This was the first book Erwin had examined since entering the study, so the bookmark rested at the very bottom. He couldn't recall the details of the others, but this one stuck in his mind.
Erwin needed to spot what set it apart.
He lifted the bookmark. It wasn't blank, at least.
At its base sat a simple number: 3-101.
Erwin flipped open the volume and turned to page three.
If he wasn't mistaken, the first digit marked the page, and the latter indicated either the 101st word or letter.
That seemed the most logical guess.
But as he counted down the page, he only reached about seventy words by the end.
So, it had to be the 101st letter.
Erwin started over, fingers tracing the lines.
Outside the chamber, Rowena Ravenclaw observed him intently. She shook her head with a wry smile. "Clever lad. You've already pieced together the trial's secret. But what a shame—if you'd chosen the right path from the beginning, this would have been effortless."
Regret shadowed her ethereal features. In truth, she was eager to entrust the Ravenclaw legacy to Erwin. Some of what she'd told him that day held water, like the unbreakable trial: only those who succeeded could claim the inheritance. Rules were rules, no matter her favoritism.
All she could do was adjust the difficulty downward, but that would diminish the rewards. With such high hopes for him, she believed Erwin capable of the full legacy—and so she'd set the toughest version.
He hadn't let her down; he could succeed. But his approach was so unorthodox. Who would dream of scouring every book? Who had the patience for that?
Even she wouldn't.
Ravenclaw had planned to whisk him away via teleportation.
Yet seeing him persist, she sighed. Let him flounder; reality would force his hand soon enough.
Meanwhile, Erwin isolated the 101st letter: H.
He frowned. Nothing special at first glance.
After a moment's thought, he channeled his magic.
The letter responded instantly, drawing in a thread of his power. It lifted, glowing blue, and affixed itself to the study wall. The light dimmed, leaving the "H" etched in place.
Erwin's eyes sparkled. That was the key.
These letters needed magic to activate. By infusing his fingertips with a steady flow—draining as it might—he could cast a wide net, the simplest brute-force method.
Worth trying.
He set the book aside, grabbed another from the floor, and ran his enchanted fingers over the text. A few pages in, a spark of magic slipped away. Blue light flared again: the letter R soared to the wall beside the H.
A grin tugged at Erwin's lips. It worked.
Ravenclaw saw it all. She'd anticipated his tactic.
She shook her head. "Smart workaround—the only viable one now. But does this boy grasp his limits? An eleven-year-old's magic is finite, especially without magic-boosting potions to replenish it. No matter; let him learn the hard way."
As a spectral guardian, she couldn't gauge his reserves. Nor did she suspect his edge: a hidden reserve of power.
Time wore on, letters multiplying across the wall.
Ravenclaw's composure cracked. "How does he have so much magic? Is it the Draconic bloodline boosting his reserves? I've heard whispers of that, but his isn't awakened yet. Another lineage at play? Such a potent blend?"
Even with her vast knowledge, she'd witnessed nothing like this.
Erwin, oblivious to her musings, eyed the discarded books and checked his inner stores.
A quick calculation: at this pace, sifting every volume would exhaust his spare magical sources entirely.
Like his intense spell practice before.
He'd uncovered a loophole, but it was his alone to exploit.
From Ravenclaw's hints, he knew the inheritance demanded youth—no older than eighteen, with a decade's wait to retry.
This was his shot, fueling his urgency.
And within those bounds, no peer could match his magical depth. Not a boast—just fact.
He pressed on. Outside, Ravenclaw grew numb, her worldview tilting as letters piled up.
This trial... cracked just like that?
Could any young wizard wield such power?
It was absurd.
Even in her era, potion-fueled youths paled in comparison.
Two days blurred by. Erwin worked without pause, screening relentlessly.
His personal magic bottomed out, the reserve dipping below a tenth.
Books vanished from the table, stacking on the floor.
At last, as his final spark faded, he slumped back, face ashen.
The closing letter—C—rose and slotted into the wall's gap.
Blue radiance erupted. A parchment unrolled from the glow, drifting to rest before him.