The next seed that caught Char's eye had wrinkled skin and a special, pungent smell. It was called Chalati grass, a plant found only in the magical world. As it matured, its unique aroma grew stronger, and its leaves, when burned, emitted a scent much like fine tobacco. For some wizards, Chalati leaves were a high-end luxury, a superior alternative to any cigarette, the wizarding world's equivalent of a fine cigar.
Naturally, its price was quite high, but Char didn't care about its monetary value. What captivated him was the reward information that appeared when he touched the seed.
[Cultivate the Chalati grass to maturity and receive a reward: Spirit Enhancement (Black Iron Level)]
A flicker of heat flashed in Char's eyes. The more he learned about magic, the more he understood the crucial role of the spirit. It was a fundamental concept, repeated in every course: magic was an idealistic power. The firmness of one's mental will was a key factor in casting any spell. The more determined the caster, the more significant the effect. Sometimes, a strong spirit could even push a wizard's potential to its absolute extreme, unleashing a power they themselves would never have thought possible.
He recalled passages from the history books. On the night he betrayed the Potters, Peter Pettigrew had cast a single spell that blew up an entire street. In his previous life, Char had found this unbelievable. If Pettigrew was that powerful, why was he always so timid and subservient? Then there was the final battle, where Bellatrix Lestrange, Voldemort's most powerful lieutenant, was killed in a one-on-one duel by Molly Weasley, a woman who spent her days on housework, with no time to practice powerful magic. For a long time, Char had found these events incomprehensible.
But now, after experiencing magic firsthand, he finally understood. Pettigrew had unleashed such a powerful spell because, in that moment, he was completely unhinged. All the grievances and resentments that had accumulated over years of being looked down upon had burst forth at once, elevating his spirit to a level he could never normally attain. Molly Weasley's power had come from a similar place: the desperate, ferocious need to protect her children from a monster.
If magical perception and strength were a wizard's base stats, then the spirit was the amplifier. A wizard with a strong spirit could utilize their abilities to their fullest potential, or even beyond. Inversely, a timid wizard, no matter how talented, could find their strength deserting them in a critical moment. "Even in the final battle," Char mused, "did Voldemort lose simply because Harry was the true master of the Elder Wand? Dumbledore dueled Grindelwald when Grindelwald wielded the wand, and Dumbledore won. Voldemort's defeat was as much about his mental state collapsing when he realized the wand wasn't his as it was about the wand's allegiance."
The importance of the spirit was clear. And for Char, this was excellent news. Whether it was because he had lived two lives, or because of the hardships he had endured, or simply because his strong body nourished a strong mind, his own spirit was far more resilient than that of an ordinary wizard. It was one of his greatest strengths. "My magical talent was too weak before," he thought. "No matter how strong my spirit was, it couldn't make up for my physical limitations. But now, my talent is growing. In the future, the strength of my spirit will become more and more important. No one complains that their greatest strength is too strong. This is something I must cultivate."
He had found the Chalati grass seeds, and his mood soared. And as if the goddess of luck herself were smiling upon him, another moment later, he found another plant that made him ecstatic.
It was the Pute fruit. It was a magical plant that didn't taste good but was incredibly filling. Legend had it that a single Pute fruit could sustain an adult for three days and three nights. A strange, brilliant light appeared in Char's eyes. He planned to tame more trolls to cultivate his goldfish spider plants, which meant he would need a massive amount of food. The Hogwarts kitchens couldn't possibly meet that demand. But if he could grow Pute fruit in large quantities, the problem would be solved. Even with a troll's monstrous appetite, a few Pute fruits would be enough. As for the taste, trolls were not picky eaters.
The simple fact that the Pute fruit could feed his future troll army was enough to make him decide to plant it. But when his eyes fell on its reward information, his breathing stopped for a moment.
[Grow Pute Fruit until it matures to receive a reward: Stamina Enhancement (Black Iron Level)]
The veins on his hands bulged, the excitement in his heart almost too much to contain. It was another ability related to his physical body. Endurance was closely linked to life, strength, and even blood production. This, he realized, was another piece of the puzzle, another key that, like his hematopoietic ability, could lead him to the mythical level.
He had made up his mind. Chalati grass and Pute fruit would be the first things he planted.
But a moment later, his brows furrowed. The Chalati grass seeds were not a problem; while expensive, they were sold on the open market. The Pute fruit, however, was not grown from seeds, but from tubers. One could simply cut a piece from a mature fruit and bury it in the soil to grow a new plant. The problem was that the sample his aunt had left him was dried and lifeless, completely unusable for cultivation.
The note from Professor Sprout explained why. The Pute fruit grew exclusively on the Isle of Drear, the ancestral home of the McBoone and McLevert families. But as the feud between the two families escalated, the McLeverts used an ancient dark magic to transform the entire McBoone clan into monstrous, five-legged creatures. That very night, as the McLeverts celebrated their victory, the newly created monsters massacred them to the last man. From then on, the Isle of Drear was occupied by the creatures that had once been the McBoone family. What was worse, they found that they enjoyed their new forms and refused to be changed back.
The Ministry of Magic had sent wizards to the island several times to try and reverse the curse, but the "Quintapeds," as they came to be called, were not only extremely resistant to transfiguration, but had also retained some of their magical abilities. They simply ate every wizard the Ministry sent. For this reason, the Quintaped was classified as a 5X magical creature, one of the most dangerous in existence. The Isle of Drear itself was designated as Unplottable by the Ministry and hidden from the wizarding world. No fresh Pute fruit had been cultivated since.
Char suddenly understood. The Pute fruit was tied to one of the most dangerous magical beasts in existence. Just from his aunt's description, he could tell that the Quintapeds were not to be trifled with. They were intelligent, social, resistant to transfiguration, possessed their own magic, and had a taste for human flesh. They were like an upgraded version of the Acromantula. And even if he could deal with them, the island itself had been lost for centuries.
But for Char, the Pute fruit was the most suitable plant he had found among the thousands of samples. It was the solution to his food problem and the key to another potential path to the mythical level. He was determined to get it. His eyes were deep and resolute as he committed every piece of information about the fruit to memory. Then, he took a deep breath and headed for the library. The reclamation permit had not yet arrived, and even when it did, it would take a long time to prepare the land. In the meantime, he could search for clues about the Isle of Drear, the Quintapeds, and the Pute fruit.
At that same moment, outside the Ministry of Magic, a chaotic scene was unfolding. Countless reporters were gathered, making it nearly impossible to pass. They swarmed anyone who came in or out, shouting questions about Umbridge's death.
"Is it true she committed suicide? Was she a victim of office bullying?"
"We have a source that says she uncovered a financial scandal at the Ministry! Is that why she's dead?"
"We've heard rumors of a crime of passion! Can you share any details?"
In the minister's office, a frantic Fudge paced back and forth. He stared out the window at the chaos below and, with a roar of frustration, smashed a cup on his desk. "These damn, despicable reporters!" he bellowed. "They're like a pack of hyenas circling a corpse! Do they care one bit about the truth? It's all for the sake of sensationalism!" He was breathing heavily. "Who cares about that toad Umbridge? But now they're talking about her death as if the sky is falling, just because they want to see the Ministry embarrassed! They want to see me fail!"
Just then, his assistant knocked timidly on the door, holding a large stack of documents. "Minister… Minister Fudge. There are some documents that have been piling up for several days. The reporters are starting to fabricate rumors that the Ministry is paralyzed after Umbridge's death. I think… perhaps you need to clear your mind and deal with them."
The veins on Fudge's temples bulged. He cursed again, but a moment later, he sighed deeply, a look of despair on his face. "Bring them here," he said, slumping into his chair. "This blasted life!"
He began to flip through the documents listlessly. A moment later, he paused, a look of surprise on his face. "Hm? This document doesn't have a department stamp. That's against procedure."
"It's from the Sprout boy, sir," the assistant reminded him. "You remember, we signed a contract to be responsible for his Herbology resources. He's applying for over a hundred bottles of fertilizing potion and a land reclamation permit." To try and cheer Fudge up, he added indignantly, "The nerve of this boy, picking a time like this! Doesn't he know you're busy, Minister?"
Fudge frowned, initially annoyed, especially since the contract had been signed under Dumbledore's watchful eye. But a moment later, his eyes suddenly lit up. "A reclamation permit? Fertilizing potion? Is this boy planning to cultivate his own land?" A broad, cunning smile spread across his face. "Good! Excellent! This is perfect timing!"
The assistant looked confused. Fudge chuckled, a mysterious look on his face. "There's all this fuss about Umbridge right now. The public thinks we're incompetent, corrupt… But what if we give them something? I guarantee they'll be praising us to the heavens. The death of one Umbridge? Who would care?" He snapped his fingers, his eyes on Char's letter. "That's right. We can make a big show of this. Open up the land reclamation permits again. It will demonstrate our commitment to improving people's lives. And this boy… he can be our poster child."
The assistant's face filled with admiration. "Minister! That's brilliant!" But he hesitated. "But… what if people start developing a lot of wasteland?"
Fudge laughed. "It's not as if this hasn't been tried before. The fact is, reclaiming land is hard work. Most people who apply are just acting on impulse. When it comes time to actually do the work, how many of them will persevere? And for those who do, how many acres can they possibly reclaim? With the application fees and the fees for the protective spells, it's actually a net profit for the Ministry. What's there to be afraid of?"
The assistant nodded, completely won over by Fudge's political acumen. "So, what level of permission should we issue for the boy? Is ten acres enough?"
Fudge shook his head, a look of disappointment on his face. "Think bigger! We're going to use this for publicity. Ten acres? What publicity value does that have?" He scrawled a note on the document. "No limit. Give him an unlimited reclamation permit. We will support whatever he can reclaim. And make sure to mention in the press release that the Ministry will be waiving all fees for the protective magic and the Floo Network connection, to demonstrate our unlimited support for young wizarding entrepreneurs."
The assistant was shocked. "Unlimited?! Minister, isn't that an exaggeration?"
Fudge laughed again. "It only seems exaggerated. He's only allowed to cultivate the land himself. He can't ask for help. Do you really think he can reclaim that much land? He's a little wizard, not a mule. And even if he were, how much land could a single mule reclaim before it died of exhaustion? Your vision is too narrow. The Ministry is full of leeches anyway. It's just one boy. What are you so nervous about? I'll say it again: this isn't going to bankrupt the Ministry of Magic!" He waved his hand dismissively. "Hurry and send the permit and the potions to Hogwarts. And then get me some good press."
His expression darkened. "Of course, we still need to continue the investigation into Umbridge's death. Are there any leads from the Aurors?"
The assistant's face grew serious. "A few. But the clues all point to Hogwarts. And with all the recent trouble there… hearings, academic reviews… if we send in the Aurors again, it might give Dumbledore the wrong idea."
Fudge felt a headache coming on. But a moment later, he thought of the perfect candidate. "There's a trainee Auror… what's her name? Tonks? A recent graduate, still has connections at Hogwarts, and she's a die-hard Dumbledore supporter. Perfect. Let a Hogwarts graduate investigate Hogwarts. Let Dumbledore's people deal with Dumbledore. Let her find out how Umbridge died!"