Late at night, in the Restricted Section.
Moonlight streamed through the high window, weaving a black net across the mold-stained parchment.
Sagres looked at the potion in his hand, hesitated repeatedly, and finally pried open Noctis's beak, forcing it down its throat.
But before that, to prevent the stupid bird from going mad again, he had already cast a Throat-Locking Tongue-Tie on it.
The raven's metallic-sheened black feathers trembled slightly, and distinct patterns began to emerge.
While waiting, he couldn't help but recall his experiences over the years.
He had been in this world for twenty-one years, and by now, Sagres had successfully created seven magic spells using his awakened ability, and had further derived and improved a series of spells from them.
These spells had once been his foundation for survival in this world.
But now, this gift that came with his transmigration had stopped functioning three years ago—on the night of his coming-of-age ceremony.
This ability's prerequisite was the enhancement of magic, and a wizard's magic would not grow indefinitely.
From his first magical outburst at five years old to the solidification of his magic tide as an adult, over these past ten-plus years, Sagres's magic growth had become increasingly slow, almost completely stagnating at eighteen.
This was the inherent magical shackle of a wizard—everyone was like this, and even a transmigrator could not break it.
Although his total magic far surpassed that of an average adult wizard, in reality, it was only comparable to the combined magic of three seasoned Hit Wizards. He estimated it probably couldn't even catch up to a magical genius like Dumbledore.
However, even if his total magic was inferior to Dumbledore's, he was certain that the power of his spells was absolutely no less than his—because he knew that his spells had long broken through the shackles of total magic.
Magic control as precise as a surgeon's scalpel was enough to forge every drop of magic into a deadly blade.
This almost obsessive pursuit could be traced back to that turbulent period.
His childhood experiences had made him extremely insecure, so in the decade or so after leaving the family, he had been frantically absorbing knowledge—and, of course, seizing power along the way.
From Dark Arts to ancient war magic, and then to ancient rune magic, Sagres accepted all comers.
He walked among ancient, decaying ruins, time and again extracting long-forgotten magic from texts and making it his own.
Hogwarts, Durmstrang, Ilvermorny (United States)—he had virtually read all the books in the libraries of these three schools. In the year or so he traveled afterward, he also successively visited Beauxbatons in the French Pyrenees, the Moon Mountain magic school in Uganda, Africa, and the magic institute on Japan's volcanic island...
Of course, the principals of these schools had no idea that Sagres had "studied" in their libraries...
Over a decade of day-and-night study, nourished by countless magical texts, the boy who had once curled up in the Greengrass family's private library had now transformed into a wizard who could make the entire magical world tremble.
Improving spells? Creating magic?
This had long become an instinct ingrained in his bones.
The difference was that he no longer relied on external power—but on the knowledge in his own mind.
Sagres tapped the table lightly with his finger. Noctis, who was preening its feathers, looked up—its obsidian eyes reflecting the deepening curve of his lips.
He recalled the life-or-death crisis in the North Sea three years ago—at the time, he had been attempting to improve Apparition, and the spatial ripples caused by the spell had disturbed a sleeping Norwegian Sea Monster.
Tentacles like giant pythons shot out from the trench, suddenly tightening as they touched him. Yet Sagres was still immersed in the illusion woven by the creature, not even noticing the briny seawater filling his nasal cavity.
Even now, the memory still sent shivers down his spine.
The monster's mental infiltration had been able to bypass his magical barrier, which he had never relaxed over the years.
If not for Noctis's piercing cry—choking on water—which tore through the illusion, he might have long become a skeleton in the sea monster's lair.
Fortunately, he had that stupid bird with him, even though it often made Sagres's temples throb.
Sagres, who had nearly capsized in the gutter back then, looked at the giant beast before him. After a brief moment of fear came uncontrollable rage.
He unhesitatingly pulled out his wand and directly used his most powerful spell.
BOOM!
A violent torrent of magic erupted with a roar, and scarlet spell-light tore through the curtain of water.
Then, the mountain-like giant octopus was blasted into minced meat.
And that damned trip to France…
Noctis, due to its gluttony for the mithril bindings on the ancient books in the Beauxbatons library, awakened a Dark Arts book that had been dormant for two centuries.
The panicked raven had darted between the vaulted beams, its feathers brushing against ancient texts that successively activated magical wards—eventually escalating into a school-wide Dark creature invasion alert.
When he grabbed the raven by the neck right under the gargoyle patrol's nose, the idiot was still clutching half a gnawed-off piece of mithril in its claws… Heh..
His memories were interrupted by footsteps.
Sagres looked toward the door as Snape, wrapped in a large black robe, glided in.
He expressionlessly surveyed Sagres, but an unmistakable look of disgust appeared in his eyes when they landed on the raven. "Sagres, only you would employ such a peculiar creature."
Hearing this, Sagres nodded in agreement, his tone serious. "Indeed, Professor Snape."
The Potions Professor's disgust became even more apparent. "What exactly are you plotting, staying in the Restricted Section late at night?" His tone carried overt scrutiny and suspicion.
"As you can see, Professor…" He pointed to the raven on the table. "I'm researching the Dark Arts—and, of course, how to rule the world!"
Snape let out a scoff. Just as he was about to retort, Sagres waved his wand at the raven, and Noctis immediately flew to his shoulder. "Caw~ Caw~"
The Throat-Locking Tongue-Tie had been lifted at some point, and it stood on Sagres's shoulder, letting out two piercing cries.
"Shut up! You idiot!" Sagres snapped.
Then he explained apologetically to the open-mouthed Snape, "Heh~ My apologies, Professor Snape—I wasn't referring to you..."
"Sagres..." Snape's face darkened, his low voice filled with anger. "Perhaps you should learn how to respect your former professor."
"Of course, Professor Snape." Sagres gave a polite smile. "Rest assured, I certainly have absolute respect for you. But if you truly feel I've offended you, then deduct points from me!"
After speaking, he bowed slightly to Snape, and as he turned to leave, he looked back and added, "Oh, I forgot—you can't deduct points from me now, Professor. After all, I'm no longer a Hogwarts student."
"..."
With that, he ignored the grim-faced Snape and left the Hogwarts Library with Noctis the raven...
Sagres knew Snape disliked him, and likewise, he intensely disliked his former Potions Professor.
Their feud had a long history, and the reason for their animosity was quite simple.
During Sagres's student days, he was almost constantly accompanied by insults and curses.
Among them, the students of Slytherin House were particularly active—truly the "masters of foul-mouthing."
At first, Sagres paid no attention, because in his view, these insults weren't even insults.
One might ask: how much harm could attacking a wizard with a modern adult soul actually cause him?
It could only be said that the harm was minimal, and the insult was not strong at all.
So Sagres didn't even bother with pleasantries, choosing simply to ignore them.
But his constant forbearance did not make this group of morally skewed students restrain themselves; Sagres's silence instead fueled their arrogance, causing them to push their luck...