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As one of the oldest pure-blood families in Britain, the Lestrange vault lay in the deepest reaches of Gringotts, guarded by a fire-breathing dragon.
Under Doug's guidance, Tom climbed into the small mine cart with obvious excitement, leaving Doug completely baffled.
But there was nothing to be done. Tom had always had a strange fondness for these clunky, low-tech contraptions. Every time he came to Gringotts, he insisted on riding one.
He'd even toyed with the idea of installing a track system at home. Imagine drifting around the estate in a little cart, book in hand, reading at leisure. Just thinking about it felt relaxing.
Unfortunately, he rarely stayed home these days. And now that the place had practically become the old man's base of operations, if he actually built it and Nicolas took a fall, he'd probably get stuck with the blame.
...
The cart rattled along, twisting and turning, the wheels clanging against the rails as they plunged hundreds of meters underground.
Torches were set into the stone walls every few dozen meters. Their flickering light stretched and shrank the group's shadows, barely illuminating the path ahead.
The deeper they went, the more the tunnels branched out. Vaults lay hidden behind countless forked passages, like nodes in a vast spiderweb. The lower the vault number, the closer it was to the core. Though Tom had more gold than a single vault could hold, he'd opened his account too late in life and had never been this deep before.
Suddenly, the cart began to slow. A pale blue waterfall shimmered across the track ahead.
"Mr. Riddle, this is the Thief's Downfall." Doug quickly signaled the driver to stop, forcing a flattering smile onto his face as he explained, "It washes away all disguises and malicious enchantments. Of course, this isn't aimed at you. It's simply a standard security measure at Gringotts."
"Even I can't shut it off. I'm afraid you'll have to pass through it."
Tom's temperament was well known throughout the wizarding world by now, and nobody had a way to deal with it. Doug genuinely feared this Riddle might take offense and simply blow all the vaults sky-high.
He had no doubt Tom had both the power and the temperament to do it.
So all he could do was smile and placate him.
If he'd had the authority to turn off the waterfall, he would have done so without hesitation. Unfortunately, he didn't.
Tom gave a casual nod. Seeing no sign of anger, Doug finally relaxed and gestured for the driver to continue.
As they passed through the Thief's Downfall, Tom gave it a brief glance and immediately grasped the basic principles and materials involved. It was somewhat clever, though nothing special.
He could replicate it easily.
But where would he install something like that?
Lost in his own ridiculous thoughts, Tom barely noticed as the cart sped up again, then slowed once more.
The driver pulled out two strange metal plates and struck them rhythmically. Deep in the dark cavern, a Ukrainian Ironbelly had just poked its head out before immediately shrinking back with a pained expression.
When Tom's gaze swept over it, the creature trembled and lowered its head.
Ever since he began researching bloodline power, the pressure radiating from Tom had been fully unleashed. The bloodlines he possessed granted him an overwhelming advantage over other living beings.
It might not affect humans much. After all, humans were willful by nature, inclined to resist rather than submit.
But just look at how the little fox behaved—against other species, this ability was devastatingly effective.
If he'd had this power a few months ago in the Egyptian branch of Gringotts, he wouldn't have needed to lift a finger. The five guardian dragons alone would have been scared to death by his aura.
"Mr. Riddle, we've arrived." The driver spoke with visible relief.
Past the dragon-guarded zone, the cart came to a smooth stop before a vault.
The door was a massive slab of cast iron, towering like a solid wall from floor to ceiling. It was seamless, with not even a keyhole in sight.
Doug stepped forward and pressed his withered hand against the surface.
The cold iron door receded like a tide, revealing a pitch-black entrance.
Whoosh!
Torches inside flared to life, casting a warm orange glow down the corridor.
The boy and the goblin passed through the narrow entryway, and the view suddenly opened up.
Inside the enormous cavern, a gleaming mountain of gold filled nearly half the space. Countless Galleons were piled together, reaching all the way to the ceiling.
Yes—Galleons only. Not a single Knut or Sickle in sight.
Scattered among the gold were all kinds of priceless treasures: gem-studded golden goblets, silver armor gleaming with a cold sheen, pelts from strange creatures with spines or drooping wings, and thick, viscous potions sealed inside crystal vials.
There was even a skull still crowned with an ornate diadem. Its empty eye sockets faced the entrance, as if silently watching anyone who dared step inside. The eerie presence it gave off was enough to make one's skin crawl.
If this had been back when he was short on money, Tom might've seriously considered cleaning the place out.
Setting everything else aside, the Galleons alone easily numbered in the millions.
Pure-blood families really were absurdly rich. Still, compared to the Greengrass family, this was nothing.
Of course, every single treasure here had been enchanted with vicious curses and duplication spells. Touch anything carelessly, and you'd be cursed on the spot. Worse, the item would begin replicating endlessly until it crushed the thief to death.
Doug explained everything he knew, then quietly stepped aside. He was curious too. What exactly had Voldemort hidden in the Lestrange vault?
Tom drew his wand and gave it a casual flick.
The entire cavern began to tremble.
Gold coins, armor, pelts, and all manner of objects lifted off the ground, slowly rising into the air as they gathered together, forming a swirling golden vortex like a miniature tornado.
The goblin driver and Doug stared, dumbfounded, their jaws practically hitting the floor. They knew perfectly well that the Lestrange vault was protected by anti-magic enchantments. External spells weren't supposed to affect anything inside.
So how was Riddle doing this?
Tom murmured under his breath. Within the golden vortex, cup-shaped objects began to separate out one by one. Gold cups, silver cups, crystal goblets, wine glasses. Every kind imaginable.
Then, a small golden cup drifted free.
It glowed with a warm, gentle light, and had two pure gold handles.
Tom's eyes lit up.
He stopped casting, letting everything else fall back to the ground.
A thin rope slipped out of his pocket, moving like a living tentacle. It wrapped around the cup and gently delivered it into his hand.
Tom studied it carefully.
The most prominent design on the cup was a small badger encircled by golden wheat. Anyone could tell at a glance that it was an artifact of Hufflepuff.
But through his magical sight, the cup told a different story. Beneath its radiant golden glow, a dense, suffocating aura of darkness clung to it, corrupting its very essence.
Tom frowned.
Legend said the cup carried magic related to food. House-elves once used it to prepare and deliver meals to the Great Hall.
And someone had turned it into a Horcrux?
Voldemort… you really deserve to die. Anything related to food shouldn't be disrespected.
"Mr. Riddle… is this the 'item Voldemort left here' you mentioned?"
Doug edged closer, cautiously examining the cup. He couldn't recognize it as a Horcrux, but he did recognize the badger. With a bit of thought, he connected it to Hufflepuff, and a flicker of greed flashed in his eyes.
Goblins had an endless appetite for treasures. They coveted Gryffindor's sword, and naturally, relics of the other founders tempted them just as much.
Driven by greed, Doug was already regretting bringing Tom here. Wouldn't it have been better to come alone and quietly take the treasure for himself?
Sensing the burning gazes, Tom shot the two goblins a cold look.
"Don't covet things you have no right to desire. Have you forgotten how the goblin kingdom ended when Gryffindor cut it down? If Godric Gryffindor could do it, so can I. History can repeat itself."
The chill in his voice, laced with unmistakable killing intent, snapped both goblins back to reality. They lowered their heads at once, trembling, stammering out apologies.
Tom ignored them.
With the cup in hand, he turned and walked straight out.
He needed to find a way to remove Voldemort's soul fragment without damaging the cup itself.
The cup, the diadem, the locket, the Resurrection Stone, the diary, Harry… even Nagini, who hadn't yet been turned into a Horcrux.
They were all in his hands now.
If he wanted, he could accomplish in a single day what Harry and Dumbledore had struggled through across seven books.
But destroying Horcruxes didn't mean Voldemort would die.
That was the key difference between Horcruxes and a lich's phylactery. Destroy the phylactery, and a lich would soon perish. Destroy a Horcrux, and a wizard merely lost their anchor to the world. The original body remained unaffected.
Only a fatal blow could truly kill him.
Still… Nagini hadn't been made into a Horcrux yet, and Voldemort had most likely already returned. Would he have found a replacement? Created a new Horcrux?
Leaving Gringotts behind, Tom returned to his manor.
...
Back at the bank, Doug was left in his office, wailing in despair.
That look from Riddle had scared him so badly, he'd completely forgotten about the promised fifty thousand Galleons.
"Oh, no... My money!"
.
.
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