(Updates are a little slow today ... because I am sick...)
Chapter 88: Third-Class Order of Merlin
"Russell, you've got a letter!"
Just as Russell was enjoying a rare moment of leisure, Pugsley's voice rang out from outside the door—again.
---
"A Third-Class Order of Merlin?"
Gomez stared in disbelief before breaking into a wide grin. "Russell, I'm so proud of you!" He pulled him into a huge hug.
"This is exactly what you deserve, isn't it?"
Compared to him, Morticia appeared far calmer—but the slight tremble in the teacup she was holding betrayed her true emotions.
Russell examined the medal in his hand. He had half-expected a formal award ceremony, only to be told that third-class medals came with no such event.
Just a letter of commendation—and a front-page mention in The Daily Prophet.
So much for prestige. No ceremony, no interview—no wonder even Lockhart had managed to get one of these. Still, a honor was a honor.
What Russell didn't know was that The Daily Prophet had originally planned an exclusive interview with him.
However, Gringotts paid a certain price to have it canceled.
It wasn't that they distrusted Russell—rather, Rita Skeeter was far too skilled at twisting words and baiting statements. If Russell accidentally let something slip, Gringotts would be the ones in trouble.
"I've decided," Gomez announced grandly, "that tomorrow night we'll hold a family banquet to celebrate Russell receiving the Order of Merlin!"
"A banquet! A banquet!"
Pugsley bounced with excitement, while Uncle Fester wore a childlike grin.
Having spent so many years away from home, he cherished moments like this—time spent with family.
"No one in the Addams family has ever received the Order of Merlin before," Morticia said with a gentle smile.
Russell, on the other hand, felt a little embarrassed by all the attention.
---
As night fell, the Addams mansion blazed with light. One car after another pulled into the courtyard.
As the guest of honor, Russell changed into a tailored formal suit and stood at the entrance with Wednesday, greeting visitors as they arrived.
The banquet was lively—yet different from before.
Standing beside Cousin Itt was a striking woman.
"Margaret?"
Morticia looked genuinely surprised. She hadn't expected Margaret and Cousin Itt to end up together.
Russell was equally stunned.
It wasn't that he thought poorly of Cousin Itt—but his appearance was undeniably unusual. Russell had long suspected that Itt carried the blood of some magical creature… perhaps something like a wildman, or even a Bigfoot.
Under those circumstances, being willing to stay with him could only mean one thing—true love, without a doubt.
"%...￥... (Good evening, Russell. Congratulations on receiving the Order of Merlin),"
Cousin Itt slid over to Russell, gently bumping his hand with the top of his head in greeting.
"Thank you. Please, come in."
Once all the guests had entered, Russell finally got a brief moment to breathe. Even his smile had begun to stiffen.
Wednesday, on the other hand, showed no signs of fatigue at all—her expression hadn't changed in the slightest. Russell couldn't help admiring her composure. Just as he was about to tell her to relax a little, his hand barely brushed her arm—
—and she collapsed straight into his arms.
Russell froze, completely at a loss.
At that moment, Morticia noticed something was wrong and approached with her usual elegant steps.
"What's wrong, Russell?"
"You're just in time," Russell said quickly, as though seeing a lifeline. "I don't know why, but Wednesday just fainted."
Morticia glanced at her calmly. "There's nothing to worry about. She's simply tired."
Russell took a closer look—and she was right. Embarrassed, he let out a small, awkward laugh.
Throughout the banquet, Russell became the undisputed center of attention. Every guest wanted a closer look, a few words, or even a photo with him. The attention left him both flattered and overwhelmed.
After the banquet finally ended, Russell dragged his exhausted body back to his bedroom. He had danced nonstop for two full hours, while Gomez and Fester looked as though they hadn't spent an ounce of energy at all.
He couldn't help feeling a little envious.
After a quick wash, Russell collapsed onto his bed and closed his eyes.
What he didn't notice was that, not long after he fell asleep, the tightly locked door quietly opened—and a figure slipped inside.
---
The next morning, Russell opened his eyes to find Wednesday lying beside him again, as though this had already become routine.
What puzzled him was that, in most stories, the female lead would be hugging the male lead by now. Wednesday, however, always slept with her arms crossed over her chest.
How was this any different from sleeping in her own bed?
Because of their fencing-dueling practice, Russell and Wednesday had been spending noticeably more time together. With her as a sparring partner, his swordsmanship improved at an astonishing pace—he had already reached the threshold required to begin learning formal dueling techniques.
This time, Gomez personally took over his training.
"Listen carefully, Russell."
Gomez tossed him a rapier. It was a special training tool: a hollow grip designed to house a wand. Once mastered, even without the wand inserted, the user would instinctively fight in proper fencing form.
"When fencing, you must first judge the direction of your opponent's blade. The same applies in wizard duels," Gomez explained. "Spells usually travel straight along the line of the wand."
He demonstrated smoothly.
"If you can predict the trajectory of a spell by reading the wand's direction, you'll gain the initiative—and save a tremendous amount of stamina."
"Drink this."
He tossed Russell a round-bellied glass bottle no larger than his palm.
"Giant's Potion. A person can only drink it once in their lifetime, but it greatly awakens the body's latent potential."
Russell didn't hesitate—he downed it immediately.
No wonder Wednesday's strength was on par with his. So this was part of the reason.
The potion was a clear, brilliant blue. But instead of coolness, it felt like a line of fire sliding down his throat, spreading rapidly through his limbs and veins.
His face flushed crimson. His hair stood on end. Scalding white steam burst from his nose and ears.
A boundless surge of strength flooded his body.
Before he realized it, he was already moving—charging forward and sprinting wildly around the mansion like a runaway steam engine.
Wednesday stood by the window watching. Her eyes grew brighter by the second, the curve of her smile widening.
When Russell finally collapsed in exhaustion, a familiar ding echoed in his mind.
Heart racing, he opened his status panel.
His Constitution had increased from 2 to 3.
That meant his physical condition was now comparable to that of an average adult.
By the time he reached adulthood, it might even reach 5—an almost terrifying level, attainable only by the exceptionally gifted among humans.
"Tomorrow, we're leaving for Soviet," Gomez said thoughtfully. "Your mother doesn't feel like going—she wants to rest at home—so it'll just be the six of us… no, seven. I almost forgot Cousin Itt."
"How are we getting there?" Russell asked. "We're not driving again, are we?"
"Of course not. A Portkey," Gomez replied. "But security's tight in Soviet lately, so the Portkey will only take us to the border. Someone will be there to meet us."