At this moment, points of merit-infused substances floated in Theodore's hand, all carrying traces of golden merit-light.
Some were bronze in color, ancient and seemingly eternal.
Some shone like silver flowing from the Nine Heavens.
Others radiated a brilliant sanctified gold.
All of them had been refined from the resources Voldemort had delivered over the past month.
One could honestly say that when it came to Theodore's Grand Celestial Constellation Formation flag, Voldemort's contribution was nothing short of monumental.
Another thing worth mentioning was that through the spiritual feedback gained while refining these merit-infused substances, Theodore's cultivation had risen to an entirely different level compared with a month ago.
The clearest sign of this was the size of the Origin Sea within his body.
It had expanded to the point where Theodore could now store many of the things he normally used inside it.
For instance, the Abi Hellscape Sword was at this very moment floating and sinking within his Origin Sea, being tempered constantly by its power.
The Purple-Gold Crown of Auspicious Clouds also floated within the Origin Sea, sending out waves of spiritual light that seemed even brighter and stronger than before.
This was one of the great benefits of storing treasures within the Origin Sea for nurturing.
The force of the Origin Sea was formed from spiritual energy compressed to its utmost purity.
Without a level of power above Great Luo Golden Immortal—something like a quasi-saint—it would have been utterly impossible to condense spiritual energy to such a degree.
Theodore had only obtained such a wonder because of the absurd luck that had fallen into his hands during a previous talent fusion.
Back when his Origin Sea had still been weak, many of its marvelous functions could not yet be seen.
Now, as his cultivation deepened, they were gradually beginning to reveal themselves.
The nurturing of magical treasures within the sea was one such function.
If this continued long enough, both the power and the spiritual intelligence of those treasures would grow steadily, sparing him the need for many additional materials.
And once the Origin Sea grew to an even higher level, Theodore might one day even be able to gather living beings into it, allowing them to live, multiply, and form a world of their own.
After all, quasi-saints possessed the ability to open a world of their own—and some could even create life itself.
The ancestor of the Blood Sea, for example, had become a world unto himself within the Blood Sea and created the Asura race there.
Daoist Randeng, using the twenty-four Dinghai Pearls seized during the Investiture era, had gone even further and created the Twenty-Four Heavens, laying the future foundation of the Buddhist path and becoming one of its supreme ancient Buddhas.
Of course, Theodore was still incomparably far from such a level.
At present, it could only be said that his Origin Sea had the potential.
But if he continued walking this road, then perhaps one day building an entire world within his Origin Sea would not be mere fantasy.
At that moment Theodore's gaze fell on the merit-infused substances before him, and satisfaction showed in his eyes.
Because he had been storing them in the Origin Sea for nourishment over this past month, each one of them had risen in quality by several parts compared with when they had first been refined.
That in turn meant the quality of the Grand Celestial Constellation Formation flag he was about to forge would naturally rise along with them.
It certainly could not compare to the original formation flags forged during the primordial wars, when the full resources of a demon court had been poured into them and each flag had been wielded by a great demon.
But even so, its might would be more than enough for Theodore to carve out and protect a piece of the magical world.
"However…"
"I'm still missing one final kind of material."
"The material for the banner itself."
"Even if merit is used to elevate the quality, the base still needs to be dragon hide at minimum. And it has to be fresh, complete dragon hide, skinned not long before use."
"And I'll need quite a lot of it. Three or five dragons' worth may not even be enough."
Theodore frowned.
Dragon hide was no ordinary material in the magical world.
Its price was already extremely high.
Fresh, complete hides from multiple dragons? That was another matter entirely.
If Theodore wanted to secure it himself, then strictly speaking it was not impossible with the current network of people he had around him.
But it would cost him many favors and quite a bit of time, and it was hard to say how long it would take before he had enough.
Viewed that way, his special channel was still by far the most efficient.
With that, Theodore lifted a pen. The aura of the Dao of Enchantment—far richer than a month before—flowed from him as he wrote a line onto a sheet of paper.
…
At the same time, in Quirrell's office, Quirrell was groaning in sheer misery.
"What in Merlin's name is all of this?"
"It's been over a month. Christmas is nearly here. The progress toward getting the Philosopher's Stone is exactly zero. Every single day, the moment lessons end, it's off to the Forbidden Forest to dig ore."
"And that's not even the worst part! Fine, if we have to mine, then at least keep some of it, right? But no—not one bit of gold for me. Every last piece goes to Theodore!"
"And that would already be bad enough, but on top of that, my life savings are gone, and the treasure you said you'd hidden away years ago for war preparations is gone too. I'm at the point where I can hardly afford food. I'm actually thinking about going back to eat dung in the Forbidden Forest!"
The angrier Quirrell became, the louder he shouted.
"You were the one who said, 'Let Quirrell bear the hardship for a little while and it'll soon be over.'"
"So how is it that I tasted hardship once, and then I just kept eating hardship day after day? How can something like that exist in this world?"
"Voldemort! Give me an explanation. Otherwise, since I'm dying anyway, I might as well pick a cleaner death rather than wear myself out like this every day!"
Yet Voldemort was not responding with anger.
Instead, he sat there frowning, a look of deep thought in his eyes.
"No."
"I made a mistake."
"I shouldn't have spent all this time mining."
"That was wrong. Very wrong."
Quirrell froze for a moment, then his tone softened a little.
"Master… you've finally realized something's wrong?"
"Do you even know how strange you've been this past month? You've practically looked like one of those foolish Slytherin students who sit there chatting with their letters all day."
"No—worse than they are."
"You've finally woken up?"
"Or were you just lulling Theodore into lowering his guard, and now we're finally about to move on the Philosopher's Stone?"
His eyes were full of desperate hope.
If before it had been Voldemort who longed most fiercely for the Stone, then now Quirrell's desire had surpassed even his.
Without the Philosopher's Stone, Voldemort could at least continue lingering on, waiting for another chance to rise again.
But if Quirrell failed to obtain it, then he would die as the official namesake of "Quirrell Curse Syndrome," leaving his name in magical history for all the wrong reasons.
That was not an ending he wanted.
"I've spent the past month refining the plan every day," Quirrell continued eagerly.
"I've developed three superior strategies, five middle strategies, and twelve fallback strategies. Every one of them leads to the Philosopher's Stone."
"Master, we have to move. Why not at Christmas?"
Voldemort shook his head and answered as though the matter were obvious.
"Christmas won't do."
Quirrell stared at him in disbelief, growing even more agitated.
"But Christmas is perfect! The school will be nearly empty. Many students and professors will be leaving."
"I heard Dumbledore himself won't even be staying at Hogwarts this year. It's the best opportunity we could possibly ask for."
"How can we not act then?"
Voldemort replied calmly,
"Because at Christmas, I must first prepare a proper Christmas present for Theodore."
Quirrell went still.
Then despair flooded his face.
"…What?"
Voldemort sighed.
"I should never have spent all this time mining in the Forbidden Forest."
"At this point we've nearly dug out the whole place."
"And now we're broke."
"What in the world am I supposed to give Theodore for Christmas?"
He fell into serious contemplation.
"Should I rob Gringotts?"
Quirrell's entire soul sagged.
How in the world had he ended up with a master like this?
At that moment, however, a line of writing appeared on the sheet of paper lying on Voldemort's desk.
"I really love dragon hide."
"If I could receive a few fresh dragon hides as a Christmas gift, it would definitely be the most unforgettable Christmas present I'd ever had."
"Ah, but would anyone really give me something like that? Probably not."
"It's too demanding."
"Would any wizard powerful enough to slay dragons really give such a precious gift to a weak little wizard like me?"
The aura of enchantment flowed through the script as it appeared.
For an instant, Voldemort seemed to see his younger self.
His first Christmas at Hogwarts—other Slytherin students receiving exquisite gifts, all glittering with luxury and jewels.
Though he had disdained them outwardly, it would have been a lie to say there had not been some trace of envy, some faint longing.
His later obsession with precious and unique treasures had, in part, begun right there.
And yet even after possessing so many treasures, he had never truly filled the envy, jealousy, and hidden inferiority he had felt then.
Now, under the effect of the Dao of Enchantment, Voldemort almost completely saw Theodore as a reflection of that younger self.
And even Dumbledore had once admitted it—there was only one being in the world that Voldemort had ever truly valued.
Himself.
At that moment, fire burst into Voldemort's eyes.
"Quirrell."
"Pack your things."
"We're leaving."
Tears of joy sprang into Quirrell's eyes.
"Master?"
"Merlin above—you've finally listened to reason just this once."
"Yes. Move at once. Right away!"
Voldemort nodded in full satisfaction.
"Then prepare our travel things."
Quirrell froze once more.
"Travel…?"
"To where?"
Voldemort tightened his grip on the wand.
"Romania."
"We're going to slay dragons."
…
At the same moment, on Theodore's System screen, line after line of text appeared.
[Because of the backlash from the Peach-Blossom Miasma, and because his Dao-heart had already collapsed under the growth of heart-demons, Duobao Daoren's incarnation has begun mistaking you for his younger self.]
[As the year's end approaches in the Jade Void Palace, even immortals and gods can feel the cold in the Kunlun Mountains.]
[In order to spare you the bitterness of the cold and let you spend your first year in the Jade Void Palace in warmth, Duobao Daoren heads west to hunt demon beasts and peel their hides to make armor for you.]
[The host is advised to take note: Duobao Daoren is, after all, still a quasi-saint. Though his Dao-heart has collapsed and heart-demons swarm within him, he will eventually recover.]
[And once he remembers what he has suffered today, his hatred toward the host will surpass even the level of irreconcilable mortal enmity and rise all the way to extermination of bloodline and lineage.]
Theodore glanced over the warning and smiled faintly.
He had only just asked for dragon hide, and Voldemort was already preparing to move?
Now that was efficiency.
As for the System's final warning, Theodore had already begun to sense it himself.
Over this past month, he had used the Dao of Enchantment on Voldemort every few days.
The Dao of Enchantment from the primordial world was incomparably overbearing. Even when used by a weaker cultivator, it could still catch stronger beings off guard and enchant them.
And Theodore at this point stood absolutely above Voldemort in every essential respect. If this had been anyone else, their mind might well have been permanently altered beneath the enchantment, turned into Theodore's loyal servant.
But Voldemort's soul was so twisted and shattered that the Dao of Enchantment's effect on him was greatly reduced, and his resistance was growing stronger by the day.
If Theodore had given commands that directly endangered Voldemort's own existence—such as demanding the locations of the Horcruxes, or forcing him to abandon Quirrell's body and give up all hope of his return—then under the pressure of a true survival crisis, Voldemort would likely have snapped awake from the enchantment's grip immediately.
Even so, the amount of time before Voldemort fully regained himself would probably not be especially long.
It was easy to imagine that once Voldemort truly woke up and remembered all of this, the hatred he would feel toward Theodore would be enough to require the waters of three rivers and five seas to wash clean—and still fail.
But Theodore did not really care.
At this point, Voldemort's threat to him was already very small.
And once the dragon hide arrived and the Grand Celestial Constellation Formation flag was complete, then forget one Voldemort—even ten or twenty of them together would amount to nothing.
Unless Voldemort somehow managed to break through the fundamental limit of wizardkind, then once the formation flag unfurled, all of them would be reduced to dust.
Compared with the question of how much deeper Voldemort's hatred might become later, Theodore was far more interested in something else.
"Christmas is almost here."
"It's the biggest holiday of the year. In the original story, even the Dursleys—who hated Harry—still sent him gifts at Christmas."
"If the gifts are given well, they might push some relationships further."
As Theodore wandered through the corridor, considering what kind of gifts he ought to prepare for the various people around him, he suddenly heard Neville's voice nearby.
He paused.
"Neville?"
"What is it?"
Hope shone in Neville's eyes, though his voice was still slightly hesitant.
"Well… Theodore…"
"I was wondering whether you'll be free over Christmas."
"My grandmother wrote to say she'd very much like to invite my friends to Longbottom Manor if you aren't planning to go home."
"And especially you—she wants to thank you properly, in person, for everything you've done for me."
Neville drew in a deep breath and continued.
"And also…"
"If you wouldn't mind…"
"Would you be willing to come with me to St Mungo's?"
His eyes shimmered with tears.
"I…"
"I really want my parents to hear that I've made friends."
"That I'm doing well at Hogwarts."
"I don't know whether they can really hear me."
"But… what if they can?"
"Of course, if you're too busy, then…"
Theodore stopped walking. A complicated look appeared in his eyes.
Neville's parents were still alive—but long ago they had been tortured into madness by the Cruciatus Curse and could only remain forever within St Mungo's.
And the reason Neville himself had once been so awkward, forgetful, and clumsy was precisely because he had witnessed with his own eyes the terrible way his parents had been tortured.
For his own sake, the Longbottom family had used a Memory Charm to erase that memory.
But it had been such a profound trauma that while the Memory Charm removed the memory, it had also left Neville as clumsy and uncertain as he had become.
Only much later in the original story had Neville's true late-blooming strength finally emerged.
In some ways, his fate was even crueler than Harry's.
Harry, at least, had still seen his parents in the Pensieve, through Priori Incantatem, and through the Resurrection Stone. He had heard their voices. He had heard them speak his name.
Neville had never had anything like that.
At that moment Theodore's gaze suddenly fell upon the System screen.
There was one talent he had rarely used since acquiring it.
Transcendent Mastery of the Healing Arts.
This talent granted extraordinary aptitude in healing illness and saving lives.
But since obtaining it, Theodore had scarcely found any opportunity to use it.
He himself was seldom injured, and Harry, Hermione, and the others were rarely badly hurt either. At worst they suffered some damage within the challenge-game, and ordinary healing spells were already enough to mend those injuries.
There had been no need for Theodore to do more.
But Neville's parents were obviously far beyond the limits of ordinary magical healing.
What, then, if Theodore made use of Transcendent Mastery of the Healing Arts?
A bright light flashed through his eyes.
"There may be hope."
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