Ch: 1-8
Chapter 1: The Misplaced Cheat and the Sole Slot
July 24, 1991, London.
In a dead end of the back alley behind Wool's Orphanage, the air was thick with the scent of mold and damp moss.
Eleven-year-old Moen White crouched by a grease-stained gutter, a glass bottle held between his fingers. His deep gray eyes held no emotion, only a focus akin to calibrating a precision instrument.
"Test number twelve. Subject: Blowfly."
Morn shook the bottle gently; the fly inside collided angrily against the glass walls.
It had been a week since he transmigrated into this world.
As a data analyst in his past life, Morn had quickly adapted to this slightly emaciated body, a result of malnutrition, and calmly accepted the accompanying system known as [Devour All Things].
But over the past few days, he had fallen into deep doubt.
Because this world was too "normal"—no superpowers, no cultivation, only news of Margaret Thatcherand expensive fish and chips.
In a world governed by science, being given a "Devour All Things" system was like handing an AK-47 to a student trying to get an accounting certificate—not only useless but also a significant hidden danger.
"Forget it, let's continue the test."
Morn stared at the fly. With a thought, a pitch-black system interface instantly overlaid his retinas.
— [Analysis Lock] —
Target: Blowfly. Manifested Talents:
[Compound Eye Vision (White)]: Capable of processing dynamic images within a 360-degree field of view simultaneously.
[Bacterial Immunity (White)]: A disease-resistant constitution evolved from long-term survival in decaying matter.
Devour Consequence Prediction: Target loses wide-area vision; survives.
——————
"Devour: [Compound Eye Vision]."
The command was issued. There were no special effects; Morn only felt a slight chill between his brows.
Simultaneously, the fly in the bottle suddenly seemed to go blind. Its previously agile flight path became chaotic, crashing straight into the glass before falling to the bottom, spinning aimlessly in confusion.
[System Prompt: Devour successful. Obtained Talent Fragment [Compound Eye Vision] (White). Stored in the soul warehouse.]
Morn paid no mind to the blinded fly; his attention was focused on the translucent box in the lower-right corner of his vision.
——————
[Character Status Panel: Moen White]
Current Rank: Mortal Realm Predator
Soul Slots: 0/1
soul strength: 1.0
Slot 1: None
[soul warehouse - Candidate Talents]
[Compound Eye Vision] (White)
...——————
It was a square indentation, currently empty, its edges glowing with a dim gray light.
"Only one slot..." Morn murmured to himself. "In other words, no matter how many Talents I devour, only one can be active on me at any given time."
He tried to use his mind to drag [Compound Eye Vision] from the warehouse, attempting to fill that sole slot.
But at the last moment, he stopped.
"A White Talent, mortal grade. Aside from seeing things a bit clearer, it's useless. Occupying the only slot with it would be a complete waste."
Morn was an extremely efficiency-oriented person. Since he could only equip one, it had to be the best. He casually tossed that white speck of light back into the corner of the warehouse like a piece of trash.
"Continue testing. Let's try something higher-grade this time."
He stood up, his gaze locking onto an orange stray cat dozing on a trash can at the alley entrance.
— [Analysis Lock] —
Target: Mixed-breed Cat (Stray)
Manifested Talents:
[Dynamic Balance (Green)]: Exceptional cerebellar control, allowing for perfect posture adjustment when falling from heights and walking on extremely narrow surfaces as if on level ground.
[Night Vision (White)]: Low-light vision.
——————
"A Green Talent, practical grade." Morn's eyes lit up.
This time, he didn't hesitate and activated Devour again.
The orange cat's body jerked violently, followed by a terrified shriek.
It had intended to jump off the trash can to flee, but its hind legs went weak. Its lost its balance in mid-air, slamming heavily into the ground like a rag, and even stumbled clumsily into a pile of junk because it couldn't stand steadily.
[Devour successful. Obtained Talent: [Dynamic Balance] (Green).]
"This is the consequence of having a Talent stripped... becoming a useless cat that can't even walk without falling."
Morn watched the terrified cat flee, his heart unmoved. He quickly pulled up the system interface and looked at the green orb of light.
"Equip."
With a mental confirmation, the green orb instantly embedded itself into the sole empty slot.
*Click.*
It was as if the sound of a mechanical engagement echoed in his mind.
[Current Status: Equipped [Dynamic Balance]]
In an instant, the world changed.
Morn felt his body become incredibly light. His spine, muscles, and nerves felt as if they had been rewired, giving him an unprecedented sense of control.
He glanced at the edge of a nearby wall that was only half a brick wide.
Previously, he would never have dared to stand on it.
But now... Morn pushed off with his toes, leaping lightly onto the narrow, moss-covered wall.
He took a few steps along it, even standing on one leg. He was as steady as a mountain, without even a hint of a wobble, as if he weren't walking on a narrow wall but on a wide road.
"Incredible." Morn clenched his fist, feeling this superhuman coordination. "This is the power of a Talent."
He walked back and forth on the narrow wall, then stopped and moved his mind again.
"Unequip."
The green orb in the slot in his mind instantly popped out and returned to the warehouse.
The sense of control that made walking on narrow surfaces feel like level ground vanished instantly, replaced by a wave of lightheadedness. Morn wobbled, nearly falling off the wall, and quickly jumped back down to the ground.
"Equip and unequip at any time." Morn brushed the dust off his hands, a satisfied curve appearing at the corner of his mouth. "This means I can swap in different 'ammunition' for different situations. Even though there's only one slot, as long as my warehouse is rich enough, I can handle any situation."
At this moment, he gained a brand-new understanding of this system.
It was a highly modular tool.
But immediately after, that sense of absurdity surged up again.
"It's a good tool, but in this peaceful modern society, what use do I have for this 'tightrope walking' Talent? Work at a circus?"
Morn shook his head and glanced at the gloomy sky.
"Forget it, I'll go back to my room first."
He returned to the cold room on the third floor of the orphanage and sat at his desk, preparing to continue reviewing his math textbook. Since there was no place for supernatural powers, he could only take the secular route of trying for Oxford or Cambridge.
*Tap, tap, tap.*
Suddenly, there was a knock at the window.
Morn frowned. This was the third floor; it was impossible for someone to be knocking on the window.
He turned his head, his pupils shrinking slightly.
A soaking wet, grayish-brown owl was perched on the windowsill, its amber eyes staring intently at him, clutching a heavy letter in its talons.
"...This is?"
Morn walked over and pushed open the window. The owl hopped inside, dropped the letter on the desk, and shook off the rainwater.
Morn picked up the envelope.
The feel of parchment, emerald green ink, and on the back, a purple wax seal—a shield crest composed of a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.
Hogwarts.
*Boom!*
Looking at that crest, the fog in Morn's mind was instantly blasted away.
All the "dissonance" vanished at this moment, replaced by a shivering logical closure.
"So that's how it is..."
Morn gripped the envelope tightly, his knuckles turning white.
He finally understood why he had awakened such a system.
This wasn't the wrong set. This was the world of Harry Potter!
There were Trolls, dragons, the Dark Lord, and all sorts of magical creatures with terrifying Talents.
He whipped his head around to look at the owl.
This time, his gaze was no longer that of someone looking at a strange bird, but that of someone looking at "prey."
— [Analysis Lock] —
Target: Hogwarts Delivery Owl
Manifested Talents:
[Absolute Homing (Green)]: Causality-based positioning rooted in contract magic, ignoring geographical obstacles.
[Magic Perception (White)]: Able to vaguely sense nearby high-concentration sources of magic.
——————
Looking at that green [Absolute Homing], Morn instinctively glanced at the sole, newly vacant slot in his soul.
If he equipped this, he would possess an absolute positioning ability.
But he held back.
"Only one slot. It must be reserved for something more valuable."
Morn calculated calmly in his mind. Compared to a navigation ability used for delivering mail, the [Dynamic Balance] provided by the cat earlier was more likely to save his life in a dangerous situation.
"Resources are limited; I must be meticulous."
Morn withdrew his gaze, opened the envelope, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Hello, Wizarding World..." he whispered to himself. "I need to find some truly 'potent' Talents."
Chapter 2: Strict Teacher, Legacy, and Purple Talent
The next morning, the rain finally stopped.
But the atmosphere at Wool's Orphanage was even more oppressive than on the night of the thunderstorm.
The usually haughty Mrs. Cole was now cowering in a corner of the hallway, clutching her ring of keys tightly, her face as pale as if she had just seen a ghost.
Or rather, an existence even more incomprehensible to her than a ghost.
Moen White tidied his most decent set of clothes—a shirt that, though washed until it was white, was ironed flat.
He stood in the center of the room, looking at the tall figure standing in the doorway.
It was a witch wearing emerald-green robes. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore square glasses on her face, her expression as stern as granite.
Minerva McGonagall.
Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Professor of Transfiguration.
Unlike Hagrid's rugged sense of pressure, Professor McGonagall exuded a sense of order that was precise, dangerous, and suffocating.
Morn narrowed his eyes subconsciously.
This "habitual" action allowed him to awaken the system once more.
At that moment, his originally calm heartbeat suddenly skipped a beat.
—[Analysis Lock]—
Target: Minerva McGonagall. Revealed Talents (Partial):
[Animagus (Purple · Master)]: Perfectly reconfigures human body structure and biological forms at a quantum level. Since it involves the free switching of soul forms, this ability touches upon the truth of Transfiguration.
[Transfiguration Grandmaster (Purple · Master)]: Absolute control over material composition. Can instantaneously change the molecular structure of objects, ignoring the law of conservation of mass.
[Combat Intuition (blue · Ultimate)]: Top-tier dueling techniques tempered through the baptism of war.
Devour Consequence Prediction: Extremely Dangerous! The target's mental power far exceeds the host's; a forced devouring will lead to the host's soul backfiring and exploding. Mortality rate: 100%.
——————
Looking at that series of dazzling purple, Morn felt his throat go dry.
Yesterday, the green Talent [Dynamic Balance] from that cat had made him feel smug, making him think he had become a superhuman. But now, looking at Professor McGonagall, he realized just how insignificant he was.
That wasn't ordinary magic; that was the authority to "modify reality."
"Mr. Moen White."
Professor McGonagall spoke, her voice crisp and powerful, interrupting Morn's prying. "I believe you have received my letter. But I see you do not seem to have prepared your luggage."
Morn took a deep breath and cut off the system interface.
He had to act like a normal eleven-year-old boy, not a greedy predator.
He lowered his head, his fingers twisting together awkwardly, a hint of appropriate embarrassment and wariness appearing on his face:
"Ma'am... I mean, Professor. I read the letter."
Morn looked up, his gaze appearing clear and sincere. "But I can't go."
Professor McGonagall's eyebrows twitched slightly, her gaze behind her glasses becoming sharp. "Oh? Give me a reason, Mr. White. Hogwarts is the best school of witchcraft and wizardry in all of Britain, a place many children dream of."
"Because I don't have any money."
Morn spread his hands and pointed around the shabby room. "Mrs. Cole says I'm a fatherless, motherless stray. The orphanage's funds are only enough for me to finish community middle school. I've looked up that place called 'Hogwarts'... the fees for boarding schools are usually astronomical."
He paused, his voice dropping, carrying a premature sense of helplessness. "And if this is truly magic... it must be even more expensive. I can't afford it."
It was a perfect excuse.
It fit his situation and was logical. He wanted to see what Hogwarts' policy for impoverished students was—or rather, he was testing this world's welfare system.
Professor McGonagall's originally stern expression softened for a moment.
She looked at the thin but articulate boy before her and sighed softly.
"A rational concern, Mr. White. That is rare."
She walked into the room and waved her wand. The dilapidated wooden chair hopped over of its own accord, transforming into a comfortable armchair. She sat down gracefully and looked at Morn.
"If it were an ordinary Muggle-born Young Wizard, Hogwarts does indeed have a bursary fund for purchasing second-hand robes and old textbooks."
Morn's heart stirred. There's a safety net? That makes things easier.
"However—" Professor McGonagall changed the subject, a very faint, complex smile appearing at the corner of her mouth, "you don't need that."
Morn was stunned for a moment. "What?"
"Why do you think your surname is White?" Professor McGonagall looked at him through her glasses. "It is a wizarding surname. While not one of those ancient Sacred Twenty-Eight families, it does have some history."
She pulled a neatly folded document from her robe pocket and placed it on the table.
"Before coming here, I visited Gringotts and the Ministry of Magic to verify your files."
"Your father was a half-blood wizard. He passed away eleven years ago during that... dark upheaval. Your mother was a Muggle, and she passed away shortly after. That is why you were sent to this Muggle orphanage; the wizarding world was in chaos at the time, and no one could spare the effort to check on every orphan."
Morn's brain worked rapidly.
Half-blood? His father was a wizard?
This meant he wasn't a rootless "mudblood"; he had "roots" in that world.
"Then... what kind of person was he?" Morn asked tentatively.
"A Ravenclaw who didn't follow the rules well but was very talented in spell modification," Professor McGonagall commented briefly, seemingly unwilling to discuss the past. "The point is, Mr. White, he left a vault for you at Gringotts."
Professor McGonagall stood up and tapped the document on the table lightly with her wand.
"While not exactly a fortune, it is enough for you to live comfortably for seven years and even buy the latest model of broomstick."
She looked at Morn, her gaze returning to its sternness.
"So, put away your concerns about tuition. You now have ten minutes to pack your personal belongings. I will wait for you downstairs. We are going to Diagon Alley."
Having said that, she turned toward the door, her robes billowing. As she reached the doorway, she stopped and added over her shoulder:
"Oh, and one more thing. Since you know your heritage, I hope you will show the same Talent at school as your father did, rather than... his penchant for getting into trouble."
The door closed.
Morn stood where he was, looking at the Gringotts asset certification document on the table.
"What a pleasant surprise..."
He picked up the document, a playful arc curling at the corner of his mouth.
Originally, he had planned to play the part of a "frugal" poor student in Diagon Alley, even preparing to use the system to rob some criminals in Knockturn Alley for starting capital.
But now, the script had changed.
"My father's legacy..." Morn glanced at his empty room, "And that unique [Talent Slot]."
Having money meant he could buy higher-grade equipment, and even... purchase some rare magical creature materials.
"If I can buy living magical creatures, even if they're just hatchlings..."
The light in Morn's eyes flickered.
Gringotts' gold coins were just currency, and he would use these coins to trade for the true "power" to fill this slot.
Ten minutes later.
Morn carried a pitifully small suitcase downstairs.
Professor McGonagall was standing at the orphanage entrance, looking at the gray London sky.
"Are you ready, Mr. White?"
"I'm ready, Professor." Morn acted well-behaved and full of awe.
"Very well." Professor McGonagall held out her arm. "Take my arm. Since you have wizarding blood, I think we can skip the trouble of taking the Underground and use 'Side-Along Apparition' directly. You might feel a bit dizzy; bear with it."
Morn grabbed that thin but powerful arm.
The next second, the world began to twist and squeeze.
And in the moment before the dizziness hit, only one thought remained in Morn's mind: Side-Along Apparition... a space-folding type of magic.
If it's a purple Talent, I wonder what the conditions for devouring it are?
Chapter 3: Father's Legacy and the Underground Dragon
The sunlight of Diagon Alley was fragmented by the towering white marble buildings.
Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
It stood like a silent snow-capped mountain at the end of the street lined with shops.
Beside the bronze doors, goblin guards in scarlet and gold uniforms scrutinized everyone entering and leaving with suspicious eyes.
Moen White followed Professor McGonagall up the steps.
As he passed through the silver inner doors, he wasn't intimidated by those few lines of famous warning poetry like other Young Wizards visiting for the first time.
"Enter, stranger, but take heed... of what awaits the greedy..."
"Risk control protocol," Morn mentally labeled the poem. "Translated, it means: the cost of robbery exceeds the gains; legal deposits and withdrawals are recommended."
Pushing open the doors, a spacious marble hall came into view.
The air was thick with the scent of old paper and the cold, hard smell of metal.
Behind long counters, nearly a hundred goblins sat on high stools, busy. Some were weighing rubies, while others were examining gold coins with magnifying glasses.
Morn's gaze swept over the goblin closest to him.
——[Analysis Lock]——
Target: Gringotts Teller (Goblin)
Manifested Talents:
[Actuarial Mind (blue)]: The brain is extremely sensitive to numbers, capable of instantly completing complex compound interest and exchange rate calculations.
[Mineral Appreciation (green)]: Distinguish the purity of precious metals through touch.
——————
"A blue Talent..." Morn looked on greedily.
If he had [Actuarial Mind], he could probably get a perfect score in Arithmancy Class at Hogwarts.
But looking at the security guards in the corners of the hall holding halberds with fierce glares, he rationally withdrew his gaze.
Making a teller go stupid here was equivalent to suicide.
Professor McGonagall led him to a counter and handed over the document and a small golden key.
"To withdraw the legacy for Mr. Moen White," Professor McGonagall said.
The old goblin took the document, his beetle-like eyes carefully checking the magical signature, before finally looking up at Morn meaningfully.
"The White family... yes, that eccentric family always trying to improve spell patent rights," the old goblin muttered, his voice sounding like crushed dry leaves. "Your father was very clever and good at making money, though he always spent it on those dangerous experiments. Still, the remainder is quite substantial."
He returned the key to Professor McGonagall and shouted, "Griphook! Take Mr. White to Vault 704!"
A goblin named Griphook approached.
Morn followed them through a stone door and boarded a rickety cart.
"Hold on tight!" Griphook shrieked.
The cart jerked into motion, hurtling into the twisting underground tracks like a cannonball.
Cold wind whistled past their ears; Professor McGonagall kept her eyes tightly shut, her face pale, one hand gripping her hat brim—she clearly loathed this mode of transport.
But Morn's eyes were wide open.
He was observing the driver.
——[Analysis Lock]—— Target: Griphook (Gringotts Senior Guide) Manifested Talents:
[Subterranean Perception (green)]: Possess an absolute sense of direction in intricate underground tunnels, never getting lost.
[Night Vision (green)]: Enhanced dark vision, completely adapted to lightless environments.
At this moment, the cart was speeding through a pitch-black stalactite cave; it was so dark one couldn't see their own hand, with only the lantern at the front of the cart casting a faint glow.
"Good opportunity."
Morn sat in the back seat, his gaze cold.
In such a high-speed, dim environment, even if the goblin experienced a momentary anomaly, no one would notice.
He stared at the back of Griphook's head.
"Devour: [Subterranean Perception]."
"Devour: [Night Vision]."
Griphook's body suddenly stiffened, and the cart wobbled momentarily on the tracks.
The goblin blinked hard, feeling as if the darkness before him had suddenly become thicker, and his instinct for direction blurred for a moment.
"Damn... is this lamp about to go out?" Griphook muttered, barely controlling the cart through decades of muscle memory.
[System Notification: Devour successful.]
[Talent Acquired: [Subterranean Perception] (green), [Night Vision] (green).]
[Current green Talent accumulation: 3 / 5.]
Morn felt his vision brighten.
The once pitch-black underground cave suddenly turned into a clear grey-green tone in his eyes. He could see every protruding rock on the walls and instinctively knew that a left turn ahead led to the vault area, while a right turn led to the abyss.
"So this is Night Vision." Morn curled his lips in satisfaction.
The cart continued deeper. The air grew colder.
Suddenly, a massive cavern appeared ahead. Griphook slowed the cart down.
"That is..." Morn's pupils constricted slightly.
At the bottom of the vast underground cave, a behemoth was coiled.
Its scales were as pale as steel, its body covered in scars, and its eyes were cloudy, yet that suffocating pressure still made the air freeze.
Ukrainian Ironbelly Dragon.
Although it was far away, Morn's system still captured it.
——[Analysis Lock]——
Target: Ukrainian Ironbelly Dragon
Manifested Talents:
[Dragon Breath (blue · Ultimate)]: Instantly spray 2000-degree high-temperature flames.
[Dragon Scale Armor (blue · Rare)]: Extremely high magical resistance and physical defense, immune to most intermediate jinxes.
[Dragon Awe (purple)]: Life-level suppression of a top predator, causing lower-order creatures to fall into a state of terrified paralysis.
Looking at that purple line of [Dragon Awe], Morn felt his breathing quicken slightly.
That was a power he absolutely could not touch right now.
"One day..." Morn gripped the handrail until his knuckles turned white, "I will return here. Not to deposit money, but to 'restock'."
The cart finally stopped in front of a small door.
Vault 704.
Griphook opened the door, and a puff of green smoke dissipated.
Inside the vault was a small pile of gold coins; while not as shocking as a mountain of gold, it was enough to fill several large bags.
"These are the royalties left by your father," Professor McGonagall finally caught her breath, smoothing her wind-tousled hair. "It's not immense wealth, but it's enough to let you live quite decently at Hogwarts."
Morn stepped into the vault and began filling his money bag with Galleon.
The clinking of the gold coins was crisp and pleasant.
But his movements were mechanical; his mind was on that dragon and the two green achievements he still needed to unlock.
"With money, I can buy equipment and materials."
Morn grabbed a handful of gold coins, watching them shimmer between his fingertips.
"In this world, money is the catalyst for power."
After filling the money bag, they boarded the cart again to return to the surface.
As they stepped out of Gringotts' doors, sunlight bathed Morn once more.
Now, with several hundred heavy Galleon in his arms, he had two more practical green Talents in his soul warehouse and possessed the [Night Vision] ability.
Professor McGonagall glanced at the sky.
"Well, Mr. White. I must go to Leaky Cauldron to meet an old friend and have a drink. That cart ride has left my stomach in knots."
She handed Morn a list.
"You have one hour to purchase the items on the list. Robes, books, cauldrons... remember, don't wander off, and do not go to Knockturn Alley. Meet me in front of the bookstore in one hour."
Morn took the list and nodded obediently. "Don't worry, Professor. I'll only go buy books and stationery."
Professor McGonagall turned and left.
Watching the professor's back disappear into the crowd, the obedience on Morn's face vanished instantly.
He weighed the money bag in his hand, his eyes turning toward the dazzling array of shops in Diagon Alley.
"One hour."
Morn licked his lips, his gaze like that of a shopaholic with an unlimited credit card, or a wolf that had just sharpened its claws.
"Enough for me to fill these slots."
He turned and strode toward his first stop—Flourish and Blotts.
Not only were there books there, but also certain "special items" he had long coveted.
Chapter 4: Crown of the Mortal Realm and the Conjecture of Fusion
The doorbell of Flourish and Blotts let out a crisp chime.
Moen White pushed the door open and entered, greeted by a rich aroma of ink and the scent of old parchment.
The bookstore was crowded with Hogwarts students, and the bookshelves stretched all the way to the ceiling. Some books flew overhead like birds, while others were as heavy and silent as bricks.
At this point, only two minutes had passed since Professor McGonagall left.
Morn clutched the book list in his hand, but his gaze didn't linger on the stack of 'The Standard Book of Spells.' Instead, he scanned the corners of the shop like a radar.
He was looking for the final two pieces of the puzzle.
In the subterranean tunnels of Gringotts, he had plundered [Subterranean Perception] and [Night Vision] from the Goblin Griphook.
Combined with the previous [Dynamic Balance], his current progress for green Talents was 3/5.
"As long as I find two more green Talents, I can verify my conjecture."
Morn squeezed through the crowd, his eyes locked on an iron cage in the clearance section.
Inside was a 'Compendium of Pranks' that was roaring frantically. It snapped its pages like a crazed clam, attempting to bite the fingers of every Young Wizard who passed by.
— [Analysis Lock] — Target: Prank Magic Book (Animated Object). Manifested Talents:
[Sonic Deterrence (Green)]: Emits a high-decibel scream, capable of causing auditory dizziness within a short range.
[Bite Reinforcement (White)].
"Noisy, but effective. If it went off suddenly at this distance, it would be enough to daze an adult Wizardfor a second."
Morn stood in front of the cage, pretending to check the price tag on the back of the book.
"Devour: [Sonic Deterrence]."
The book in the cage suddenly froze. The originally ear-Piercing Scream stopped abruptly, like a chicken with its neck wrung. It closed its pages blankly, turning into an ordinary, quiet, dead book.
[System Notification: Green Talents accumulated 4/5.]
"One more to go."
Morn quickly bought all the textbooks according to the list.
He didn't stay long in the bookstore, turning to leave and heading straight for Slug & Jiggers Apothecary diagonally across the street.
The smell in the apothecary was much more pungent than in the bookstore.
The scent of rotten cabbage mixed with the fishy smell of some animal.
Barrels were piled on the floor, and bundles of dried grass and strings of unknown teeth hung on the walls.
Morn's goal was clear.
On a dusty shelf, he found a large glass jar used to maintain a constant temperature, containing several orange-red Salamanders. They crawled happily among burning twigs.
— [Analysis Lock] —
Target: Salamander
Manifested Talents:
[Thermal Affinity (Green)]: Capable of surviving in high-temperature environments, immune to Tier 1 fire damage (e.g., boiling water, ordinary candlelight).
[Limb Regeneration (Green, Incomplete)].
"[Thermal Affinity]... not bad as a passive defense."
Morn stared at the most active one.
"Devour."
The Salamander shuddered all over, as if the spark of its soul had been instantly snatched away.
It jumped away from the flames in terror, shivering in the cold corner of the glass jar, its once orange-red skin quickly turning dull and grey.
In that instant—
Buzz!
A crisp vibration suddenly echoed deep in Morn's mind, as if some invisible shackle had been broken.
On the right side of his retina, the progress bar that had been floating there instantly filled up, exploding into golden particles.
[Achievement Unlocked: Crown of the Mortal Realm (Tier 1)]
[Condition Met: Accumulated devouring of 5 green Talents.]
[Reward Issued: Soul Capacity Slot +2.]
[Current Slot Limit: 1 ➜ 3]
Morn stood in the dim corner of the apothecary, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
The feeling was quite wonderful.
The original feeling of crowding and confinement in his soul vanished, replaced by a sense of sudden clarity and openness.
Deep in his consciousness, next to the original solitary box, two new, ethereal empty slots extended out of thin air.
"Verification successful."
Morn opened his eyes, a trace of rational fanaticism flashing in them.
"As expected, 'quantity' is used to stack 'quality.' The system's logic is self-consistent."
He immediately inquired in his mind:
"System, show the next stage's promotion conditions."
However, this time, the system did not unfold a grand blueprint as he had expected.
The interface was pitch black, with only a cold line of text:
[Next Stage Achievement: Not Triggered]
[Trigger Condition: Devour a higher-level Talent (0/1)]
Morn was stunned for a moment, then chuckled helplessly.
"I see. Even higher levels have trigger conditions?"
"White is the foundation, green is the mortal realm... So the next level should be the blue I saw on the Gringotts teller and that dragon."
Although the next level's task hadn't started yet, Morn was not discouraged.
Now that he knew the rules, the rest was just execution.
He glanced at the dazzling array of biological materials in the apothecary, then at his empty [soul warehouse].
Since the slots had expanded to three and the 'Fusion' function was available, those white Talents he previously regarded as trash now had value.
"System, if I have a large number of low-level Talents, can I fuse them into a high-level one?"
[System Reply: Yes.]
[Fusion Rule: Two or more Talents of the same rank can be attempted for fusion. The success rate depends on the compatibility of the materials.]
"Very good."
Morn narrowed his eyes, looking at a group of white mice in a cage used as pet food.
— [Analysis Lock] —
Target: White Mouse
Manifested Talents:
[Keen Sense of Smell (White)]
[Rapid Reproduction (White)]
Previously, he would never have wasted energy devouring these.
But now?
These were all fuel for fusion.
"Devour."
As his gaze swept over them, the dozen or so white mice in the cage became collectively dazed.
[Obtained Talent Fragments: [Keen Sense of Smell] x12.]
Leaving the apothecary, he passed by a Magical Gardening Shop.
Several pots of Mandrake seedlings were placed at the entrance.
— [Analysis Lock] —
Manifested Talents:
[Piercing Scream (White)].
"Devour."
[Obtained Talent Fragments: [Piercing Scream] x5.]
Over the next half hour, Morn transformed into a greedy black hole.
He wandered through Diagon Alley, appearing as a curious boy on the surface, but in reality, he was harvesting frantically.
Magical cockroaches in garbage cans, unwanted slugs in pet shops, even a chameleon by the roadside... as long as it was alive and had a Talent, even if it was a trashy white Talent, he would take it all.
Until the time specified by Professor McGonagall was almost up.
Morn took a look at his system interface.
[Current Status]
Slots: 3 / 3
[Equipped Talents]
Slot 1: [Dynamic Balance (Green)]
Slot 2: [Night Vision (Green)]
Slot 3: [Sonic Deterrence (Green)]
[soul warehouse - Alternative Talents]:
[Malice Perception (Green)]
[Absolute Memory (Green)]
[Subterranean Perception (Green)]
[Thermal Affinity (Green)]
... (White Talents x48)
"That's enough."
Morn straightened his collar, feeling the fullness deep within his soul.
He would slowly throw these trashy white Talents into the furnace once he returned to the Hogwartsdormitory to see if he could 'refine' any surprises.
He turned and walked toward the entrance of Flourish and Blotts.
Professor McGonagall was already there waiting for him.
"Finished shopping?" The Professor glanced at the bags Morn was carrying, filled with strange insect specimens and plant slices, and raised an eyebrow. "It seems your interests are quite broad."
"Yes, Professor." Morn smiled, his eyes clear. "I am full of curiosity about the composition of this world."
"Very well." Professor McGonagall nodded, then turned and pointed to the shabby little shop at the end of the street. "Then, let's complete the final step. Go and choose your wand; it is a Wizard's soulmate."
Morn looked at the gold sign that read 'Ollivander.'
He lightly pressed his hand to his chest.
If it were before, he might have needed to worry about whether the wand would reject him.
But now, with three slots and a warehouse full of materials, he had enough confidence to master any wand.
"Let's go, Professor." Morn stepped forward. "I'm also looking forward to seeing exactly what kind of wand is waiting for me."
Chapter 5: The Black Hole-like Wand and the First Soul Alchemy
Pushing open the dust-covered door of Ollivander's Wand Shop, the doorbell let out a lonely chime.
The shop was narrow and dim, with thousands of narrow boxes stacked from floor to ceiling, creating a suffocating sense of pressure.
Golden dust suspended in the air; it was so quiet here that it felt as if even time had stopped flowing.
"Good afternoon."
A soft, somewhat ethereal voice came from the shadows.
Garrick Ollivander slid out from behind the shelves like a ghost.
His silver-white eyes appeared exceptionally bright in the gloom, staring straight at Morn.
If it were an ordinary Young Wizard, they would be frightened by those eyes that seemed capable of seeing through the soul.
But Morn merely looked back calmly, even slightly activating [Malice Perception].
[Perception Feedback: No malice. Emotional state: Confused, alert, and... a certain fear akin to meeting a natural predator.]
"Fear?" Morn's heart stirred slightly.
"Mr. Moen White." Ollivander stopped behind the counter, not coming out to take measurements as he had for Harry, but instead instinctively shrinking back an inch, "I have been waiting for you... but to be honest, your arrival makes me feel uneasy."
The old man's gaze drifted over Morn, as if he saw some indescribable shadow behind him.
"When most Young Wizards walk in here, their souls are like flickering flames, some bright, some weak," Ollivander said softly. "But you... Mr. White, I cannot see your light."
He pointed to Morn's chest: "There is a black hole there. Greedy, silent, devouring everything."
Morn's expression remained unchanged as he smiled politely, "I'm just a bit introverted, sir. Besides, I'm in a hurry."
"...Of course, of course. The wand chooses the Wizard, no matter what kind of Wizard they are."
Ollivander took a deep breath and turned to disappear into the shelves.
"Try this one. Beechwood, Unicorn Hair, nine inches. It represents purity and nobility."
Just as Morn reached out his hand, before even touching the wand, it seemed to sense something terrifying; the wood instantly turned gray and dull, and the originally shiny finish cracked like dead wood.
Ollivander cried out in shock and snatched it back: "Oh! No! It's committing suicide! Your soul is too... too heavy for it."
"Try this one. Dragon Heartstring, Oak, very powerful."
This time, as soon as Morn gripped the wand, a violent force rebounded.
Bang!
The vase on the counter shattered into pieces.
The wand struggled violently in Morn's hand, like a fish trying to escape a butcher's palm.
"This won't do either... it's resisting." Cold sweat broke out on Ollivander's forehead, "It cannot be Unicorn, too fragile; it cannot be Dragon, too arrogant. Your traits are... plunder and absolute rationality."
The old man paced back and forth in the shop, muttering to himself.
Finally, he climbed a ladder and retrieved a black box from a cobweb-covered corner on the top shelf.
"This wand has been sitting here for half a century."
Ollivander held the box with a complex expression, "Because it is too strange, one might even say... somewhat evil. But perhaps, it has been waiting for you."
He opened the box.
A wand, entirely pitch-black with no carvings on its surface but faintly showing natural scale-like patterns, lay quietly inside.
"ebony. This wood only matches those Wizards who hold fast to themselves and do not follow the crowd."
Ollivander's voice lowered, "And the core... is a fang of a Runespoor."
"Runespoor?" Morn repeated.
"A three-headed snake." Ollivander stared at Morn, "One head plans, one head dreams, and one head criticizes. They usually die from internal conflict. But this fang... comes from a King Runespoor that devoured its other two heads and ultimately survived. It symbolizes the ultimate unity of the 'Trinity'."
Morn's heart skipped a beat.
This was practically tailor-made for his system's abilities.
"ebony and King Runespoor fang, thirteen inches, hard, unyielding."
Ollivander handed it over: "Be careful, Mr. White."
Morn reached out and gripped the cold wand.
Hum—
There were no brilliant sparks, nor was there a warm flow of heat.
In that instant, the light in the shop seemed to be forcibly "sucked" into the wand.
The surroundings darkened instantly; only the shadow at Morn's feet suddenly came to life, twisting and lengthening wildly on the ground before finally splitting into the shapes of three snakes, baring their fangs and claws behind him.
A sensation of flesh-and-blood connection spread from his palm through his entire body.
Morn felt the three slots deep in his soul vibrate slightly, as if cheering.
"It has submitted..." Ollivander said, trembling in that moment of darkness, "Or rather, it has found an accomplice."
The light returned to normal.
Morn stroked the wand fondly; the feeling of it being like an extension of his own arm intoxicated him.
"How much, sir?"
"Seven Galleons." Ollivander's voice sounded a bit weary, "Take it. Although I have a premonition that you will use it to do some... great but equally terrible things."
...By the time Morn returned to Wool's Orphanage, the sky was completely dark.
He locked the dilapidated wooden door and drew the curtains, isolating himself from the cold outside world.
Although the environment was still crude, Morn's mindset as he sat at the desk was now entirely different.
His spoils were laid out on the table: the ebony wand, a pouch full of Galleons, and a complete set of Hogwarts textbooks.
But what he focused on most was his system interface.
[Current Status]
Soul Slots: 3 / 3
Loaded: [Dynamic Balance (Green)], [Sonic Deterrence (Green)], [Thermal Affinity (Green)]
soul warehouse: Piled high.
"Now, it's time to process the junk."
Morn looked at the pile of white Talents in the warehouse that he had picked up in Diagon Alley.
A rat's sense of smell, a fly's compound eyes, the vibration sensing of a spider from the gardening shop... these [White · Mortal Grade] Talents were useless on their own.
"Since slots are limited, I must ensure that every one I fill is of high quality."
Morn pulled up the [Fusion] interface.
It was a deep vortex, like an alchemical furnace.
"System, input materials."
With a thought, Morn grabbed three perception-type Talents from the warehouse.
Material 1: [Keen Smell (White)] (Source: Pharmacy white rat)
Material 2: [Compound Eye Vision (White)] (Source: Lab fly)
Material 3: [Weak Vibration Sensing (White)] (Source: Corner spider)
[System Prompt: Detected three "Perception-type" materials. Compatibility: High.]
[Fusion Preview: Success rate 85%. Failure will result in material destruction. Start?]
"Start." Morn did not hesitate. It was junk he'd picked up anyway; he wouldn't mind if it failed.
Rumble—
The alchemical furnace in his mind spun violently. The three white light spheres were crushed and reorganized, making a piercing grinding sound.
Morn felt a sharp pain in his temples, as if someone were stirring these three distinct biological instincts in his brain—the twitching of a rat, the kaleidoscope vision of a fly, and the web-sensing of a spider.
A few seconds later,
The chaotic light suddenly contracted and finally turned into a bright green stream of light, landing in the center of the warehouse with a "ding."
[Fusion Successful!]
[Congratulations on obtaining a new Talent: [Biological Radar]]
——[Talent Details]——
Name: Biological Radar
Grade: Green · Utility Grade (Mutant)
Description: Not a simple enhancement of vision or smell, but a comprehensive modeling of smell, hearing, and vibration sensing within the brain.
Effect: When activated, all targets with vital signs within a 30-meter radius of the host will be presented in the mind as "red heat sources" with X-ray vision. Ignores walls and obstacles.
"...An X-ray hack?"
Morn was stunned for a moment, then ecstatic.
This wasn't just Utility Grade; this was a life-saving divine skill!
With this, in a place like Hogwarts full of secret passages, corners, and invisibility cloaks, no one could ever ambush him.
Filch couldn't catch him, Peeves couldn't scare him, and even ordinary invisibility cloaks would be useless before him, as long as there was a heartbeat.
"Even picking up trash can yield divine gear."
Morn impatiently loaded [Biological Radar] into the first slot, replacing the original [Dynamic Balance].
Now, he had truly completed his armament before entering school.
[Final Tactical Configuration (Pre-enrollment)]
Slot 1: [Biological Radar (Green)] — Anti-ambush, full-map X-ray vision.
Slot 2: [Malice Perception (Green)] — Social radar, defense against human malice.
Slot 3: [Night Vision (Green)] — Essential for night excursions.
Morn gripped the ebony wand and looked at the pitch-black London night sky outside the window, a smile—the most relaxed since his reincarnation—appearing on his face.
"Hogwarts... here I come."
Chapter 6: The Golden Boy and the Red-Haired Family
London on September 1st remained gloomy.
A black taxi cut through the curtain of rain and came to a steady stop at the entrance of King's Cross Station.
Moen White paid the fare; he had specifically exchanged some pounds at Gringotts. Declining the driver's help, he got out of the car alone, lugging his heavy old leather suitcase.
Perched on his shoulder was the Eurasian Eagle-Owl named 'Hermes.' Beneath his black robes, an Ebony Wand rested snugly against his forearm.
"Mortal transportation may be slow, but it has the advantage of being quiet."
Morn straightened his collar and pushed his luggage trolley into the busy station hall.
There were twenty minutes left before the train's departure.
For an ordinary Young Wizard, finding Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was a matter of skill.
But for Morn, it was as simple as spotting a searchlight in the dark of night.
With a slight thought, he activated the [Biological Radar (Green·Mutated)] he had just integrated.
Hum.
His vision shifted instantly.
Though his naked eyes still saw bustling travelers, in Morn's mind, these thousands of ordinary people were merely dim, almost transparent gray dots of light.
In this ocean of gray, dozens of 'heat sources' emitting dazzling light were converging toward the pillar between Platforms 9 and 10.
"magic reactions are the best signposts."
Morn pushed his trolley, unhurriedly approaching the spot.
Just as he was about to reach the barrier, a burst of noise caught his attention.
It was a large group of people with iconic flaming red hair, pushing several luggage trolleys piled precariously high, crowding forward like a flock of noisy ducks.
The Weasley family.
Morn stopped and pretended to organize his luggage, but he was actually standing to the side and rear, his gaze calmly scanning the family.
First was the short, plump mother with a kind face but a loud voice, Molly Weasley.
——[Analysis Lock]——
Target: Molly Weasley. Manifested Talent:
[Grandmaster of Housekeeping (blue)]: Can simultaneously control dozens of household charms for precision tasks, with permanent effects.
[Maternal Fury (blue·Special)]: When a direct blood relative is under a fatal threat, magic power surges by 200%, and dueling ability rises to the 'Auror Captain' level.
"A nanny normally, a warrior when berserk," Morn nodded inwardly. "No wonder she could kill Bellatrix."
His gaze shifted, landing on a pair of identical twins. Fred and George.
——[Analysis Lock]——
Target: Weasley Twins
Manifested Talent:
[Chaos Resonance (blue)]: A unique Talent for twins. Can achieve mental synchronization without verbal communication; inspiration and luck are significantly boosted when creating chaos and mischief.
[Alchemical Intuition (Green)]: Possesses wild, unrestrained intuition for modifying magical items.
"This pair would be top-tier as research assistants." Morn mentally labeled them as 'usable.'
Finally, his gaze fell on the boy who looked a bit dull-witted with a smudge of dirt on his face. Ron Weasley.
——[Analysis Lock]——
Target: Ron Weasley
Manifested Talent:
[Wizard's Chess Grandmaster (Green)]: Possesses excellent tactical sacrifice awareness and board calculation abilities.
[Loyal Wingman (White)]: When acting as an assistant, often displays extraordinary luck.
"Mediocre," Morn evaluated. "Aside from that chess Talent being somewhat interesting, he's just at the level of an ordinary Wizard."
Morn was about to withdraw his gaze when suddenly, an exceptionally piercing signal burst into the edge of his [Biological Radar].
That light wasn't the usual blue or green, but a kind of... blood-tinged, ominous dark gold.
Morn snapped his head around.
A thin, black-haired boy wearing round glasses with hair as messy as a bird's nest was pushing a trolley, standing somewhat lost next to the Weasley family, seemingly asking how to enter the station.
Harry Potter.
the savior.
The Boy Who Lived.
Morn took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his racing heart, and focused his gaze on Harry's lightning-bolt scar.
The system interface flickered frantically at this moment, as if even it were shocked by the data before it.
——[Analysis Lock]——
Target: Harry Potter. Manifested Talent:
[Flight Instinct (blue)]: A natural favored of the sky; a master the moment he touches a broom.
[Parseltongue (Purple)]: Able to command and communicate with snakes.
[The Dark Lord's Horcrux (Gold·Curse/Parasite)]: A soul fragment created by supreme Dark Artsresides within his soul.
Warning: This Talent cannot be directly devoured! Touching it is considered a declaration of war against Lord Voldemort himself!
Analysis Suggestion: Can serve as a 'long-term observation sample' to analyze the mysteries of soul splitting and symbiosis.
——————
"Gold..."
Morn felt his throat go dry.
This was the first time he had seen a [Gold] Talent.
"So in the eyes of the system, Harry is a living Horcrux."
Morn looked at the thin boy currently being cared for by Molly Weasley as if he were her own son, the emotions in his eyes extremely complex.
Greed, wariness, and a regret as if looking at a 'mobile vault' he couldn't open.
He knew very well that the current Harry Potter was under the close surveillance of Dumbledore.
That [Sacrificial Protection] was protecting him.
If Morn dared to harbor ill intentions toward Harry, Dumbledore would likely appear behind him in the next second.
"I can only watch, not eat. At least not for now."
Morn made a calm judgment.
But he wasn't discouraged.
Harry was going to Hogwarts, which meant this'sample' would be wandering around under his nose all day.
"Hey, going to Hogwarts too?"
As Morn was observing, a voice suddenly interrupted him.
It was one of the twins, Fred, who had noticed Morn standing nearby.
"I saw you staring at this wall for ages." The other one, George, leaned over. "First time? Need a demonstration? It's simple, just close your eyes and run straight at the wall—don't stop, and don't be afraid."
Morn withdrew the data stream from his eyes, putting on a polite but distant smile.
"Thank you. But I think I already understand the principle."
Morn straightened his cuffs, his gaze sweeping past Harry who was still talking to Ron, then looked back at the twins.
"It's just a simple spatial-folding illusion, right?"
Having said that, he didn't linger in this troublesome spot full of 'redheads' and the'savior'.
He pushed his luggage trolley with steady steps, neither closing his eyes nor taking a running start. At the moment he was about to hit the wall, he simply increased his pace with composure.
Swoosh.
He passed through that layer of cold, misty sensation.
The noisy sound of a whistle instantly flooded his ears.
A scarlet steam engine was belching white smoke, resting quietly at the platform.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Morn stood on the platform and glanced back at the archway behind him.
Harry Potter and Ron Weasley came charging out right behind him.
Looking at the savior who came with a 'Gold Talent' and a 'Horcrux Aura,' Morn's fingers lightly brushed the Ebony Wand in his sleeve.
"Since I can't share the savior's luck..."
Morn whispered in his heart, turning toward the empty compartments at the end of the train.
"...then I'll just have to rely on devouring to carve out an even stronger path."
He lifted his trunk and stepped onto the train.
Chapter 7: the savior's Sense of Smell
With a dull thud, the heavy old leather trunk was pushed deep into the luggage rack.
Moen White didn't immediately lean out of the window to wave goodbye to his parents like the other excited Young Wizards; instead, he quickly pulled the compartment door shut and lowered the small shade halfway.
Only after finishing this did he sit down in the corner by the window, his back straight and his right hand hanging naturally by his robe's cuff.
That was where his ebony wand would slide out; with just a flick of his wrist, the tip would be pointed straight at the door.
"Environment safety confirmed."
He closed his eyes, his mind shifting slightly.
The [Biological Radar] he had just fused swept through the entire carriage like an invisible ripple.
In his mind, countless red dots representing life flickered around him.
In the next compartment, two restless dots were jumping—those were Fred and George—and in the corridor, there was a large, slowly moving dot: the Witch pushing the food trolley.
After confirming no one was lingering in front of the door, Morn slowly exhaled and pulled out a copy of the "Encyclopedia of Pranks" from his pocket, spreading it across his knees.
But he didn't take in a single word.
He was waiting.
Since he had already seen that "golden signal source" on the platform, according to the inertia of fate, some contact was bound to happen sooner or later.
*Slide.*
Without any warning, the compartment door was jerked open.
Morn's fingers instantly tightened around his wand, but he didn't look up, maintaining his reading posture as if he were completely oblivious to the outside world.
"Uh... um, sorry."
A timid voice sounded from the doorway.
Only then did Morn slowly look up.
Standing at the door was the thin boy with messy black hair and round-framed glasses held together by several layers of tape.
He was struggling to drag a massive trunk, his forehead slick with sweat, his emerald-green eyes peering through his lenses as he cautiously sized up Morn.
Harry Potter.
Above his head, the glaring data stream reading [Gold · Dark Lord's Horcrux] shone like a tempting poisoned apple.
Morn's pupils contracted slightly before he quickly regained the detached politeness typical of a stranger.
"Can I help you?" Morn's voice was calm, betraying no emotion.
"Everywhere else is full..." Harry pointed to the noisy corridor behind him, looking a bit awkward. "Can I sit here?"
Morn didn't answer immediately; instead, he scrutinized Harry from head to toe.
He didn't look at the famous scar, but instead stared at Harry's clearly ill-fitting old shirt, which was as baggy as a sack, and the sneakers on his feet that were even splitting at the seams.
Those were Dudley Dursley's hand-me-downs.
This shabbiness and embarrassment were out of place among the Young Wizards outside, who wore custom robes and talked arrogantly about broomsticks.
"Go ahead." Morn withdrew his gaze and shrank back into the corner, making room for the seat opposite him. "I'm the only one here."
"Thanks!"
Harry looked relieved and hurried to drag the large leather trunk inside.
But he had clearly overestimated his own strength and underestimated the weight of the trunk.
The trunk's wheels got stuck in the door frame's track. Harry turned beet-red from the effort, sweat soaking his bangs, yet the trunk wouldn't budge.
"..."
Watching this, Morn closed the book on his lap with a sigh.
"Move aside."
He stood up and walked to the door.
Harry quickly stepped aside, rubbing his wrist awkwardly. "It's too heavy. It's full of books and cauldrons..."
Morn didn't say anything; he just reached out and gripped the handle of the trunk.
It felt heavy in his hand.
With this eleven-year-old, chronically malnourished body, trying to lift this trunk gracefully with one hand was pure fantasy.
"Insufficient physical strength," Morn assessed calmly in his mind. "Accessing inventory."
With a thought, the system interface on his retina instantly expanded.
His gaze swept over the third slot, which currently held [Night Vision], used just moments ago to observe his surroundings.
"Uninstall: [Night Vision]."
"Load: [Giant Ant Strength (White)]."
This was a Talent he had obtained by devouring a nest of magical ants in the insect section of a Magical Menagerie.
Although it was only White Mortal-grade, it could instantly trigger a carrying capacity three times his own body weight.
*Click.*
A crisp sound of mechanical engagement seemed to echo in his mind.
The next second, Morn felt a surge of heat rush into his arms. His originally thin muscle fibers felt as if they were being injected with compressed air, tightening into a texture like steel cables.
He exerted force with one hand, giving his wrist a gentle flick.
*Whoosh.*
The heavy trunk that had nearly exhausted Harry was like an empty foam box in Morn's hand. It traced a perfect arc through the air, held steadily above his head before being gently pushed deep into the luggage rack.
*Thud.*
With a soft sound, the trunk settled into place.
Morn brushed the dust off his hands and shifted his thoughts again.
"Uninstall."
The heat in his arms instantly receded, returning them to their original relaxed state.
He performed the entire process with fluid ease; from switching Talents to lifting the trunk and returning to normal, it took less than three seconds in total.
"Wow..." Harry stood to the side, his emerald-green eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. "You're so strong! Do you lift weights?"
"I just know how to use my strength."
Morn replied flatly as he sat back down. "The principle of leverage, plus a bit of luck."
He of course wasn't going to tell the savior that just a second ago, he had become a "humanoid ant."
The air fell into a brief silence.
The train slowly started moving, and King's Cross Station began to recede outside the window.
Harry sat opposite him, shifting restlessly in his seat.
He stole a glance at Morn's thin frame, finding it hard to reconcile with that strange strength from before.
This contrast made him even more curious about the black-haired boy before him, and it also instilled a hint of awe.
"Are you... from a normal family?"
Harry finally couldn't help himself and asked tentatively, "I mean, you don't really look like them. Your clothes, and... you didn't even use a wand just now."
Morn reopened his book and didn't answer immediately.
He was enjoying this sense of control.
On this train full of Wizards, he was the only one using "scientific logic" to manage "magical Talents."
"I don't look like them?" Morn didn't look up, but a playful curve formed at the corner of his mouth. "Then what do you think a Wizard should look like? Wearing a pointed hat, riding a broomstick, and muttering about turning people into frogs?"
Harry blushed and waved his hands hurriedly. "No, no! I mean... you look normal. The book you're reading, and your clothes..."
He looked down at his own worn-out sneakers, his voice growing quieter. "I only found out I was a Wizard a few days ago myself. Back on the platform, I saw everyone had owls and friends they knew, but you were alone too..."
"Loneliness." Morn accurately captured the keyword of Harry's emotion in his mind.
"You're half right."
Morn shifted into a more comfortable position, and the coldness that kept people at a distance thawed slightly. "I don't have parents. I'm an orphan; I grew up in an orphanage in London."
Harry's eyes suddenly lit up—it was the look of someone finding a comrade. "Me too! Uh, my parents are gone too, and I grew up with my aunt... that's a normal family."
"That explains it then."
Morn looked at Harry and quietly filled the third slot with [Malice Perception] again.
[Perception Feedback: Strong sense of trust. Craving for recognition. No malice.]
So naive.
Morn sighed inwardly.
"Since we're both 'outliers' on this train," Morn extended a hand, his tone steady, "let's introduce ourselves. Moen White."
Harry immediately reached out and gripped Morn's hand tightly, as if grasping a lifeline:
"Harry. Harry Potter."
The moment their hands met, the system interface in Morn's mind shuddered violently again.
[Contacted high-level rule carrier.]
[Analysis progress slightly increased: 0.01%...]
Morn pulled his hand back calmly, forcibly cutting off the system's greedy notification sound.
"Harry Potter?" Morn raised an eyebrow, feigning thoughtfulness. "If you haven't read 'A History of Modern Magic' yet, I suggest you find some time to look at it. That name... is a big deal in that circle."
"I've noticed," Harry said, scratching his messy hair in frustration and revealing his scar. "Everyone stares at my forehead like I'm a monkey in a zoo. But I don't remember anything. I don't even know how to turn a match into a needle."
"You'll learn."
Morn reopened his book and said flatly, "As long as you don't think about how to become famous, but rather about how to survive."
Harry froze for a moment, seemingly not quite grasping the deeper meaning of those words.
Just then, a flurry of footsteps and noisy chatter came from the corridor.
"Is anyone here? This compartment is full too..."
"Dammit, Ron, your rat almost got away again!"
The compartment door was pulled open again.
A red-haired boy with a face full of freckles poked his head in, clutching a fat gray rat tightly in his hand.
Morn raised his eyelids.
This time, his gaze instantly became sharp.
He looked past Ron's goofy face and locked onto the rat playing dead in Ron's hand.
[Biological Radar] sounded a frantic alarm in his mind.
At that moment, the red dot representing the rat twisted and expanded, taking on the silhouette of a grown man.
"The high-risk reserve food has arrived."
Morn's fingers lightly brushed the wand in his sleeve as he gave the red-haired boy at the door a meaningful smile.
"Come in. It's just in time for us to eat... I mean, this rat looks very interesting."
Chapter 8: The Caged Rat and the Problem-Solver
Ron Weasley stuffed the old leather trunk away somewhat awkwardly and plopped down into the seat opposite Harry.
"I'm Ron. Ron Weasley," he said, still wiping dust off his nose.
"Harry Potter." Harry extended his hand.
Ron's hand froze mid-air, his mouth instantly forming an 'O'. His gaze, as if pulled by a magnet, snapped from Harry's face to that famous forehead.
"So... it's true?" Ron lowered his voice, as if afraid of disturbing Lord Voldemort, "You have... the scar?"
Harry pushed aside his bangs somewhat sheepishly, revealing the lightning-shaped scar.
"Wicked," Ron breathed in awe.
Immediately after, Ron turned his gaze towards Morn, who was sitting in the shadowed corner.
"And you? Are you also... one of those?" Ron pointed at the Muggle book, *encyclopedia of pranks*, in Morn's hand, clearly assuming Morn was simply a Muggle-born Wizard.
"Moen White."
Morn closed his book, showing neither the awkwardness of Harry nor the wide-eyed astonishment of Ron.
He merely gave a slight nod, that particular blend of detachment and politeness characteristic of adult social interactions.
"No scar, no fame," Morn added, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corner of his mouth, "Just an orphan who likes to read."
"Oh, sorry." Ron immediately realized mentioning 'orphan' might be offensive, but he was quickly drawn back to Harry's identity, launching into a torrent of talk about pure-blood families.
Morn did not join their conversation.
His attention shifted to Ron's lap.
There, curled up, was a plump, grey rat missing a toe.
It had its head buried deep in its front paws, its body drawn into a tight ball.
Morn's fingers lightly tapped the cover of the book on his knee, producing a dull, rhythmic sound. Tap. Tap. Tap.
With each tap, the rat trembled almost imperceptibly.
"That's Scabbers. He's useless," Ron said, noticing Morn's gaze, and poked the rat's belly with some disdain. "All he does is sleep and eat. Percy handed him down to me."
"He really does look sick," Harry said, looking at the trembling rat with some sympathy.
"Perhaps because he senses... a predator."
Morn interjected meaningfully.
Beneath that layer of filthy fur, a system's crimson warning text was flashing frantically across Morn's retinas.
——[Analysis Lock]——
Target: Peter Pettigrew (Animagus Form)
Soul Strength: Adult Wizard (Damaged/Corrupted)
...Warning: Risk of backlash extremely high. Consumption prohibited.
"Tsk." Morn clicked his tongue regretfully in his mind.
Since he couldn't consume it, he would play with it first, establishing the "food chain" hierarchy.
"Ron, how long have you had this rat?" Morn suddenly asked, simultaneously reaching to open the eagle-owl's cage beside him.
"About... twelve years? He's been with our family for ages," Ron replied, his words muffled as he tried to stuff a sandwich into his mouth.
"Twelve years..."
Morn released the eagle-owl named 'Hermes'.
The raptor's sharp yellow eyes instantly locked onto Scabbers, its beak making a sharp *click* sound.
Morn took a piece of dried meat from his pocket to feed the owl, but his hand deliberately hovered just a few inches above Scabbers.
The cold wind stirred by the owl's flapping wings made the fur on Scabbers's body stand completely on end.
"For an ordinary rat, he's lived far too long."
Morn's voice was soft, yet it pierced the rat's ears like ice water. "Sometimes, when flesh lives too long... the texture turns sour. Don't you agree, Scabbers?"
Scabbers convulsed violently, let out a terrified squeak, and actually rolled right off Ron's lap. He scrambled frantically into the shadows under the seat, trembling uncontrollably.
"Blimey! He's terrified!" Ron complained, getting down on his hands and knees to try and grab the rat. "Scabbers has never been this skittish!"
"My apologies." Morn closed the birdcage with zero sincerity. "It seems he's truly afraid of death."
Just as Ron was on his hands and knees searching for the rat, the compartment door slid open again.
This time, it was a girl already dressed in Hogwarts robes.
She had a bushy mane of brown hair, was holding a few books in her arms, and her chin was slightly raised, carrying an air of arrogance and impatience particular to top students.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."
The girl's gaze swept the compartment, finally landing on Ron, who was on the floor.
"Oh, no," Ron straightened up, still holding his old wand. "But I'm looking for a rat."
The girl frowned, her eyes falling on the wand in Ron's hand.
"Are you doing magic?" Her eyes lit up, that overbearing attitude receding slightly, replaced by a scholarly curiosity. "Let's have a look, then."
Ron grabbed Scabbers, looking a bit flustered, but he didn't want to lose face in front of Harry.
He cleared his throat and waved his wand:
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."
There was no flash of light.
Only a muffled grunt from Scabbers hiding under the seat, as if he'd been bonked on the head by the wand.
"Are you serious?" the girl raised an eyebrow, her tone turning sharp. "That can't be a real spell. If it is, it's a really bad one."
Ron's ears turned bright red as he muttered that George had taught it to him.
"I've tried a few simple spells myself, and they've all worked for me," the girl said, ignoring Ron's embarrassment. She walked right over and sat down opposite Harry, staring at his broken glasses like a headmistress.
"For example—"
Hermione drew her wand, her movements as precise as a textbook illustration.
"Oculus Reparo."
A flash of light, and Harry's tattered glasses were instantly repaired.
"Wow," Harry said, taking off his glasses and looking at them in amazement. "Thanks!"
"You're welcome." Hermione put her wand away, straightening her posture, her eyes full of top-student pride. "I'm Hermione Granger. You're Harry Potter, and you're Ron Weasley... and you?"
She finally looked towards Morn, who had been sitting silently in the corner the whole time.
Morn closed the book in his hand, his deep grey eyes calmly meeting Hermione's gaze.
——[Analysis Lock]——
Target: Hermione Granger
Manifested Talents:
[Scholar's Logic (blue)]
[Rule Adherence (White)].
"Moen White," he replied flatly.
"White." Hermione seemed somewhat dissatisfied with Morn's aloofness. She pointed at Ron. "Since you have a wand too, why don't you give it a try? Perhaps you can show Weasley what a real spell should look like."
It was a challenge, and a probe.
Morn did not refuse.
He slowly drew his ebony wand. He didn't look at Ron, but at Hermione, his tone as calm as if he were giving a lecture.
"The reason that color-changing charm failed wasn't just because the incantation was made up."
Morn lightly tapped the wand against the glasses Harry had just had repaired.
"It's also because, Miss Granger, your 'Reparo', while perfectly replicating the book, ignored the material's fatigue. The lenses are repaired, but the internal structure is still fragile."
Hermione frowned. "What? That's exactly how the book teaches it!"
"The book is the foundation. But magic isn't just incantation; it's calculation."
Morn's wrist made an extremely subtle twitch.
In that instant, the blue Talent loaded in the second slot in his mind glowed faintly.
It was the [Absolute Memory] he had plundered from a Mute Bird that had died without uttering a sound, in the discount section of the Diagon Alley Magical Menagerie.
Every tiny movement of Hermione's spellcasting, the trajectory of her magical flow, was perfectly replayed and deconstructed in his mind.
Combined with the wand's inherent [Logic Amplification], Morn instantly completed the spell's modification.
"Watch closely. This isn't repair; it's reconstruction."
"Firmus Immotus — Variant."
The tip of the wand seemed to absorb a sliver of the surrounding light.
A dark, shimmering wave instantly enveloped Harry's glasses.
A metallic glint flashed across the lenses, and the originally cheap plastic frames seemed to be coated with an invisible film.
"Try them." Morn gestured with his chin towards Harry. "Throw them on the floor."
Harry hesitated, but under Morn's certain gaze, he found himself, almost against his will, hurling the glasses hard onto the floor.
*Clang!*
Not the sound of shattering glass, but like a coin hitting stone.
The glasses were completely intact, without even a scratch.
Dead silence filled the compartment.
Hermione shot to her feet, her face, once full of pride, now etched with shock.
She stared fixedly at the glasses on the floor as if looking at an unsolvable math problem.
"A... a variant structure of the Impervius Charm?" Hermione stammered. "But... that's a fourth-year charm! And you altered the magical circuit... how is that possible?"
"If you only stare at the books, Miss Granger..." Morn withdrew his wand, leaning back into his seat again, his demeanor casual. "You'll only ever be a 'good student', not a 'Wizard'."
Hermione stood rooted to the spot, her face flushing crimson. The feeling of being utterly outclassed by a peer, in every aspect, gave her her first taste of the phrase 'there's always someone better'.
"I see."
After a long moment, she finally managed to squeeze out those words. She gave Morn a deep look, then turned and left the compartment, somewhat discomfited.