his starting Talent [Trinity] had now completely lost its utility.
Having finished, he straightened his collar and turned toward the dark trapdoor opening.
Below was a bottomless darkness, with only the faint rustling of plants—that was the Devil's Snare of the first trial; clearly, Harry and the others had already passed through.
Morn pulled a bottle of [Potent Invisibility Potion] from his pocket and downed it—double insurance—and reset the music box to 'three-minute delay shutdown.'
"Goodnight, Mr. Empty Shell."
He stood at the edge of the abyss and gave a standard hat-tip to the snoring mountain of meat.
Then, with his arms crossed over his chest, he leaned forward and, like a drop of water merging into the ocean, silently plunged into the darkness leading to the truth.