Chapter 338: Busy Alexander
While Harry Potter was busy attending Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Dinner, Alexander Smith was far from idle.
If anything, he had been exceptionally busy lately.
So busy, in fact, that when it came to tempering Harry, only Moaning Myrtle had been involved.
I'll have to make up for that later, Alexander noted inwardly.
Over the past period of time, Alexander had spent most of his days dealing with the harvest from the Room of Requirement—repairing ancient artifacts, restoring damaged items, or breaking them down into usable raw materials. Each task demanded careful attention, especially when even a slight mistake could result in magical backlash.
On top of that, there was Voldemort.
For reasons Alexander still found mildly amusing, Voldemort had recently grown inexplicably foolish and begun attacking his own subordinates. While it was undeniably satisfying to unleash his own "knight form"—a fusion inspired by the transformation effects of Kamen Rider Zi-O and Cronus, complete with a lengthy and dramatic monologue—it was also exhausting.
Controlling that level of power while making sure not to kill Voldemort was far harder than it sounded.
Only then did Alexander truly understand Aizen's famous line from Bleach:
"It's very difficult to control your strength so precisely that you can step on an ant without killing it."
It resonated with him deeply.
Although Alexander could split himself into two bodies and skip classes freely using the Smith family's secret magic, the strain still accumulated. He had to remain present at Hogwarts with Penelope, Kate, Hermione, and Luna simultaneously—while occasionally traveling abroad to visit Fleur.
At times, Alexander even began to doubt whether his Level 6 and Level 5 body transformations were real.
His body was always in peak condition, overflowing with energy, yet a strange sense of fatigue lingered.
Eventually, he understood the reason.
It wasn't physical exhaustion—it was habitual mortal thinking.
By ordinary standards, someone this busy should feel tired.
And so, he did.
That mental state was why Alexander had recently become inseparable from Dr. Hamster Wheel, relying on its magical effects to clear both mind and body. While he could regulate himself through magic alone, the difference was like cleaning dirt off with a spell versus taking a warm bath.
Both worked—but one was undeniably more comfortable.
This change did not go unnoticed.
Jerry the cat's eyes had been sparkling with dangerous interest lately, prompting him to reconsider whether eating mice was truly beneath his dignity.
One night, Alexander even caught Jerry nearly biting Banban, dirtying his mouth in the process.
As a result, Alexander had no choice but to pet the chubby cat with one hand while soothing Dr. Flywheel with the other, calming Jerry back to normal.
Still, being busy wasn't what truly irritated Alexander.
That sense of busyness was merely an illusion born from mortal habits.
What genuinely troubled him was the reaction—or lack thereof—of the Grim Reaper.
Neither the ghostification of food nor the revival of Chronos's divine name had provoked any response from the God of Death.
Even Dumbledore—clearly pushed to the brink by the Elder Wand's influence—had not drawn His attention.
Alexander was certain of it.
According to Alexander's deductions, the Grim Reaper had clearly noticed everything. And yet, He could not—or would not—leave the afterlife.
This frustrated Alexander greatly. His original plan had been to confront Him directly in the real world, settle the matter swiftly, and move on.
Fortunately, with Penelope and the others by his side, Alexander was never truly bored.
And lately, a new topic had lifted his spirits considerably.
The Godly Name Inheritance Plan.
Gods, in essence, were wizards—or rather, the earliest wizards.
No one knew when the first wizard was born. But one truth was evident: the older the wizard, the more terrifying their power.
Among those first-generation wizards, the strongest were remembered as God-Kings in myth, revered as embodiments of the First Cause, or creators of reality itself.
Each deity symbolizing the First Cause was, without exception, a wizard who had approached—or touched—Level 8.
Their deaths were untouchable secrets.
Their names and legends became forces that later wizards could not directly borrow.
In Alexander's understanding, Level 8 — the Transcendent possessed the power to rewrite everything.
His Kingdom of God already stood dangerously close to that threshold.
Perhaps the Kingdom of God itself was the ladder that allowed gods to reach transcendence.
With it, Alexander—already a Level 6 demigod wizard armed with an infinitely scaling panel—was guaranteed to reach that realm eventually.
But…
It was far too slow.
Even with the panel, the progress felt glacial.
Though his combat power already rivaled top-tier Level 7 beings—and he could even challenge the most powerful God of Death in existence—Alexander was still fundamentally a demigod wizard.
The leap from Level 6 to Level 7, from demigod to true god, progressed at a pace slower than a crawling turtle.
Only then did Alexander understand why demigods like Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Grindelwald had stopped pursuing pure magical advancement and instead turned to chaos and conflict.
Progress without a panel was so slow that it felt nonexistent.
Eventually, they mistook stagnation for a ceiling.
To accelerate his breakthrough, Alexander devised a solution—one bordering on heresy.
Dead gods.
The deities of mythology whose names and stories had accumulated immeasurable power over thousands of years.
Their legends had become part of the magical magnetic field itself—death-aligned power that ordinary wizards could neither absorb nor touch.
Yet paradoxically, this power was stable, safe, and resistant to corruption.
Alexander's method was simple.
Inherit what no ordinary wizard could inherit.
Thus, his gaze turned toward Chronos—the dead First Cause, the creator god of Greek mythology.
By inheriting His name, Alexander could give birth to a Living God of Time.
Only then did Alexander realize that his true nature had already shortened the distance between himself and his future Level 7 self—a realm that would otherwise have taken decades to reach, even with a panel.
This led him to a final realization.
Perhaps the Grim Reaper's overwhelming strength came from the absence of a true name.
He was simply Death.
His Kingdom of God was the Afterlife itself.
He may have absorbed—actively and passively—the authority of every death god across mythology, losing individuality and becoming pure death.
Something closer to Gaia's unconscious will.
His subconscious preferences manifested as destiny.
Prophecies.
Chosen children.
Tragic parental deaths.
All were echoes of that unconscious influence.
The first God of Death may have foreseen this fate and arranged the inheritance of the throne.
The second Grim Reaper—the third brother of legend—accepted it willingly.
Viewing himself as already dead, believing even death itself would one day claim him.
From that acceptance, a monster was born.
Immortal wizards were infected, abandoning their immortality and dying inexplicably.
If this theory was correct, then the Grim Reaper's refusal to leave the afterlife made perfect sense.
He had no self.
No concept of departure.
No awareness of the world beyond death.
He only influenced what lay within it.
There was, quite simply, no idea of "coming out."
(End of Chapter)
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