Thick black mist coiled around Ollivander's body, trying to seep inside and reshape him.
The process was anything but simple—unlike in the original story, where the dark sorcerer Dao could casually raise his hand and corrupt the cannon-fodder trio.
After all, those three—plus the black tiger Ah Fu—were mere mortals. Garrick Ollivander, however, was a true wizard.
Even unconscious from the blow, the magic within him instinctively resisted the invasion. The mist, though insidious, found it difficult to penetrate.
The corruption seemed to make no progress, but Louis wasn't anxious—he had a backup plan.
After ten fruitless minutes, he switched tactics, manipulating the mist with brute force instead of subtlety.
He drove tendrils of black fog straight into Ollivander's limbs, violently breaking down his flesh.
This wasn't gentle corrosion—it was brutal contamination.
Without conscious control, Ollivander's magic couldn't fend off the assault. Soon, the black mist had overtaken most of his body.
But such violence left the already-aged wandmaker teetering on the brink of death.
Louis, however, didn't consider that a problem. While feeding more mist into him, he simultaneously used the Horse Talisman's healing power to repair the damage.
During this cycle of destruction and rebirth, the black energy fused with muscle, blood, and nerves, unknowingly reshaping Ollivander into Louis's desired form.
Muscles swelled. Wrinkled skin stretched smooth.
His complexion darkened to a bronze shade, faint blue energy lines slowly surfacing across it.
Ollivander was rapidly transforming into a Dark Slayer. His magic, retreating step by step, fell back until it clustered in his head.
Louis was sweating heavily now, the mist inside him depleting faster than expected.
But he could hold on—and the process was nearly complete.
At this stage, he only needed to use the Dog Talisman's power to prevent Ollivander's death at the final surge of corruption, and the transformation would succeed.
But Louis did not.
Instead, he halted the mist's final invasion of the head, redirecting it through Ollivander's body, hiding it beneath the skin where it would remain unseen.
Under his guidance, Ollivander's skin tone returned to normal, the glowing veins faded—but the hardened muscles and taut skin remained, thrumming with explosive power.
Louis had deliberately spared the man's mind.
As a wandmaker, Ollivander's knowledge and experience were worth more than his life. If those were lost, he would no longer be Ollivander, and keeping him alive would be meaningless.
By focusing on fusing his body with the dark mist while leaving his mind untouched, Louis ensured both control and usefulness.
After all, Louis didn't need a wand himself—but having a master wandmaker as his subordinate was invaluable.
"And besides," Louis murmured, "I need a wand of my own… or rather, a cane."
With the right wand, his black magic would cast faster and strike harder. Ollivander's expertise would help him craft something tailored to his power.
When the last step was done, Louis let out a long breath. His reserves of dark mist were nearly exhausted, leaving him with a hollow weakness.
But it was just an illusion. With the Twelve Talismans, he could still punch a cow to death with one strike.
Packing away the ritual materials, Louis sank into a chair and poured himself a cup of cool green tea.
He drank leisurely, waiting for Ollivander to wake.
Half an hour later, the wandmaker finally stirred. The moment he opened his eyes, he gasped softly.
Something was different. The lingering eye problems he'd carried for years from endless wandcrafting—gone. His vision was clear.
Before he could savor it, he realized something else: he was lying on the floor.
What happened?
Scrambling to his feet, he marveled at his newfound agility, then spotted Louis calmly sipping tea. Memories rushed back.
"You!" Ollivander's eyes widened. "You knocked me out and then… what did you do to me?"
The line sounded awkward enough—but coming from a seventy-year-old man, it was downright ridiculous.
Louis rolled his eyes. "Just tell me how you feel now."
"Good. Very good. Better than ever before!" Ollivander said, piling on three goods in a row.
He flexed his fingers. His frailty was gone. His hands were more nimble than ever.
For wandcraft, precision mattered as much as experience. Most wandmakers were at their peak for only a decade—young enough to have fine control, yet old enough to have learned.
Some, of course, were useless from youth to old age.
But now, Ollivander felt as though he had his youthful body back, with all his wisdom and experience intact.
And perhaps it was just his imagination—but his mind felt sharper than it had in his prime.
"But how did you do this?" Ollivander asked, staring at Louis as though he were some rare specimen. "Did you bathe me in Felix Felicis?"
Felix Felicis—the potion of "liquid luck." It didn't literally grant fortune, but boosted inspiration, energy, and confidence, letting one achieve their utmost potential.
But it could never reverse aging. It could make one shine—but not restore youth.
This young man… just what had he done?
"You're curious, aren't you?" Louis said with a mysterious smile. "Do you really want to know?"
"No matter what you tell me, from this moment forward you are my closest friend," Ollivander declared firmly.
"Well then, don't be mad," Louis replied with a grin. "Congratulations—you're not human anymore."
"From the very moment you woke up."
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