Ethan's gaze swept across the ethereal, blue subtitles hovering before his eyes. When his sight landed on the words "Rule-based Painting," his heart hammered against his ribs.
Finally... Tier 4: Rule-based Painting!
A surge of entirely new sensation erupted from the depths of his soul, flowing through his meridians and veins until it reached his arms and fingertips. Like a fresh sprout breaking through the soil, Ethan's fingers were suddenly wreathed in shifting, iridescent colors.
With a slight flick of his hand, even the air seemed to ripple and flow according to his whim, as if he were tugging at the very fabric of the wind's laws.
"Painting magic that governs prohibitions and rules... I can finally create time-stop masterpieces as powerful as "The World"!"
"No... "The World" was just a one-time spell. In the future, once I find the right extraordinary materials and master even more ancient incantations... I might be able to create a persistent, living world within a scroll—a world entirely under my control!"
In common parlance, that was known as "Godhood."
Ethan clenched his fist tight, his eyes shining with a fervent, surging excitement. He wondered what kind of exquisite artwork a [Tier 4 · Purple Epic] rank would produce. It would undoubtedly cause a massive upheaval in the Wizarding World.
"Tier 4 is formidable enough, but even so, it hasn't touched the ceiling of power yet."
"I truly wonder," Ethan murmured, staring at the horizon where the first pale streaks of dawn were appearing, "what kind of authority lies further up that path?"
He felt a restless itch of anticipation, desperate to know what the world looked like through the eyes of a "God."
Just then, the blue subtitles flickered again, pulling Ethan back from his reverie.
[Note: Tier 4 paintings require materials containing a degree of Divinity or remnants from the Ancient Era.]
[Only the rarest extraordinary items in the world can carry the weight of Rule-based power.]
"Hmph," Ethan mused, "as expected. The higher the grade of the painting, the more demanding the materials."
It was just like using the "Parchment of the Reaper's Heart" for "The World"; that was the only reason he had been able to briefly surpass his own rank. He couldn't help but lament for the thousandth time—the path of Art was paved with gold!
Forget about Galleons; he was going to have to turn into a full-blown archaeologist just to dig up prehistoric relics to fuel his hobby.
"The path to the next promotion is still far off. Even though I've repelled Death and twisted Sirius's fate, He will surely return."
And every time, He would return stronger. Because as destiny was altered, Death's shackles on the mortal realm would gradually loosen.
"While Death is currently licking its wounds, I need to prepare early. Find extraordinary materials, increase my strength, and then hunt down the remnants of the Reaper to weaken its power!"
Ethan's gaze hardened. He looked down at the ruins beneath his feet. Currently, the only clue to the Reaper's remnants was the place beyond the Veil—the unknown void that had swallowed Sirius, and the place where his "Bone of Guidance" was vibrating in response.
"I can't wait," Ethan whispered, licking the corner of his mouth. A spark of predatory desire flickered in his cobalt-blue eyes.
At that moment, a commotion erupted from the street corner not far away. The rhythmic, piercing wail of sirens—"Dee-Doo-Dee-Doo"—echoed through the air.
The Muggles were congregating. It was time to retreat.
Ethan's eyes shifted, catching sight of a swarm of reporters at the end of the street, sprinting toward them like a pack of starving wolves. He turned back to the crowd.
The Aurors stood frozen, staring at the boy who, only yesterday, had been the "Golden Savior" of the Wizarding World. Their hearts were a chaotic mess of conflicting emotions.
Uh... can we call a truce now?Me vs. Ethan/Mr. Lamp? Are you joking?
"From this day forward, the Wizarding World is under the jurisdiction of my Enlightenment Society," Ethan announced loudly, his voice projecting clearly from behind his bone-white mask.
"The darkness will no longer lurk in the shadows. Under the leadership of a truly 'wicked' existence, the shadows shall stretch their hideous, sharp claws toward both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds!"
The crowd: The "Darkness" you're talking about is literally just YOU, isn't it?!
Ignoring the sea of skeptical glares, Ethan remained unmoved. This was exactly why he had built up the persona of [Mr. Lamp]. He wanted to ensure that the moment his identity was revealed, he could seize control of the Wizarding World with an iron grip!
Ethan raised his arm, pointing a finger directly toward the sky. Through the two eye-slits of his mask, a brilliant light flickered.
"But, as long as a single spark of light remains, the darkness can never truly triumph!"
"I, the President of the Enlightenment Society, 'Mr. Lamp'—Ethan Vincent—hereby guarantee... I will do everything in my power to maintain order in the Wizarding World!"
After all, a canvas consisting only of blood-red isn't considered a good painting.
Click!
A flash of white light exploded, followed by a puff of grey smoke from a heavy, old-fashioned camera.
Mike McArthur, a reporter for the Daily Prophet, poked his head out from behind the device. "Well said! Wait—what did you just say you were?"
Mr. Lamp?
It was as if Mike had been struck by a falling gold brick—or rather, a falling ten billion Galleons. His mouth fell open into a perfect 'O' shape as he stared blankly at the scene. He looked at the current Minister of Magic, whose face had turned a sickly shade of iron-blue, and thought:
Merlin, God, Buddha... I think I'm about to be rich.
While the reporter hopped around like he had been hit with a Tarantallegra curse, Ethan retracted his gaze. With a wave of his hand, a pitch-black portal—resembling an "Anywhere Door"—materialized behind him.
He turned to leave, but before he could speak, Luna Lovegood skipped out from the crowd like a graceful young deer and came to his side. She looked up at him with a beaming smile.
"Are we going back to school now? I'd really like a nice bath."
Ethan paused, his lips curling into a smirk. He reached out and ruffled her hair. Then, he turned to the members of the Society he had spent five years meticulously cultivating.
He held out his hand and laughed heartily. "Come, everyone! Let us continue our glorious journey toward the light and embark on the next hilarious adventure!"
Hilarious? Debatable. Life-threatening? Almost certainly.
The students looked at each other, then one by one, they broke into relieved smiles.
Sirius Black barked a laugh. "Ethan is a talent that only comes once in a century—no, a millennium! I really wish I could introduce him to James."
The Weasley twins shoved their way toward Ethan, shouting, "Ethan! Our King of Comedy! We shall follow you forever!"
Cedric Diggory, the hero of Hufflepuff, stepped forward with the heavy, steady gait of a human tank. Having faced death during the Triwizard Tournament, his eyes were filled with nothing but stoic loyalty.
...Mr. Lamp? He didn't care about titles. He only knew that when he faced Voldemort, it was Ethan who saved his life.
Hermione Granger glanced at Luna standing next to Ethan and bit her lip. She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and marched forward to stand on Ethan's other side.
Ethan would always need a "Know-It-All." And when he did, she had to be there.
One after another, the students ran toward Ethan. Harry Potter watched their retreating backs, the memory of green light and screams from that night involuntarily flickering through his mind.
He was terrified... terrified that Ethan would become the next "Voldemort." After all, wasn't Voldemort also a brilliant student and a charismatic leader in everyone's eyes back in school?
"Hey! Harry! What are you waiting for?" Sirius called out. "Are you hesitating? That's not like James at all!"
"I—" Harry started.
Yeah, why am I always having these dark thoughts? He really envied Neville's simple outlook. Just then, a broad, warm hand rested on Harry's shoulder. Harry turned around, surprised. "Headmaster Dumbledore..."
The silver-haired Headmaster looked at him gently. "I cannot guarantee that Ethan isn't a 'bad' person, Harry. But sometimes, we must cast aside logic and listen to our hearts."
"Besides..." Dumbledore winked, a flash of mischief appearing behind his half-moon spectacles. "Besides, things can't possibly get any worse than they already are."
Death itself has already shown up. The only thing left is the apocalypse.
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