Regulus gained a clearer understanding of this ancient surname; it truly affected the lives of many people.
A thought suddenly popped into Regulus's mind: *Had I been too frugal before?*
At Hogwarts, he never spent much money; buying books and materials were all necessities.
But looking at it now, the wealth of the Black family was so vast it was inexhaustible. Even if he threw away a hundred Galleons a day, he wouldn't finish it in ten years.
How could Muggle-borns and half-blood wizards even compare?
The same went for some pure-blood families; they had to save and scrape just to buy a decent wand, while the family behind Regulus controlled a complete industrial chain in the magical world.
This gap was something personal talent could not bridge at all; it was a deep-seated structural advantage accumulated over centuries.
Then he thought of another question: with such family assets, who exactly did they benefit in the original destiny?
No matter how much of a spendthrift Sirius was, could he really squander all these industries?
How much could that old house at Number 12, Grimmauld Place be worth?
Compared to these industries spread across the British Isles, what was one house?
Perhaps in the original story, the Black family's industries were carved up by other families after Walburga and Orion died.
The Malfoy family might have taken a portion, the Lestrange family might have taken a portion, and other pure-blood families each took a share.
Sirius inherited an empty shell, unaware that the true wealth had long since been swallowed by others.
But none of that mattered anymore; what mattered was that these industries were still in the hands of the Black family.
What mattered was that these would all be his in the future, and no one should think of taking them away.
Immediately he thought that Lord Voldemort was also a half-blood; he didn't have these things at birth either, but unlike others, he could snatch them, and he succeeded in snatching them.
Regulus narrowed his eyes, his fingertips stroking his wand as he recalled everything he had seen these past few days.
*Even Lord Voldemort shouldn't think of snatching my things…*
On the afternoon of the third day, they stood on a cliff on the west coast of Ireland.
Beneath their feet was a black cliff dozens of meters high, waves crashing against the rocks and splashing snowy white foam.
In the distance where the sea met the sky, the setting sun was slowly sinking into the water, dyeing the entire sky golden-red.
The sea breeze blew over, carrying a salty, fishy scent, making Regulus's robes billow behind him.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking at the scene before him.
In the eleven years since his birth, Regulus had spent most of his time in that old house at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Later he went to Hogwarts, but that was only the castle and the land around the castle.
He hadn't seen the truly vast world, hadn't seen high mountains and great seas, hadn't seen wild plains.
In these three days, he had followed Orion across half of the British Isles.
He had seen the desolate and magnificent hills of the Scottish Highlands, and the mist-shrouded forests in the valleys of Wales.
He had seen the vibrant herb gardens under the sun in Cornwall, and the surging sea along the coast of Ireland.
The world was actually this big; the magical world was actually this rich and colorful.
It wasn't just the classrooms and corridors of Hogwarts, the shops and streets of Diagon Alley, the endless banquets and intrigues of pure-blood families, and the starry sky above.
There were also these vast lands, magnificent landscapes, and vivid lives.
Regulus took a deep breath of the salty sea air, and something inside him was loosening.
All along, he had lived like a precisely calculated machine; every step had to be planned, every decision had to weigh pros and cons, and every action had to consider consequences.
He wrapped himself in a shell of calmness and rationality, without too much emotion or too many fluctuations, for fear of affecting judgment or interfering with plans.
But now, standing on this cliff, watching the sunset sink into the sea and hearing the sound of waves hitting the rocks, he suddenly felt that maybe he didn't have to live so tensely.
Magic was his path, power was his pursuit, but on this path, he could also look at the scenery along the way.
What was the purpose of becoming stronger?
Wasn't it to be able to live freely, to be able to go anywhere one wanted to go, and to be able to see any scenery one wanted to see?
Orion stood beside him, not speaking.
The head of the Black family looked at his son's profile, watching those grey eyes reflect the golden light of the setting sun.
He noticed that Regulus's expression was different from usual; it was no longer that calmness and steadiness beyond his years, but more like a pure focus and curiosity that should belong to this age.
Orion felt a sense of relief in his heart; he had always worried that this son's mind was too heavy.
Since he was little, he didn't cry or make a fuss, didn't shout or jump around, always maintaining the appearance of a little adult.
In pure-blood families, this was of course commendable; which parent wouldn't want their child to be mature and steady?
He was also gratified and proud of it.
But as a father, Orion also hoped Regulus could experience some beautiful things, could feel the joy of living, and could be full of curiosity and yearning for the world like a real child.
Now he finally saw a glimmer of it.
Regulus didn't notice his father's gaze; all his attention was on the scene before him.
The sea breeze grew stronger, messing up his hair. He reached out his hand, letting the wind pass through his fingers, feeling that invisible force.
Then he closed his eyes, letting magic flow naturally within his body.
Something miraculous happened.
At this moment, the magic became active, as if some restraint had been unfastened, flowing joyfully within his body with a lightness and cheerfulness he had never experienced.
The magic seemed to be echoing his emotions; Regulus suddenly understood something.
Magic was not just a force that could be calculated, controlled, and utilized.
It was also alive, possessing life, and would change with a wizard's emotions and state.
When he calculated calmly, the magic was precise and stable; when he felt moved, the magic was active and cheerful.
Perhaps the two were not contradictory.
Magic could be a precise science, requiring calculation, logic, and rigorous derivation and practice.
But magic could also be vivid, warm, and full of infinite possibilities.
Just like this sea, he could use physics and mathematics to calculate its tides and waves, but he could also stand here and simply feel its magnificence and beauty.
And what was the essence of magic?
It was the wizard using their own will and magic to affect the world.
The wizard was the subject, magic was the tool, and the world was the object.
If the wizard themselves lived like a machine, then the magic used would only be cold incantations.
But if the wizard was a living person with emotions, feelings, and yearnings, would the magic also become different?
Regulus opened his eyes.
The sun had already sunk halfway, and the sea surface seemed to be burning, shimmering with golden-red light.
A seabird flew up from beneath the cliff, spreading its wings and circling on the rising air currents.
The idea he had held all along began to loosen.
Maybe he didn't have to choose between rational calculation and emotional experience; maybe he could have both.
Use rationality to plan the path, use emotion to experience the process, use calculation to control magic, and use the heart to feel magic.
This might be better.
The moment this thought arose, the wand had already fallen into Regulus's hand.
He followed the surge of impulse welling up in his heart, an impulse that had been accumulating in his chest like a volcano for too long.
The yearning for freedom, the desire for the vast world, the expectation of breaking all restraints, and the purest, most direct emotion when facing this magnificent scene at this moment.
This emotion even surpassed his feelings for anything before.
It surpassed the sense of achievement when learning a new spell, the sense of control when defeating an opponent, and the sense of satisfaction when acquiring knowledge.
It was something deeper, as if surging up from the depths of his soul.
*It's good to be alive. The world is so beautiful. I want to see more, experience more, and become more.*
Magic boiled within his body, breaking through the calm circulation brought by the Star-track Guided Meditation, rushing like a jubilant stream; every bit of magic was conveying the same emotion.
Cheerfulness, yearning, freedom, desire.
Regulus raised his wand.
Orion turned his head, seeing his son's movement, his thoughts shifting from gratification to doubt.
He didn't know what Regulus was going to do; this location, this time, and this scene didn't seem like a place to practice magic.
Regulus had long since lost the mind to observe the father beside him.
He took a deep breath, letting the salty sea breeze fill his lungs, the golden light of the sunset fill his pupils, the sound of the waves fill his ears, and the surging emotion in his heart reach its peak.
Then, facing the sea breeze and bathed in the sunset, he chanted the spell:
"Expecto Patronum."
A silver-white light erupted from the tip of his wand, pouring out like a flood from a burst dam, instantly illuminating the edge of the cliff and enveloping Regulus entirely in light.
The light was intense but not blinding, as warm as a winter hearth, and as pure as snow on a high mountain.
The silver-white light began to condense.
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