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"System, exchange for a bottle of magic recovery potion (middle)."
Moriarty slowly sat down by the shimmering lake as a cold gust of wind swept away what remained of his magic power. This was the weakest he had been in a long time.
The system promptly responded:
"10,000 points have been deducted. Exchange successful. You have obtained a bottle of medium-grade magic recovery potion."
A shimmering bottle of potion materialized in Moriarty's hand.
"10,000 points for a medium-grade potion? That price is robbery," he muttered. "One day, I'll brew my own recovery potions."
The system chimed in:
"That is indeed possible. You may look forward to your first attempt."
Moriarty uncorked the bottle and downed the potion without hesitation. The liquid was tangy and sweet. Almost immediately, a surge of warmth traveled from his skull through his body, reviving his exhausted limbs and reinvigorating his core. His magical reserves began to restore rapidly.
He rose and approached the slumbering black dragon by the lake. The dragon stirred, noticing Moriarty's presence, and flapped its wings gently, careful not to knock him back with the wind.
Moriarty raised his wand. With a twist and flick, a spiraling updraft of wind—a magically conjured tornado—lifted him into the air until he was eye-level with the dragon.
A fleeting look of surprise crossed the dragon's eyes. Its massive jaws moved, whispering something in deep, guttural draconic. The voice was so low and obscure that Moriarty couldn't make out the words.
Suddenly, a silver light gleamed from the dragon's eyes and struck Moriarty's vision. He instinctively shut his eyes—it wasn't hostile, he was sure of that.
When he opened them again, the dragon had vanished.
In its place stood a tall, handsome blond man suspended in midair. He wore a high-collared, rune-etched mage robe, and held Dracula's head casually by the hair. His gaze met Moriarty's with calm amusement.
"Greetings, Hogwarts student," the man said politely with a graceful bow. "Before we exchange introductions, may I ask—what year is it?"
Moriarty, still calm, glanced toward the Forbidden Forest.
"September, 1989," he replied. "If you want the date according to the elven calendar, you'll have to ask them yourself."
"I'd prefer not to deal with elves if I can help it. So, 1989 AD…" the man mused, eyes narrowing.
"That means I've been asleep for over 1300 years? Close enough to round it to 1500. Fifteen centuries… No wonder the seal on Dracula weakened. That's more than enough time. Did he cause trouble at Hogwarts?"
He tilted his head thoughtfully.
"You bear a resemblance to Mr. Salazar. Are you one of his descendants? My name is Merlin. I once studied at Slytherin House."
Moriarty raised an eyebrow, but didn't act surprised. He had already deduced the man's identity.
"I'm the last Slytherin. So you're one of my ancestor's students?"
"Yes," Merlin replied with a nostalgic look. "When I joined, the first batch of seventh-years had just graduated. I remember a noble lad named Barrow who pursued Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter for seven years. Did he ever succeed?"
"No."
A brief smile flickered across Moriarty's lips. He hadn't expected Barrow's ill-fated love to be remembered even by Merlin, the so-called god of magic.
To test the man's identity, Moriarty shifted the topic:
"Did you come to Hogwarts to seal Dracula? With your power, the Four Founders likely wouldn't have been your match. There had to be another reason."
"You've hit the nail on the head." Merlin lifted Dracula's head for emphasis.
"I split the seal into two. Dracula's body was sealed inside a suit of armor—Salazar helped craft it—and hidden in a portrait mural. His head, however, I sealed in a dimensional space linked to my own consciousness using draconic magic: the 'Sleeping Dragon.'"
Moriarty's eyes narrowed.
"Could you be more specific?"
"Certainly," Merlin said cheerfully.
"Salazar aided me with the head's seal. I don't mind sharing the details with his descendant. Shall we land and talk?"
Moriarty nodded.
"I improved the flying spell my ancestor left behind. I call it Dimoaka."
They descended to the lakeside, where Merlin explained further.
"The Sleeping Dragon spell's core meaning is 'never wake a sleeping dragon.' It's a powerful draconic sealing magic. I used alchemy to forge an immortal construct—my current self—using a portion of my soul and consciousness."
Moriarty nodded thoughtfully, intrigued by this new fusion of alchemy and draconic magic.
"Through a unique bond between dragon tongue and alchemy, I transformed into a black dragon and sealed Dracula's head within myself. The place of sealing was Avalon, reinforced using elven-alchemy synergy. That's how you came to find me as a mountain beside the holy lake."
"For over a millennium, I remained dormant—Dracula's head buried deep beneath me. His body lay dormant within the murals of Hogwarts. But I still don't understand what awakened him."
Moriarty's eyes flickered. The Hogwarts disturbances—likely connected to the "Riot"—may have shattered the balance.
Merlin frowned.
"Only Salazar and I knew of Dracula's body at Hogwarts. The other three thought I was at Hogwarts simply to study school management."
"School management?" Moriarty raised a brow.
"Were you planning to start your own magical academy?"
"Indeed!" Merlin smiled brightly.
"When King Arthur asked me what I'd build as my legacy, I said, 'a school.' But… things changed."
His voice dropped.
"Arthur ignored my advice and cast away the scabbard. Then war came, and I was trapped in Avalon's forest by Vivian."
Merlin turned to gaze upon the lake, eyes reflecting golden light. He searched the dense woods nearby, unable to find the ancient oak that had imprisoned him. Time had changed everything.
The weight of centuries pressed on Moriarty. Merlin's presence reminded him of Nicolas Flamel, but the power emanating from Merlin was vastly greater.
"Ahem," Moriarty cleared his throat and reached into his robe.
"Is this the scabbard you're talking about?"
He held out the ancient sheath.
Merlin's ethereal air vanished. His eyes widened, and he gently traced the engraved runes.
"You have the scabbard? Slytherin's descendant has it! I see… then I must say something important."
His expression turned solemn. Locking eyes with Moriarty, he said gravely:
"Never lose it. Keep it with you always. It will shield you. You must protect it too—it's tied to a dark prophecy of immortality."
Moriarty's eyes darkened.
"Wait. Did you say this scabbard is tied to the prophecy of eternal life?"
Merlin flinched at the intensity in Moriarty's gaze.
"Have you heard of it?"
"I've heard whispers," Moriarty replied vaguely.
"Especially from the East… from Dongying. They seem obsessed with immortality."
"Dongying…" Merlin muttered thoughtfully.
"Then my true body must head east.
After Arthur's death, I wandered the world, seeking a way to resurrect him. A Hebrew noble spoke of a prophecy that could restore life. But I discovered that the immortality prophecy was a dark and vile form of magic.
Dracula was among those seeking it. When he approached me again, I knew I had to stop him—for the sake of the world."
"So this… all runs deeper than I thought."
Moriarty unconsciously grasped the Ice Moon necklace at his neck.
Dracula—one of the most fearsome beings in history—was merely a pawn in a greater conspiracy surrounding immortality?
And now, Moriarty stood against that force?
He looked between the enchanted scabbard in his hand and the chillingly cold necklace on his chest.
Things were only beginning.
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