Ch: 36-45
Chapter 36: An Unequal Thank-You Gift
The air in the Dungeon Classroom was always stagnant and damp, mixed with the fishy scent of pickled slugs and the smell of sulfur emitted from the bottom of the heated cauldrons, forming a unique, suffocating atmosphere.
Moen White expressionlessly reached out his left hand and directly gripped the edge of the pewter cauldron in front of him, which was boiling violently with an external temperature of at least eighty degrees.
He didn't use heat-resistant gloves, nor did he even use a wand to cast a cooling curse.
Sizzle—
The extremely faint sound of skin moisture instantly evaporating was masked by the gurgling sound of the surrounding liquid churning.
Morn looked at his fingertips. That layer of pale skin did not immediately turn red or blister like an ordinary person's upon contact with the scorching metal.
Instead, the passive stress mechanism of [Demonic Skin] instantly locked the epidermal cells, and a layer of invisible stratum corneum hardened like armor, isolating the high temperature.
Aside from feeling a negligible bit of warmth, he even felt that this cauldron could be a bit hotter.
"Perfect thermal conduction blockage." He silently updated his physical data in his mind, steadily moved the cauldron away from the fire source with his wrist, and then picked up the pestle to grind two dried Snake Fangs into powder.
"Potter! If those eyes of yours aren't just decorations, you should have seen that the book says'stir clockwise three times' instead of four!"
From the front of the classroom came Professor Snape's suppressed roar of pain.
He stood by the lectern, his left hand gripping the corner of the desk tightly, his knuckles turning white from the exertion. It was his attempt to divert the intense burning pain coming from the wound on his left leg.
Harry's hand shook in fright, and he nearly poured the entire bottle of Porcupine Quills into the cauldron.
"S-Sorry, Professor."
Just as Harry was scrambling to make amends, Hermione Granger, sitting next to him, did not raise her hand high to show off her perfect product as usual, nor did she look at Harry with that annoying look of disdain.
Taking the opportunity while Snape turned to scold Neville, she quickly nudged Harry with her elbow and then quietly pushed her textbook over, pointing her quill tip at a line of notes regarding "neutralizing agents."
"Add two drops of Dried Nettle Juice," Hermione said urgently, her mouth moving without making a sound. "Hurry, before he looks back."
Harry gave her a grateful look and quickly did as told. The potion, which was about to explode, finally changed from a dangerous purple-red back to a normal deep blue.
Morn, while sprinkling the snake fang powder into his own potion, watched this scene coldly through the swirling steam.
The prototype of the team has been established.
The Troll incident became the catalyst.
Just like in the original story, Granger put aside her arrogance, and Potter and Weasley put aside their prejudices.
This kind of bond based on life and death is much firmer than ordinary classmate friendship.
The bell for the end of class finally rang like a savior.
Students scrambled to pack their things and flee this basement filled with poisonous gas and roars.
Morn unhurriedly bottled his potion, which was a perfect bright turquoise.
When Snape passed by him, he only gave a cold snort, yet couldn't find any fault, and could only hurriedly walk towards his office with that stiff leg—he urgently needed to change his bandages... Walking out of the dungeon, although the air in the entrance hall was a bit cold, it was at least fresh. Morn had just slung his bag over his shoulder when three figures somewhat awkwardly blocked his path.
Harry Potter stood in the middle, Ron Weasley hid on the left, and Hermione Granger stood on the right, tightly clutching that brick-thick copy of "Magical Drafts and Potions."
"Something the matter?" Morn stopped. He was now half a head taller than Harry, and this physical sense of looking down, combined with his cold tone, made Ron instinctively shrink his neck.
"Uh... well..." Harry scratched his messy hair, seemingly organizing his words. "We wanted to say thank you properly. For what happened last night."
"Even though Professor McGonagall gave us points, if it weren't for you..." Ron muttered, his gaze wandering, "that club might have missed its mark, or Harry would have been thrown out and broken his neck."
Morn didn't speak, just quietly looked at them. This silence made the atmosphere a bit awkward.
Hermione took a deep breath, stepped forward, and looked up directly into Morn's eyes. "And that cut." Her voice was very low and her speech was fast. "I went back to check the scene later... The Troll's wrist tendon was severed. That's an advanced application of the Powerful Cutting Curse, right? That's exactly why its club fell out of its hand."
Harry and Ron's mouths hung open in surprise. They had only thought Ron was lucky and hadn't noticed such details at all.
"Keen observation skills, Miss Granger," Morn finally spoke.
There was no panic of being exposed in his tone; instead, it was like he was evaluating a reasonably qualified lab report. "Since you saw it, you should understand that I wasn't saving you."
He leaned down slightly, his deep gray eyes flashing with a metallic luster, his voice so soft that only the four of them could hear. "I just don't like seeing stupid sacrifices. If the savior had been turned into pulp under those circumstances, the next seven years at Hogwarts would become very boring."
Though these words were cold, they were a roundabout admission that he was the one who acted. Hermione bit her lip and nodded with a complex expression. "No matter what your reason was, you saved our lives. We... owe you one."
"Very well. I don't like vague accounts." Morn stood up straight and straightened his collar. "Since we're talking about 'owing,' I happen to have a small suggestion right now that you can use to pay back some of the interest."
"What?" Harry asked warily.
Morn turned around and didn't answer directly, but instead raised a finger and pointed toward the end of the Dungeon Classroom corridor—the direction leading to the Staff Room and Snape's office.
"Didn't you smell anything strange in Potions class just now?"
"Smell?" Ron sniffed. "Besides rotten eggs and the smell of Neville's exploding cauldron, what else?"
"The smell of blood." Morn's voice was calmly chilling. "And Fluffy—the sulfurous stench of that three-headed dog's saliva."
The faces of the three Young Wizards changed instantly.
They suddenly exchanged a terrified look.
"You mean..." Hermione covered her mouth, "Professor Snape, he..."
"Last night when the Troll was causing trouble in the dungeon, all the teachers rushed there, but only one person was very late, and he was limping when he arrived." Morn looked at Harry, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint, ambiguous smile. "And today, his leg injury makes even standing difficult for him. Where do you think he went during that chaotic moment last night? And who did he run into?"
No more needed to be said.
Once the seed of suspicion is planted, it grows wildly in the soil of Gryffindor's sense of justice and impulsiveness.
"The fourth-floor corridor..." Harry murmured to himself, a fire of anger burning in his eyes. "He's trying to get past Fluffy! He wants to go through that Trapdoor! He's the one who let the Troll in to divert attention!"
"That's your deduction; it has nothing to do with me." Morn shrugged, that aloof coldness returning to him. "I'm just reminding you, while you're staring at your enemy, don't forget to look at the mud beneath his feet."
With that, he ignored the three Little Lions who were already lost in a brainstorm and turned to walk towards Ravenclaw Tower.
"Wait!" Harry shouted behind him. "Why are you telling us this?"
Morn didn't turn back, just waved his hand with his back to them. "Because it makes this game more interesting, Potter."
The shadows of the corridor swallowed his upright figure. Behind him, Harry clenched his fists and turned to Ron and Hermione. "He's right. Snape... we have to keep a close eye on him."
Chapter 37: The Thief Beyond the Clamor
The cheers from the distant Quidditch Pitch sounded like rolling thunder, penetrating the thick stone walls of Hogwarts and echoing through the empty Castle corridors, turning into a dull, distant hum.
Moen White's leather shoes stepped on the spiral stone stairs leading to the dungeon.
The air here was noticeably colder than above, carrying a musty scent of long-hidden sunlight and the dampness seeping through the cracks in the stones.
"Gryffindor scores! Johnson puts the Quaffle in the hoop!" Lee Jordan's magically amplified commentary drifted in faintly.
Morn adjusted his cuffs expressionlessly.
He had zero interest in that barbaric sport of chasing a metal ball through the sky on broomsticks.
For him, the only value of this match was that it acted like a giant magnet, drawing all the "eyes" in the Castle—Professors, students, and even ghosts—to that oval pitch.
The Castle now was an undefended vault.
He reached the corner of the dungeon corridor, stopped abruptly, and pressed himself against the shadows of the wall like a boneless snake.
Under the dim torchlight ahead, Argus Filch was crouching on the ground.
This caretaker, who usually spent his days carrying an oil lamp and taking pleasure in catching students, now looked like an old dog with a broken spine.
He pressed his brownish-grey hairy ear tightly against the cold stone floor, trying to catch the sound of any footsteps violating school rules.
Beside him, the once-dreaded Madam Norris was chasing a nearly invisible dust mite.
It let out a silly "meow," its tail brushing Filch's nose, making him sneeze loudly.
"Damn it... damn it..."
Filch rubbed his nose, cursing neurotically, "It must be Peeves... or those Weasley pests... they're laughing at me, Norris, they're laughing at us..."
Morn watched this scene with eyes as cold as ice.
Without his "Spiritual Radar," Filch was just a pathetic Squib. He could no longer smell Night-wanderers from three corridors away as he used to.
[Talent Activated: Ghost Step (Green)]
[Voiceprint Erasure / Breath Masking]
Morn stepped out of the shadows.
He walked boldly down the center of the corridor, not using an Invisibility Charm, but relying solely on step frequency and visual blind spots.
As he passed Filch, the suppressed high body temperature of [Demonic Skin] stirred an extremely faint warm breeze.
Filch snapped his head up, his murky eyes scanning the empty corridor in terror.
"Who?! Who's there?!"
He waved his extinguished oil lamp, making shadows dance wildly on the wall. Madam Norris was startled and rolled onto her back, thinking her master wanted to play.
No response.
Morn was already far away, like a ghost passing through a graveyard without disturbing a speck of dust... two minutes later.
A sturdy, handleless black oak door blocked Morn's path.
A faint bitter scent of herbs and the preservative smell of formalin seeped from the door cracks.
Severus Snape's office.
Which was also the entrance to his private Potion storeroom.
Morn didn't rush to take out his wand. He extended his finger, stopping an inch from the door panel, and slowly closed his eyes.
[Talent Activated: Trinity (blue)]
[Multi-thread Analysis Mode: On]
In Morn's perception, this seemingly ordinary wooden door was instantly deconstructed into countless intersecting lines.
Those were magic circuits.
Snape hadn't let his guard down just because he went to watch the match.
Thread I (Reconnaissance): Scanning Magic nodes.
Found: Door lock covered with a high-intensity [Anti-Alohomora Charm].
Found: [Caterwauling Charm] trigger wires embedded around the door frame. Once the door is forced, the alarm will instantly echo through the entire dungeon.
Thread II (Simulation): Calculating decryption paths.
Option A: Brute force explosion. Time: 0.5 seconds. Consequence: Expelled.
Option B: Physical lockpicking. Time: 3 minutes. Risk: Likely to trigger vibration alarms.
Option C: magic circuit deception. Time: 45 seconds. Risk: Requires extremely high precision.
"Is this the anti-theft awareness of a Potions Master..."
Morn opened his eyes, his deep grey pupils flashing with a blue light like a precision instrument.
"Exquisite, insidious, but not impenetrable."
[Soul Scent (blue)] was activated as an auxiliary plug-in at this moment.
Morn leaned closer to the door crack and sniffed gently.
Beneath the bitter medicinal scent, he detected a tiny smell like static electricity—the "scent" of magicflowing through the alarm spells.
As long as that "burnt" flow wasn't cut, the alarm wouldn't sound.
Morn slid his Holly Wand from his sleeve.
This time, he didn't grip the handle but held the tip of the wand like a scalpel, gently pressing it against the invisible keyhole.
"This is a surgical operation."
He held his breath, controlling the surging magic within him, compressing it into a probe thinner than a hair, and slowly pierced the invisible defense net.
Zzz... a very faint sound of electricity crackled in the air.
Fine beads of sweat broke out on Morn's forehead. This was a massive test for his current magiccontrol.
In the vision of [Trinity], he threaded through countless red alarm wires, carefully nudging the magical latch hidden in the deepest part.
Three millimeters to the left.
Lift two degrees.
Inject magic, simulating Snape's door-opening frequency.
If anyone passed by, they would see a first-year student performing a bizarre "acupuncture" on a door.
Time ticked away second by second.
Cheers from the distant pitch erupted again; it seemed someone had scored a difficult goal.
At the moment the sound wave arrived.
Click.
A dull sound, like gears locking into place, sounded exceptionally pleasant in the dead-silent corridor.
The scalp-tingling sensation of static electricity vanished.
The black oak door creaked slightly, revealing a pitch-black gap.
Morn withdrew his wand and let out a long, hot breath.
A triumphant smile played on his lips, his eyes flashing with a greedy light.
"Open Sesame."
He reached out, pushed open the door to the treasure vault, and his figure instantly vanished into the darkness filled with the scent of medicine.
Chapter 38: Demiguise Hair and the Stolen Vault
The heavy oak door closed silently behind him, completely cutting off the faint sound of the wind in the corridor.
The air inside the office seemed frozen, filled with the pungent smell of formalin, the bitter dust of dried herbs, and the stale scent of countless magical creature remains mixed together.
Moen White stood in the darkness without lighting the tip of his wand.
His pupils dilated instantly, covered with a faint layer of pale blue luster.
[Talent Activation: Spiritual Plunder (Active Mode)]
[Visual Filter: High-Energy Substance Screening]
In his vision, this originally eerie and terrifying Potion storage room instantly transformed into a colorful "buffet."
The hundreds of glass jars on the shelves shed their original forms, leaving only the spiritual radiance contained within.
Those Boomslang Skins and Bicorn Horns that Snape cherished as treasures were merely clusters of dim, grayish-white mist in Morn's eyes—dead husks that only retained medicinal value, tasteless to consume.
"All trash."
Morn's gaze swept over them coldly, not lingering for even a second.
His sight finally locked onto the deepest part of the room, where there were two distinct light sources, like lighthouses burning in a dark ocean.
One cluster was a violent, magma-like pulsing deep red.
The other was a flowing, ethereal silver, like moonlight.
"Refuel first."
Morn walked straight toward the corner emitting the red light.
The surface of the black iron freezer was covered in a thick layer of frost; even through his gloves, his fingertips could feel the bone-chilling cold that sought to freeze his blood.
He didn't waste time undoing the freezing charm on it.
The muscle fibers under [Demonic Skin] tightened instantly, making a sound like a tightening noose.
With a tooth-aching sound of twisting metal, he pried open the frozen iron door by sheer force.
Crack.
A white mist of cold gushed out.
At the center of this extreme cold lay two bright red Fire Ash Serpent Eggs, their surfaces covered in cracks.
Morn quickly grabbed one of them.
The sensation was extremely strange, like a ball of fire wrapped in ice. The high temperature on the egg's surface instantly scorched the leather of his glove, emitting a burnt smell.
Without hesitation, he tilted his head back and tossed the dangerous object, capable of starting a small fire, into his mouth.
Gulp.
There was no chewing.
The moment the egg slid down his esophagus, the shell shattered.
A terrifying heat flow, like liquid lead, exploded within his body; at that moment, Morn felt as if his internal organs had been ignited.
His skin turned red instantly, and countless dark red vascular patterns emerged under his pale skin. He was like a piece of red-hot iron, radiating incredible heat in this cold basement.
[Warning: Thermal Overload.]
[Photosynthetic Digestion: Forced Conversion...]
Every cell in his body was cheering, screaming.
That violent thermal energy was domineeringly dismantled and compressed, then stuffed into the hungry [Demonic Skin] like force-feeding a duck.
After only ten seconds, Morn exhaled a scorching, turbid breath smelling of sulfur. The red glow on his skin quickly faded, replaced by a denser, tougher cold jade-like texture.
The sense of hunger completely vanished.
Energy Reserve: 120%.
"Next is the main course."
Morn licked his somewhat dry lips and turned his gaze to the crystal box emitting a silver glow.
He walked to the shelf and looked at the exquisite sealed container. Inside was not a liquid, but a mass of silver hair that looked like silk yet moved like flowing water. Even in a still state, it drifted slightly, as if it were an entity that did not exist in this dimension.
Demiguise hair.
Morn reached out both hands, his fingertips lightly pressing against the cold surface of the crystal box.
As [Trinity] operated at full power, deep blue data streams flashed across his eyes.
The system's feedback was no longer a single prompt, but a dazzling "menu."
——[Analysis Lock]——
Target: Demiguise Hair (Alchemical Material · High Purity)
Status: Active Dormancy / Spiritual Residue 89%
Manifested Talent List:
[Precognitive Evasion (Purple · Incomplete)]:
Description: The core soul Talent of the Demiguise, capable of absolute evasion by perceiving future time fragments.
Status: Unplunderable. (Lacks a complete biological soul carrier; hair alone cannot carry the laws of time.)
[Visual Deception (blue · High Grade)]:
Description: Distorts surrounding light and color spectrums, creating a retinal-level illusion of "non-existence" for observers.
Status: Perfect Fit. Can fuse with [Ghost Step] to evolve into "Optical Stealth."
[Magic Insulation (blue)]:
Description: Extremely high magical inertia; forms an anti-magic layer on the skin surface, capable of repelling most detection and direct damage magic.
Status: Perfect Fit. Can fuse with [Demonic Skin] to significantly increase magic resistance.
[Silk Touch (White)]:
Description: Extremely smooth, does not tangle easily.
Status: Trash... "As expected, prophecy cannot be touched..."
Morn looked at the grayed-out purple Talent, a flash of expected regret in his eyes. That was an authority involving the rules of time, and a few hairs indeed could not carry it.
However, as for the remaining two blue Talents... "Only children make choices."
Morn's gaze became greedy and sharp. Although [Demonic Skin] had powerful physical defense, it only provided basic reduction for magic resistance. If [Magic Insulation] were added, it would be equivalent to wearing a permanent Shield Charm.
"Take it all."
With a thought, his core mind acted like a wide net, fiercely covering those two blue light clusters.
[Dual Lock.]
[Commencing Plunder.]
Buzz——
A vibration that only the soul could hear echoed in the air.
The originally shimmering silver hair inside the crystal box suddenly seemed to have its life sucked away by some invisible vacuum.
Two distinct forces drilled into his body through Morn's fingers.
One was a cool, slippery fluid that surged through his nervous system, making Morn feel his body become light and ethereal.
The other was a heavy, numbing current that merged into his epidermal cells, causing the newly strengthened skin to tighten and mutate once more, as if every inch of skin had become an invisible shield.
[Plunder Successful.]
[Talent Advancement I: [Ghost Step (Green)] ➜ [Shadow Stealth (blue)]]
New Effect: Light distortion.
When stationary or moving slowly in shadows, gain "Visual Invisibility" effect.
[Talent Advancement II: [Demonic Skin (blue)] ➜ [Demonic Skin · magic Resistance (blue+)]]
New Effect: magic resistance increased to 35%. Possesses a certain probability of a "deflection" effect against targeted curses.
In the crystal box, the originally priceless silver hair had now turned into a withered, dry mess, completely losing its magical luster.
Just as Morn withdrew his hand.
"Whoa—!!!"
A mountain-shaking roar of cheers penetrated the thick ground, faintly reaching the basement. Following that was Lee Jordan's roar, audible even from kilometers away: "Harry Potter caught the Snitch!! The match is over! Gryffindor wins!!"
"So fast?"
Morn's gaze narrowed.
The end of the match meant Snape would return here within ten minutes.
He glanced at the crystal box containing the "waste." If he took it away directly, Snape would immediately know he had been robbed.
But what if... it was due to improper storage?
Morn drew his wand and tapped lightly on the seal of the crystal box lid. "Diffindo — Micro-control."
Click.
A very fine crack appeared on one side of the sealant.
This level of damage was enough for the magic in the Demiguise hair to "naturally evaporate" within a short time.
It was a perfect trap. Snape would only be furious at his own negligence or some accidental magical resonance, and would not immediately suspect that someone could precisely drain the rule-based power from within without triggering any alarms.
"A perfect crime leaves no trace."
Morn took one last look around this office full of treasures.
Taking any more would lead to discovery; greed must serve reason.
Chapter 39: The Furnace-like Night
He turned and walked toward the door, a thought flashing through his mind.
[Talent Activated: Shadow Stealth (blue)]
There were no light or shadow effects typical of a spell.
Morn's figure didn't vanish completely; instead, it became like a translucent, distorted heat haze.
When he stepped into the shadow in the corner, his entire being instantly merged with the darkness, erasing even the sense of space he had occupied.
The door slid open silently, then closed just as silently.
Silence returned to the basement.
Only the box of withered, discarded hair and the freezer missing one egg remained, quietly awaiting the Potions Master's Thunderous Wrath.
When Moen White pushed open the archway of the Ravenclaw Common Room, which was painted with a Star Chart,
his fingertip left a clear, damp, misty fingerprint on the Bronze Eagle Knocker.
The Castle was currently in a state of revelry due to Gryffindor's victory, but inside Ravenclaw Tower, it was quiet save for the whistle of the wind sweeping across the window frames.
Morn didn't linger in the Common Room; he strode quickly across the deep blue carpet, even having to consciously control the force of his steps.
The magma-like energy surging through his body made him feel as light as a balloon, giving him the illusion that he might shatter the floor with every step.
"Hoo..."
He pushed open the dormitory door, leaned heavily against the door panel, and exhaled a mouthful of stale air.
A faint smell of sulfur, similar to a match being struck, instantly permeated the air.
It was too hot.
The side effects of consuming the Fire Ash Serpent Egg were reaching their second peak.
If the initial sensation was his internal organs being set alight, now the heat had penetrated every bone and every inch of his skin.
Morn felt less like a person and more like a steel furnace forcibly stuffed inside human skin.
He ripped off his tie, his fingers trembling slightly as he unbuttoned his robes.
His once neat shirt was now completely soaked, clinging tightly to his back and revealing the muscle contours beneath, which were flushed with an eerie, reddish hue.
[Warning: Body Temperature 42.5°C]
[Demonic Skin - Anti-Magic (blue+): Structural Reorganization in progress... Current progress 85%]
"Damn it... how did Snape manage to preserve this thing..."
Morn gritted his teeth and stumbled into the dormitory's attached washroom.
He didn't take off his clothes, nor did he have time to adjust the temperature knob; he simply twisted the shower head on, pulling the handle all the way to the "Extreme Cold" setting.
Shhhh—!!!
The moment the icy water poured down, it didn't make a crisp splashing sound, but rather erupted in a fierce screeching noise, like a red-hot iron block being dropped into a bucket of water.
White steam filled the entire cramped space within a second.
Morn braced his hands against the cold tiled wall, lowering his head and letting the bone-chilling cold water wash over his scorching hot neck and back.
Water droplets that landed on his skin were instantly vaporized by his astonishing body temperature before they could even slide off.
Amidst the swirling mist, layers of flowing, scale-like dark patterns faintly emerged on the surface of his skin.
That was the [Magic Insulation] characteristic plundered from the Demiguise hair, undergoing a painful and violent Fusion with the originally rough and tough Demonic Skin.
Pain. An intense pain of skin being torn apart and forcibly stitched back together.
But accompanying it was power.
Morn could clearly feel his epidermis becoming denser and smoother.
The Troll-like roughness disappeared, replaced by a texture similar to a high-strength alchemical polymer—indestructible and repelling all Magic Erosion.
He didn't know how much time had passed.
Until the mirror in the washroom was completely obscured by mist, and until the searing heat radiating from the depths of his bone marrow finally subsided into a gentle warm current.
Morn turned off the faucet.
Silence returned to the world, leaving only the sound of water dripping onto the floor.
He raised his head, wiped the water droplets from his face, and looked at the blurry mirror. He reached out and wiped the mist from the surface.
The person in the mirror still had pale skin and deep gray eyes.
But upon closer inspection, one would notice an extremely fine, almost imperceptible silver halo in the depths of his pupils—the residual Visual Rules of the Demiguise.
— [Status Update] —
Talent Slot III (Fusion Complete): [Demonic Skin - Anti-Magic (blue+)]
Physical Aspect: Density permanently increased. Body temperature permanently maintained at 38.5°C (High Metabolism State).
Magical Aspect: Epidermis forms a "Magic Repulsion Field." Provides 35% damage reduction and Projectile Deflection against Targeted Jinxes (such as Stupefy, Expelliarmus).
Evaluation: You are now a breathing Dragonhide Shield.
"Not only did I not die, but I benefited from the disaster."
Morn looked at his hands, which were still slightly flushed even after the cold water, and a tired but satisfied smile curved his lips.
He casually cast a Drying Charm; the moisture on his clothes instantly evaporated, leaving them warm and dry.
Just then, noisy footsteps and excited chatter came from outside the dormitory.
It was his roommates—Terry Boot and Michael Corner—returning.
"...Merlin's beard! Did you see Harry swallow the Snitch? He almost choked!"
"But I bet Snape's expression looked like he'd swallowed a fly..."
The door was pushed open.
A blast of cold air rushed in with the two boys, but they were immediately silenced by the lingering heat wave in the dormitory.
"Whoa!"
Michael Corner stopped, waving his hand in surprise, trying to dispel the humid, stuffy air. "Why does it smell like a sauna in here? And... why is there a sulfur smell?"
Terry Boot sniffed, his gaze falling on Morn, who had just emerged from the washroom.
"White? Didn't you go celebrate? Why is your face so red?"
Morn was currently sitting at his desk, holding a copy of *Medieval Potion Illustrated*. His face was indeed abnormally flushed, and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead; his whole body radiated an astonishing amount of heat.
"I was conducting an experiment."
Morn didn't look up, his voice hoarse and carrying the languor of someone who had just endured intense pain. "It was about the Catalytic Reaction of Salamander Blood in high-temperature environments... there was a small accident, and the Cauldron overheated."
He pointed to the empty Cauldron by the window, which had already been cleaned.
It was a perfect excuse. Ravenclaw students are always obsessed with dangerous experiments; it was perfectly reasonable.
"Heavens, you really should be careful." Terry didn't doubt him, but rather sounded envious. "No wonder it's so warm in here. The corridor outside is freezing like an ice cellar."
Morn didn't elaborate.
He felt the unfully digested "Kindling" inside him still burning slowly in his stomach, continuously supplying energy to his limbs and body.
This winter might be cold for everyone else.
But for the current Moen White, the entire Hogwarts was merely a huge, comfortably temperature-controlled Hunting Ground.
"Get some sleep early."
Morn closed his book, his silver-gray eyes appearing exceptionally profound under the flickering candlelight.
"In Potion Class tomorrow, I think Professor Snape's mood... will certainly be spectacular."
Chapter 40: The Judge in Potion Class
The silver knife sliced through the dried Valerian Root, emitting an extremely faint, rustling sound, like sand grains rubbing together.
A drowsiness-inducing, bitter herbal smell seeped out with the sap, permeating the damp and cold Dungeon Classroom.
Moen White kept his eyes lowered, his hand movements as precise as if performing a delicate surgery.
Every piece of root was cut into perfectly uniform 2-millimeter-thick slices, neatly arranged on the cutting board.
But he wasn't paying attention to these plant corpses.
His skin was still burning hot.
[Demonic Skin] and [Photosynthetic Digestion] were working together to suppress the residual violent thermal energy from the Fire Ash Serpent Egg.
To conceal this abnormal body temperature, he had to button his collar tightly, even though sweat was already sliding down his spine, soaking the back of his shirt.
"Is this what you call slicing, Potter?"
A soft, slick, yet bitingly cold voice sounded from the front row of the classroom.
Professor Severus Snape, like a giant, angry blob of black oil, silently glided up to Harry Potter's desk.
The breathing of the entire class paused for a moment.
Snape today was more terrifying than ever before.
His complexion was as pale as a corpse, his eye sockets deep, and in those hollow black eyes burned a frantic rage born of extreme frustration.
His left leg was still somewhat stiff, but he seemed to completely ignore the pain, acting only like a wounded viper, eager to find an outlet for his fury.
"Tell me, Potter."
Snape extended a bony finger and pinched a slightly uneven piece of Valerian Root from Harry's cutting board, as if holding a filthy cockroach. "Do you think stirring your pathetic fame into the cauldron can substitute for the most basic Potion processing skills?"
"I—" Harry was about to argue.
"Insolence to a teacher. Gryffindor loses five points." Snape didn't even give him a chance to speak, tossing the piece of herb back onto the desk. "If your Shrinking Solution is not orange by the end of class, even the slightest color difference... you will know the consequences."
Only the gurgling sound of boiling liquid in the cauldrons and Harry's suppressed gasps remained in the air.
Morn didn't look up, continuing to process the materials in his hands.
He sneered inwardly.
Snape was currently in a state of 'furious impotence'.
That "accidentally damaged" Crystal Box and that entire cabinet of ruined materials had caused him to suffer a huge, silent loss.
He couldn't publicly claim a theft, because that would mean admitting that his defensive charms were treated as nothing by an unknown intruder.
Therefore, he could only vent his anger on these poor first-year students, trying to find a clue to the 'thief' in their fear.
Suddenly.
That malicious aura, smelling of Potion Preservatives, approached.
Snape didn't linger long at Harry's spot; he turned around, his black robes billowing like a vulture surveying its territory, and walked straight toward the Ravenclaw table.
Finally, those pointed black leather shoes stopped within Morn's line of sight.
"Mr. White."
Morn's fingers paused for the slightest moment before sweeping the last slice of Valerian Root into the cauldron.
"Professor." He looked up, his expression calm; apart from the fine beads of sweat on his brow, there was no visible abnormality.
Snape said nothing.
His eyes, as deep as dry wells, stared fixedly at Morn, as if trying to peer directly through his skull.
An invisible, icy mental pressure instantly enveloped Morn.
This was the prelude to Legilimency—though not a violent invasion, it was an extremely aggressive scrutiny of the gaze, attempting to catch even the slightest hint of guilt or panic.
[Warning: Mental probe scan detected.]
[Talent Activated: Trinity (blue)]
[Thought Splitting Mode: Activated]
Deep within Morn's mind, his thoughts instantly split into two parallel rivers.
Surface Facade:
This layer of thought was displayed without reservation in his eyes.
It was the purity and focus of an 'academic fanatic,' calculating the cauldron temperature, the annoyance caused by the Fire Ash Serpent Egg's thermal energy affecting his body, and a slight dissatisfaction with Snape's interruption of his experiment.
Deep Core: The real Morn's mind was sitting atop the high tower of his Mental Palace, coldly looking down upon Snape's probing. The 'thief' who stole the Treasury and swallowed the Demiguise hair was tightly wrapped in layers upon layers of data streams in the darkest corner.
"You look very hot."
Snape narrowed his eyes, his gaze lingering for a second on Morn's sweat-covered neck. "If I recall correctly, the Dungeons are only twelve degrees right now."
"I am practicing a high-intensity magical control method, Professor."
Morn's voice was hoarse yet steady; he even proactively met Snape's gaze, his eyes clear to the bottom. "This causes a temporary rise in body temperature. If you feel this is affecting classroom discipline, I can go outside for some cold air."
This was an airtight lie. It was common knowledge at Hogwarts that Ravenclaw students often developed all sorts of bizarre side effects from their studies.
Snape stared at him for a full five seconds.
That prickling sensation, like needles on the skin, persisted.
Snape tried to find fear, evasion, or that emotion called 'guilt' in his eyes.
But there was none.
Apart from that damned, repulsive rationality and calmness, there was nothing in the boy's eyes. It was like a stone, or a mirror.
"...Control your magic, White."
Snape finally withdrew his gaze, his voice carrying a hint of disappointment and even deeper disgust. "I do not want my classroom to explode because of your foolish experiments. Ravenclaw... if there is even the slightest mistake, ten points deducted."
He spun around abruptly, his black robes whipping up a gust of cold air as he lunged toward the next victim—Neville Longbottom.
"Longbottom! Why haven't you peeled your Slug?!"
Hoo... As Snape left, the high-pressure field solidified around Morn finally dissipated.
He felt the sweat on his back beginning to cool, sticking clammy against his skin.
Crisis averted.
Morn picked up the stirring rod and stirred the liquid, which had achieved a perfect bright orange color, clockwise in the cauldron.
The liquid spun, emitting a faint sweet fragrance.
He lowered his head, using the steam as cover, and the corner of his mouth curled into a faint, mocking smile.
"You are looking for a ghost, Professor."
Morn whispered inwardly, looking at his own deep grey eyes reflected in the cauldron.
"And ghosts cannot be caught."
Chapter 41: The Ghost Between the Shelves
The library at midnight was like a giant, silent tomb.
Countless tiny dust particles suspended in the air, mixed with the decaying sour smell of parchment and the damp, moldy scent of leather spines, creating a unique, suffocating sense of stillness.
Moen White stepped onto the cold floor barefoot.
There were no footsteps.
[Ghost Step] perfectly swallowed the vibration of his weight hitting the ground, making him like a wisp of black smoke, silently gliding past the rows of bookshelves that towered like tombstones.
But he hadn't come here today just for those chained books in the Restricted Section.
He was testing.
"Tap, tap, tap."
An extremely faint but hammer-like sound of footsteps came from ahead in the silence. It was accompanied by the rustling of a feather duster sweeping across bookshelves and a strong smell of cheap beeswax polish.
It was Madam Irma Pince.
This librarian, who looked like a malnourished vulture, had a morbidly protective attitude toward books and possessed hearing even sharper than Filch's.
She was carrying a dim oil lamp, patrolling the edge of the Restricted Section.
Morn stopped in his tracks.
He didn't look for a blind spot behind the shelves or try to crawl under a table as he usually would.
Instead, he stood in a narrow patch of shadow between two tall bookshelves, directly facing the direction Madam Pince was coming from.
This was insane.
If Madam Pince took five more steps and raised her oil lamp, the light would shine directly onto Morn's face.
Morn's pupils contracted slightly, his heart beating powerfully in his chest, pumping scalding blood under his [Demonic Skin] throughout his body.
He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled the air from his lungs until his ribcage was completely still.
[Talent Activated: Shadow Stealth (blue)]
[Visual Deception Module: Loading]
There was none of the cold, magical coating sensation of an Invisibility Charm.
Morn felt as if the surface of his skin was covered in a flowing, extremely slick film of water.
This film was undergoing some strange physical resonance with the surrounding light.
Madam Pince walked over.
The orange halo from that swaying oil lamp, like a puddle of spreading sewage, slowly crawled up Morn's toes, then his knees, and finally covered his entire body.
Morn didn't blink.
From his perspective, the world remained clear.
But within the physical laws of light, he had vanished.
The photons that should have hit his robes underwent an extremely minute deflection the moment they touched that "Demiguise force field."
Like water flowing around a stubborn rock in a river, they smoothly glided past the contours of Morn's body and projected onto the bookshelves behind him.
Madam Pince stopped less than half a meter away from Morn.
Her mean-spirited wrinkles were clearly visible in the lamplight; Morn could even smell the old mothball scent on her.
"...Strange."
Madam Pince narrowed her eyes, her gaze passing directly through Morn's chest and landing on the spine of a large volume titled Moste Potente Potions behind him. "I clearly heard breathing..."
She raised the feather duster in her hand and irritably swept it across that row of books several times.
Whoosh—that dusty ostrich feather duster, carrying a faint gust of wind, swept directly past Morn's left ear.
A few tiny down feathers even brushed against his cheek, bringing a hair-raising itch.
Morn remained as motionless as a stone statue.
The absolute rationality of [Trinity] suppressed all instinctive reactions to back away or blink.
"Damn Peeves..."
Madam Pince muttered, her cloudy eyes rolling in their sockets, ultimately finding nothing unusual.
She lowered the hand holding the oil lamp and turned toward another row of bookshelves.
"If I catch you tearing books, I'll stuff you into an inkpot..."
As that hunched figure gradually receded, the orange halo was swallowed by the darkness once more.
Morn slowly exhaled the hot air he had been holding in his chest.
The sensation of light warping and refracting on the surface of his skin just now felt like being wrapped in a giant soap bubble—both illusory and full of power.
"Visual deception logic established."
Morn looked down at his hand. In the darkness, his outline was still somewhat blurred, like an unstable heatwave.
"As long as I don't move violently or initiate an attack, I am non-existent in the shadows."
This was much more advanced than Harry Potter's invisibility cloak.
The invisibility cloak was an external object; it could slip off, be snatched away, or even be seen through by certain spells, like Moody's magical eye.
But this "skin" was a part of his body.
Testing concluded.
Next was the real business.
Morn turned, his eyes—enhanced by [Nerve Swiftness]—glowing with a faint blue light in the darkness, like a cat patrolling its territory.
He didn't need a Lighting Charm. This faint moonlight was clear enough for him.
His fingers slid quickly over the dusty, chained spines.
Secrets of the Darkest Art... too basic.
Magick Moste Evile... no interest.
The Rifts and Mending of the Soul... Morn's finger stopped.
He pulled out this black book, whose cover felt like it was made of some kind of human skin.
The pages weren't locked, but the moment he opened it, a cold, decaying, moldy breath rushed at him, as if what was sandwiched inside weren't pages but slices of dried corpses.
"The construction principles of soul containers..."
Morn quickly skimmed the table of contents by the snowy light streaming in through the window.
"...The possibility of mirrors as spiritual mediums... the physical projection of illusory desires..."
Found it.
The underlying logic of the mirror of erised.
The corner of Morn's mouth curled into a cold arc.
A week until Christmas.
When Dumbledore brought out that mirror as a "trial" for the savior, he would be the only, invisible audience member.
He closed the book and didn't take it with him.
[Trinity] had already recorded those key pages into his mind like a photocopier.
"Merry Christmas, Professor Dumbledore."
Morn's figure became blurred and distorted again, finally melting completely between the two rows of tall bookshelves.
Only a black leather book, returned to its original place, remained, emitting a faint chill in the silence.
Chapter 42: The Burning Ice Plain
A hexagonal snowflake spiraled down from the leaden gray sky, finally landing on the palm of Morn's outstretched hand.
It did not linger for even a second.
Sizzle.
With an extremely faint sound, like a water droplet falling on a red-hot iron plate, the crystal-clear ice crystal instantly turned into a wisp of white steam upon touching the skin of his palm, dissipating in the biting cold wind.
Morn stood on a rock by the Black Lake, covered in thick snow.
By mid-December, Hogwarts had been completely engulfed by a rare blizzard. The lake's surface was frozen into a hard, gray ice, and the distant Forbidden Forest resembled a silent seabed made of white coral.
A fierce wind mixed with ice chips howled past, cutting into any exposed surface like blades.
But Morn wore only a thin white shirt and an open school robe, not even a scarf. His neck and collarbone were directly exposed to the minus ten-degree air, yet they showed a healthy, even excessively ruddy complexion.
"Still too hot."
Morn looked down at his feet.
The thick snow had collapsed where he stood, forming a smooth-edged depression. If one looked closely, they would see that the snow around his leather shoes wasn't compacted but had melted into black, muddy water, steaming faintly.
Although the Fire Ash Serpent Egg inside him had long been fully digested, the biological modifications it left behind were permanent.
[Demonic Skin·Anti-magic (blue+)] locked his basal body temperature at 38.5°C.
Now, he was like a constant-temperature furnace wrapped in human skin. This raging blizzard was nothing more than a pleasantly cool shower to him.
He took a deep breath of the air, fragrant with pine needles and sharp with ice, letting the cold current cool the heated blood vessels in his lungs, then turned and walked towards the Castle... On the stone bridge leading to the Castle gates, students were bundled up like moving balls of color.
Hermione Granger was struggling against the wind, a thick Gryffindor-colored scarf wrapped around her neck, her face red from the cold, carrying a basket of cold-resistant figs she had rescued from Herbology Class.
When she saw Morn walking towards her, she froze for a moment, even forgetting to hunch her shoulders.
"Morn?" Hermione's voice trembled slightly in the wind, from the cold, "You... where's your coat? And your scarf? Are you mad?"
Ron huddled beside her, teeth chattering, looking at Morn's thin, wind-billowed shirt as if he were an alien: "Blimey... I feel cold just looking at you. Has your Warming Charm worn off?"
"It hasn't."
Morn stopped, his voice steady and mellow, without a hint of a tremor.
When he spoke, the white breath he exhaled was much thicker than anyone else's, like a plume of burning smoke.
"It's the latest result of Ravenclaw alchemical research—the Biological Thermal Cycling Method," he casually fabricated a term that sounded profound, a polite smile at the corner of his mouth, "It generates heat by vibrating muscle fibers at high frequency. It's a bit tiring, but more flexible than heavy wool."
Hermione looked at him suspiciously, but when her gaze swept over Morn's neck, which showed no goosebumps, and his hands, which remained dry and warm in the cold wind, the suspicion in her eyes turned into a kind of awe for "advanced magic."
"Alright... Ravenclaw always has some odd ideas. But if I were you, I'd still go to Madam Pomfrey for a Pepperup Potion."
"Thanks for the advice."
Morn gave a slight nod and passed by this group of shivering ordinary humans.
That sense of physiological superiority became particularly clear at this moment... The Great Hall was as warm as spring, with hundreds of candles floating on the ceiling, illuminating the golden plates. But the air was filled not only with the aroma of roast turkey but also with a restless energy of departure.
Professor McGonagall was moving between the long tables with a piece of parchment, registering the names of students staying at school for Christmas.
"How unfortunate, Potter."
Draco Malfoy's drawling, mocking voice cut through the noisy crowd, "It seems no one loves you, not even a place to go for Christmas. If you like, I can have my father send you a piece of moldy cheese as charity for an orphan."
Crabbe and Goyle burst into a chorus of stupid laughter.
Harry's face flushed crimson, his fists clenched white, but this time he didn't draw his wand, only stared fixedly at his plate.
Morn sat at the Ravenclaw table not far away, elegantly cutting into a steak drenched in gravy.
Professor McGonagall approached Morn.
"Mr. White?" Her stern but concerned gaze fell upon Morn, "Your holiday plans?"
"I'm staying at school, Professor."
Morn set down his knife and fork, picked up a quill, and signed his name in cursive on the not-so-long list.
The ink bled slightly on the parchment, emitting a faint scent of oak.
"Very well." Professor McGonagall nodded, seemingly unsurprised by this Ravenclaw top student's diligence, "If you need to use the library, remember to leave before eight in the evening."
"I will."
Morn replied with a smile.
If one didn't count the invisibility cloak, he would indeed follow the rules.
After Professor McGonagall left, Morn looked up, his gaze passing over the crowd and landing once more on the far end of the Gryffindor table.
Harry and Ron had just signed as well.
The entire Castle was about to empty out. No annoying classes, no crowded corridors, even most Professors would go home for the holidays.
This massive, secret-filled ancient Castle would become a huge, empty nest for the next two weeks.
And that mirror of erised, which could reflect one's deepest desires, should have already been moved by Dumbledore into a disused classroom by now, awaiting its destined visitor.
"Christmas..."
Morn raised his pumpkin juice. The cool liquid slid down his throat, suppressing a surge of heat in his stomach.
His eyes, hidden behind the rim of the cup, grew deep and covetous.
"The best gifts always require fetching them yourself."
Outside the window, the snowstorm grew fiercer.
White snowflakes beat frantically against the large French windows, sealing the world in a vast expanse of white.
And Moen White, like a heat source lurking beneath the ice plain, quietly awaited the fall of night.
The next day.
The Ravenclaw Tower on Christmas morning was even quieter than usual.
The blizzard was like a white curtain, obscuring everything between heaven and earth.
Moen White sat cross-legged on his bed, three Talents floating before him—the scouting-type Talents he had accumulated since entering school.
[Soul Scent], [Biological Radar], and [Malice Perception].
As his understanding of the magical world deepened,
The drawbacks of these low-tier Talents had become glaringly apparent: they relied too heavily on a single medium (scent, heartbeat, emotion). Once encountering a master of Occlumency like Snape, or a Dark Arts trap with no vital signs, they would instantly fail.
Chapter 43: Fabric of Death and Logical Paradox
"Tonight is a special night. I need a pair of eyes that can see through 'nothingness'."
Morn closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking deep into the system.
His core of thought acted like a precision furnace, forcibly compressing the three glowing spheres together.
[Talent Fusion program initiated...]
[Base: Perception-type.]
[Fusing... Removing impurities... Restructuring architecture...]
There were no world-shaking light effects, only a crisp click from deep within his mind, like the sound of glass shattering and then reassembling.
When Morn opened his eyes again, his field of vision had undergone a world-shaking change.
The originally flat world instantly became three-dimensional.
He could "see" the faint ripples in the air caused by Michael Corner's steady breathing in the next dormitory.
He could "see" the vibrations of a spider spinning its web five meters beneath the floorboards.
He could even perceive the flow trajectories of magic dust in the air that were invisible to the naked eye.
[Talent Generated: Omni-Perception (blue)]
Effect: Constructs a high-precision "spiritual/physical" dual 3D model within a 50-meter radius of the user. No longer dependent on a single sense, it performs an all-encompassing scan of all matter and energy fluctuations within the space.
"Very good."
Morn stood up from his bed and walked to the window.
Even with his eyes closed, he clearly perceived the trajectory of every snowflake hitting the glass outside.
"Now, that 'non-existent' guest should be about to head out."
...Midnight.
The fourth-floor corridor of the Castle.
This was the mandatory path to the library's Restricted Section.
Morn pressed his entire body into the shadow of a one-eyed Witch statue. [Shadow Stealth] made him look like a blurred patch of shadow cast by the statue.
He was like a patient hunter, waiting quietly.
Suddenly.
A very faint sound, like the friction of cloth, came from the end of the corridor.
Next, a strange phenomenon occurred in the thick dust on the floor—it was pressed down by an invisible foot, forming a clear footprint.
He's here.
Morn's eyes instantly lit up with blue light.
[Omni-Perception: Maximum Power]
However, a shocking scene occurred.
In the model within his mind, the location of that footprint... was empty.
No, it wasn't just empty.
The data fed back by [Omni-Perception] showed that the spot was just perfectly normal air.
There was no humanoid outline, no trace of magic concealment, and even the resistance data for air flow showed "unobstructed."
If Morn were blind and relied solely on this blue skill, he would absolutely believe there was nothing there.
But his naked eyes could see the footprint.
His ears could hear Harry Potter's nervous, hurried breathing.
"Interesting..."
Morn's pupils contracted sharply.
"My skill shows the 'reality' is air, but physical facts show someone is there."
"This isn't just optical invisibility; this is deception at the level of causality. It's telling the world: 'No one is here,' and my blue Talent... believed it."
This is a Deathly Hallow.
This overbearing suppression of rules made Morn feel a shiver rising from the depths of his soul. It wasn't fear, but extreme greed when facing a higher-dimensional power.
He made no sound, simply trailing far behind that "logical paradox" like a true ghost, watching the invisible savior clumsily traverse the corridor, nearly knocking over a suit of armor... The library, the Restricted Section.
Harry revealed himself.
He casually placed the shimmering silver-grey cloak on a desk, picked up a lamp, and began searching for clues among the shelves related to "Nicolas Flamel."
Morn stood atop a bookshelf ten meters away, looking down from a height at the cloak abandoned on the table.
The thing looked like water, yet also like smoke. It flowed quietly on the tabletop, as if it were a substance that did not belong to this mortal world.
[Analysis Lock] Target: invisibility cloak
Grade: Gold · Legendary (Rule-level)
Manifested Talent:
[Existence Erasure (Gold)]
Description: Not simple optical refraction, but the temporary erasure of the covered object's "concept of existence" from the observer's cognitive logic. The Death's shroud, a lie that deceives all things.
Warning: Host's current soul strength (Mortal-level) is extremely insufficient.
Prediction: Forcibly devouring this will cause the host's own sense of existence to collapse; you will become a "ghost" that can never be observed, until your self-awareness dissipates.
"...I can only look, but not eat?"
Morn gripped the beam of the bookshelf beneath him tightly, his knuckles turning white from the exertion.
The hunger of staring at a grand feast without being able to pick up chopsticks made the acid in his stomach churn wildly.
"One day..."
Just then.
Harry pulled out a large black book and opened it.
"AAAAAAHHH—!!!" A piercing scream, like a vengeful spirit demanding a life, instantly shattered the silence of the library. The book vibrated madly in Harry's hands, letting out a noise loud enough to wake the entire Castle.
"Fool."
Morn cursed coldly.
He immediately withdrew his greedy gaze, shrank his body back, and merged completely into the shadows of the ceiling.
A few seconds later, Filch's raspy voice came from the corridor: "Someone's here! In the Restricted Section! The lamp is still hot!"
Following that were Snape's hurried footsteps.
Harry was terrified.
He grabbed the invisibility cloak and threw it over himself haphazardly. In that instant, he vanished from Morn's "radar" again, leaving only a panicked "physical noise source" stumbling out of the library.
He nearly ran headlong into Snape's arms at the corner.
Snape stopped abruptly and reached out to grab the air in front of him—his intuition told him someone was there, but his eyes and perception told him no one was.
This extremely jarring sensation made Snape's expression turn even darker.
Morn clung to the high part of the wall like a gecko, coldly watching the farcical scene below.
Harry made a narrow escape between Filch and Snape, running toward an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor.
Morn knew where that was.
He also knew what was in there.
He did not follow him inside.
[Omni-Perception] could not see through the invisibility cloak, but it could clearly capture the thick, ancient magic fluctuations overflowing from that abandoned classroom.
It was the scent of desire.
It was the mirror of erised opening its greedy mouth, waiting for the lonely little boy to walk into the trap.
"Go on, Harry."
Morn stood in the shadows of the corridor, watching the direction where Harry had disappeared, a meaningful smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
"Go and indulge in that illusory dream. While you are staring at the mirror... I will be staring at you."
Chapter 44: The White Wizard's Gaze
Moen White's footsteps came to a sudden halt at the corner of the second-floor corridor. That peculiar sensation of being watched, like a prickling on his back, stuck to the nape of his neck once more like a damp, sticky spiderweb.
It was already the third day after Christmas.
Whenever he tried to activate [Omni-Perception (blue)] to scan specific areas of the Castle—such as the forbidden area on the fourth floor where the Philosopher's Stone was hidden, or Snape's office—a gentle yet vast and boundless spiritual force would mysteriously appear.
That power wasn't aggressive; it was soft, like a mass of cotton stuffed into his mind, quietly and tenderly pushing back the perceptual tentacles Morn had extended.
Immediately afterward, some extremely coincidental "interference" would always occur in the surroundings.
"Hehehe! Got you, little bookworm!"
Peeves suddenly emerged from the chandelier overhead, clutching a handful of moldy chalk dust. Without giving Morn any time to react, he showered it directly over his head.
Morn expressionlessly shifted half a step to the left, and the chalk dust billowed up in a choking white mist where he had originally stood.
But he didn't look at Peeves. Instead, he snapped his head around to look at the portrait of a knight at the end of the corridor who had supposedly been snoring.
The knight was currently opening one eye, his gaze clear and sharp, but the moment his eyes met Morn's, he immediately closed them and feigned a deep sleep.
"Ubiquitous..."
Morn narrowed his eyes, the blue light deep within his pupils flickering slightly.
The entire Castle was alive. Or rather, the entire Castle was an extension of a certain person's limbs.
His actions, which he thought were secret, might have looked like a beetle crawling in a glass jar to that person... That suspicion was confirmed in the afternoon.
As Morn passed through the entrance hall leading to the Great Hall, a tall figure wearing deep purple velvet robes appeared as if out of thin air, blocking his path.
Albus Dumbledore.
The old man, who should have been enjoying his holiday in the Principal's office, was currently observing a stain on the wall with great interest, as if it were some long-lost ancient rune.
Morn's muscles tensed to the limit in an instant. The blood vessels beneath his [Demonic Skin] throbbed violently, and his body instinctively entered a combat-ready state.
But in the next second, the absolute rationality of [Trinity] forcibly took over his nerves, making him look like nothing more than a student slightly surprised by a chance encounter with the Principal.
"Good afternoon, Mr. White."
Dumbledore turned around, his azure eyes looking over his half-moon spectacles.
Buzz—!
A piercing alarm blared deep within Morn's brain.
[Warning: Ultra-high-level spiritual scan detected.]
[Mental Barrier (Unconstructed): Defense ineffective.]
That gaze wasn't sharp; it could even be called kind.
Yet Morn felt as if all his clothes had been stripped away, leaving his soul naked and exposed in the freezing snow.
The greed hidden in his heart, his thirst for power, and even the aura of the "spoils" he had stolen from Snape seemed to have nowhere to hide before those eyes.
Except for the system.
The interface existing in a higher dimension was the only black box that hadn't been penetrated by this gaze.
"Good afternoon, Professor," Morn said, bowing slightly, his voice steady without a hint of a tremor.
"I heard from Professor Flitwick that you have quite the interest in sensory magic?" Dumbledore smiled, reaching a thin but long-fingered hand into his robes and pulling out a small paper bag. "Then your sense of smell must tell you that this is an excellent lemon sherbet. Would you like one?"
A cloyingly sweet candy scent wafted through the air, masking the old, musty smell of the Castle.
"No, thank you. I don't like things that are too sweet; they dull the nerves," Morn politely declined.
"What a pity." Dumbledore shook his head regretfully, unwrapping a piece of candy and putting it in his mouth. "Sometimes, being too awake isn't necessarily a good thing, Morn. A little sweetness helps blur those edges that are too sharp—edges that might even hurt oneself."
Morn's heart skipped a beat.
It was a double entendre. "Edges that are too sharp"—he was being warned.
"I will keep your advice in mind, Professor." Morn lowered his head, concealing the swirling emotions in his eyes.
Dumbledore said nothing more. Chewing his candy and humming an unknown tune, he walked past Morn with a light step.
At the moment they crossed paths, Morn heard a faint whisper, so light it felt like an illusion:
"The moonlight is lovely tonight, but some rooms... cannot be found even in the moonlight, unless you know what you are looking for."
...Midnight, the cold wind howled.
Morn stood in the shadows of the abandoned fourth-floor corridor, watching Harry Potter—the presence displayed as a "humanoid void" in his **[Omni-Perception]**—once again push open a dilapidated wooden door with practiced ease.
This was Harry's third time here.
And inside that room sat the mirror of erised.
Morn didn't move immediately. He pressed himself against the wall like a stone statue, his breathing slowed to the absolute minimum.
He was hesitating.
Dumbledore's words from the afternoon were clear—it was a warning, but also an invitation. The old man had set a trap there, a "trial of character" specifically prepared for the savior.
If Morn went in now, he would be a third party intruding upon the trial.
If he didn't, he would just be a coward scared off, a little mouse only daring to hide in the dark and steal.
"He is evaluating me."
Morn's gaze gradually became cold and frenetic.
"He is seeing if I am a second Tom Riddle, or a variable that can be utilized."
If it were Lord Voldemort, he would choose to turn and leave at this moment, hiding his claws.
But Morn was not him. His greed was rational, and it was open.
"Since you left the door open, I dare to enter."
Morn stepped out from the shadows, his footsteps silent.
He arrived before the slightly ajar door.
[Omni-Perception: Maximum Power]
This time, a 3D model of the room did not form in his mind.
Because the entire room was filled with a mass of light.
In that small, abandoned classroom, besides the tiny "void" representing Harry, a golden sun sat in the corner.
That was Albus Dumbledore's magic field.
Vast, warm, yet carrying a desperate sense of pressure. He just sat there, like an insurmountable mountain, quietly watching the lost lamb.
Morn's fingers hovered an inch from the door.
Before he could even push, the heavy wooden door creaked and slid open a few inches on its own.
The golden sun fluctuated slightly, as if making room for him in the darkened audience seats.
Morn took a deep breath, crushing all fear of danger between his teeth. He crossed the threshold, and instead of walking toward the mirror, he very consciously melted into the deepest shadow behind the door.
In the center of the room, Harry was kneeling before the massive mirror, staring obsessively at the illusions within, completely unaware that two more people had entered.
Morn looked up, his gaze piercing through the darkness to meet Dumbledore's, who was sitting on a table piled with junk in the corner.
The old man did not raise his wand.
He was smiling in the shadows. The pressure from the afternoon was gone from his azure eyes, replaced by a meaningful scrutiny. He even gently placed a forefinger to his lips in a "shh" gesture.
This was a pantomime.
The only audience member had arrived.
The show had begun.
Chapter 45: The God in the Mirror and the Shackles of the Soul
"So, you've come again, Harry."
Albus Dumbledore's voice rang out in the silent, abandoned classroom. It wasn't loud, yet it carried a resonance that seemed to penetrate the stone walls.
Kneeling before the mirror, Harry Potter jerked violently, jumping up as if struck by an electric current.
He turned in terror, the invisibility cloak that had slipped to the floor flowing around his feet like a pool of silver mercury.
Moen White shrank into the shadows behind the door, even his breathing coming to a halt.
In his field of vision, that mass of golden sunlight that had remained silent finally stood up.
Dumbledore slid down from a dust-covered desk, his purple robes trailing on the floor without stirring even a speck of dust.
The stale, musty smell in the air was instantly replaced by a pleasant, calming scent of lemon and sage.
"I didn't... I didn't see you, sir," Harry stammered, cold sweat sliding down his forehead.
"Strange how invisible people become so easy to see," Dumbledore smiled, his gaze seemingly sweeping casually over the corner where Morn was hiding. There was a hint of playfulness in that look that only Morn could read. "Or rather, are there more spectators here tonight than expected?"
Morn's back tensed instantly, but he forced himself to remain as still as a stone.
This was a game of chess. As long as Dumbledore didn't call him out by name, he had to pretend he didn't exist.
"This mirror, the mirror of erised," Dumbledore looked back at Harry, his tone becoming deep and distant, "it shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts."
"Desires..." Harry murmured to himself, his eyes involuntarily drifting toward the mirror's surface.
"But that is also where its danger lies," Dumbledore's voice dropped, carrying the dry scent of old parchment. "Many have wasted away before it, for they do not know if what they see in the mirror is real. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, Harry."
Morn chewed on those words in the darkness.
For the savior, this was a lesson about "love and reality."
But for the thief in the shadows, this was a warning about "the price."
"Now, put on that marvelous cloak and go back to bed," Dumbledore winked. "This mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I don't want you looking for it again."
Harry felt as if he had been granted a grand pardon, hurriedly grabbing the invisibility cloak and throwing it over himself.
"Goodnight, Professor."
As Harry's footsteps faded at the end of the corridor, the classroom fell into an even more oppressive silence.
Dumbledore did not leave immediately.
He stood before the mirror, his back to the door. Moonlight poured through the high windows onto his silver-white hair, making him look like a silver-plated statue.
"Curiosity is not a sin."
The old man spoke suddenly, his voice as soft as if he were talking to the air.
"But if one cannot control that greed, the hunter will eventually become the prey."
He turned around, his blue eyes piercing directly through the darkness, landing unerringly on Morn's face.
There was no accusation, no anger.
The look was as calm as a bottomless lake, clear yet suffocating.
"Remember to close the door when you leave, Mr. White. The draft in here is quite cold."
With an extremely faint crack, Dumbledore's figure twisted and vanished into thin air like a puff of smoke... leaving only Morn and that giant mirror in the room.
The air still held the lingering scent of Dumbledore's divine magic, along with a deeper, ancient vibration from the mirror itself—an alluring, sweet fragrance like rotting flowers, so cloying it made one dizzy.
Morn stepped out from the shadows.
His footsteps echoed in the empty classroom, sounding exceptionally clear.
All disguises were stripped away. Now, it was time for him to be alone with this monster named "Desire."
He walked up to the mirror.
The cold glass was like a window to another world, reflecting the dust motes dancing in the classroom.
Morn looked up, gazing at himself in the mirror.
His pupils constricted violently in an instant.
In the mirror, there were no deceased parents, no mountains of Galleons, and no power like Dumbledore's.
Instead, there was a burning ruin. The sky was blood-red, and the ground was piled high with countless broken wands and shattered thrones.
And atop the ruins stood a monster.
That "Morn" had a pale human face, but his skin was covered in layers of black scales as precise as works of art, with complex magical circuits flowing over every scale.
Behind him spread a pair of bone wings that blotted out the sun. They weren't flesh and blood, but solid entities condensed from some kind of black liquid magic.
He—or rather, it—stood upon the corpses of the world, clutching a still-beating heart that radiated a piercing golden light.
That was Truth.
The most fundamental rules of this world.
The monster in the mirror looked down, using those vertical pupils that had turned completely silver to gaze coldly and arrogantly at the mortal outside the mirror.
[Warning: Ultimate Subconscious Vision Detected — [Perfect Lifeform / Dimensional Ascension]]
An indescribable shiver instantly shot through Morn's spine.
It was fear, but also extreme excitement.
This was his desire.
Not love, not money, but evolution. To break free from the shackles of this fragile mortal shell and become the sole existence at the top of the food chain.
"Stay..."
A voice rang out deep within Morn's mind.
It wasn't language, but a vibration acting directly upon his soul.
The mirror's surface began to ripple like water, and a warm, comfortable, intoxicating mental force surged out, enveloping Morn's consciousness. It was promising, it was tempting, it was trying to lock Morn's soul forever within this perfect illusion.
"You want to... control me too?"
Morn's teeth gritted together, clicking.
His brain felt as if it were being stirred by red-hot iron tongs, the intense pain making his vision go dark.
That high-dimensional mental force from the magic mirror was forcibly assimilating his will, attempting to turn him into a walking corpse that would do nothing but drool at the mirror.
[Warning: Mental Load 98%...]
[Warning: Soul Defense Line about to collapse...]
"No."
Morn gripped the mirror's frame tightly, his nails sinking deep into the wood as blood flowed from the gaps between his fingers.
He was resisting. Using his mortal-level soul to withstand the mental crushing of this rule-grade artifact.
This was not a fair contest.
But it was precisely this extreme pressure that allowed Morn to feel that the "bottleneck"—which had been stuck deep in his soul and limiting his consumption of higher-order power—was loosening.
Like a dam being blasted by a high-pressure water jet, cracks were spreading.
Morn's soul was screaming and wailing, the data jumping wildly.
2.47... 2.48... Boom!
A dull, massive explosion erupted deep in his mind. It wasn't the crisp sound of a breakthrough, but the muffled thud of hitting a wall of sighs.
[Warning: Mortal Limit Reached.]
[soul strength: 2.49 / 2.50 (LOCKED)]
[Hint: Lacking key "Legendary Catalyst," unable to complete life-level leap.]
"Damn it... just a little bit more..."
The blue light in Morn's eyes flickered violently, then dimmed for a moment.
It felt like a climber who had already touched the rock at the summit, only to find the cliff beneath his feet had broken away. That 0.01 difference was a literal chasm.
He raised his blood-stained face, looking at the high-and-mighty "Perfect God" in the mirror.
He had not become a god.
He was still a mortal.
But a mortal has a mortal's way of eating.
"Since I can't be a god..."
Morn split his lips into a smile mixed with blood and madness, his gaze shifting from "desire for assimilation" to naked "gluttony."
"Then I'll pull the god down... and make it my dinner!"