`"Wait, Acromantula venom, cedar wood!"
Newt turned to a small vial on the table, crafted from cedar. Unscrewing the cap, he levitated a single drop of liquid.
"As I thought—it's Acromantula venom, and the quality…"
Newt compared it to his own stock of Acromantula venom, realizing that Lucien's sample was of a higher caliber than most he'd seen. "The Acromantula that produced this must have been quite old. The older they are, the more potent the venom."
Honestly, such an aged Acromantula would be rare, which only deepened Newt's curiosity. Where had Lucien found so many Acromantulas, including one this old? It must have come from a sizable colony…
Newt's gaze shifted to the stack of documents. The Acromantula revelation had piqued his interest in the rest of Lucien's notes.
A few pages floated into his hands:
Centaurs…
Newt's eyes widened slightly. Centaurs were notoriously aloof toward humans, often bordering on disdain, keeping them at arm's length. "How did that kid get records on centaurs?"
Glancing at the remaining pile of papers, Newt wondered just how much of it was about centaurs.
As he reached to summon more documents with a spell, a concerned voice interrupted him.
"Newt, I heard you coughing earlier. Did you catch a cold?" Tina said. "The weather here is so damp and chilly. I told you to come back to America with me to rest, but you wouldn't listen."
Tina watched her husband poring over the papers, her tone softening. "Come on, have breakfast first."
"You go ahead, Tina. I'll eat in a bit, just let me finish this," Newt replied.
"…"
A minute later, Newt was dutifully seated at the breakfast table, though he still clutched a stack of papers.
Tina glanced at Luster, the Qilin, who had shrunk to a smaller size. After her initial amazement, she'd quickly grown accustomed to its extraordinary abilities. "Luster, what kind of food do you like?"
Newt perked up at the question, eager to learn more about the creature's habits.
"Thank you, Mrs. Tina. Some vegetables or fruits will do," Luster replied.
Tina nodded, waving her wand to summon a platter of fresh produce from the kitchen.
Newt mentally noted that Qilins were vegetarian. But what happened next caught him off guard. Luster sniffed the fruits and vegetables, and faint wisps of pale green-white energy rose from their surfaces, drifting into the Qilin's mouth and nose.
Newt had never seen such a peculiar feeding method. Tina, equally astonished, remarked that it was unlike anything she'd ever witnessed.
After observing Luster, Newt returned to the documents. The more he read, the more puzzled he became.
"Centaur newborns need to be bathed in windstar grass juice for seven days straight?"
Newt couldn't fathom how Lucien had recorded such intimate details, as if he'd lived among centaurs for years.
He hurriedly finished breakfast and returned to his desk, diving back into the centaur section. This time, he could hardly find anything to correct. Like the Acromantula notes, the information was incredibly detailed—some specifics even Newt wasn't entirely clear on.
Still grappling with how Lucien had gotten so close to centaurs, Newt moved on to the next set of records.
"Unicorns?"
This only deepened his confusion. Lucien was a young male student, wasn't he? Unicorns were famously wary of men. How had he managed to get close enough to observe them?
"Did he ask a female classmate to help with the observations? Surely he didn't use Polyjuice Potion to turn into a girl…" Newt shook his head, dismissing the thought, and continued reading. The remaining documents were fewer now, with Acromantulas and centaurs dominating the stack.
"Changes in unicorns during pregnancy…"
Reading this section, Newt was floored, marveling at Lucien's luck. He himself had once observed a pregnant unicorn and its birthing process from a distance, but Lucien had meticulously documented the creature's changes throughout pregnancy—something Newt had never managed.
"He'd be perfect for a career in magical creatures. I wonder if Lucien's interested…"
Newt grabbed a quill and parchment, scribbling a reply to Lucien. It included answers to his questions, words of encouragement and recognition, and a casual inquiry about his Hogwarts house.
Glancing at the hefty Acromantula notes and the vial of venom, Newt shook his head. "Hogwarts students just keep getting more impressive with each generation."
He opened a trapdoor and descended, returning moments later with a small purple bucket made of amethyst crystal, perfect for safely storing Thestral explosive fluid.
Newt tucked the letter and bucket into a satchel and handed it to Luster. Just as the Qilin prepared to leave, Newt finally asked the question that had been nagging him.
"By the way, Luster, what kind of magical creature are you, exactly?"
Luster's ethereal voice echoed in Newt's mind: "Mr. Newt, I am a Qilin."
…
Inside the quiet of his Undetectable Extension Charm cabin, Lucien savored the peace.
He flipped through Identifying Dark Magic. "Soul-control dark magic, aside from the infamous Imperius Curse…"
Lucien had already studied many dark magic characteristics and identification methods. Nearly every entry mentioned the same warning: Using dark magic will inevitably twist and mutate the soul and body—an irreversible descent into an abyss from which there is no return.
A question kept nagging at him: Did different people experience different effects from using dark magic? The best comparison was Voldemort and Grindelwald.
Voldemort's madness and distortion likely stemmed not just from his dark magic studies but also from the soul-splitting act of creating Horcruxes. Grindelwald, on the other hand, seemed far more… normal. Physically, at least, he showed no obvious mutations, still appearing human. His soul? Hard to say, but he wasn't as unhinged as Tom. Grindelwald's madness was colder, more calculated, driven by intricate plans rather than brute force and terror.
Grindelwald had undoubtedly used plenty of dark magic—those city-incinerating blue flames were proof enough.
"System," Lucien said, "dark magic affects the soul and body with prolonged use. With my SS+ dark magic talent, can't I avoid or at least reduce those effects?"
[Unless the host's dark magic talent reaches a true SSS level, unbound by mortal limits, prolonged or frequent use of extreme dark magic will inevitably take its toll.]
So, there were limits after all. But it seemed the higher the talent, the greater the "resistance" to dark magic's effects. The stronger your aptitude, the less severe the consequences.
Voldemort's talent was undeniably high, yet he ended up a monstrous shell of himself. Was it because he dabbled in the most extreme dark magic? Those sinister resurrection methods? The deranged act of splitting his soul for Horcruxes?
Heh, if Eastern wizards heard someone was trying to achieve immortality by turning themselves into multiple "spirit vessels," they'd probably laugh themselves silly.
"System, with my dark magic talent, how much use would it take to cause irreversible effects?"
[Cast one hundred Killing Curses a day for a month, and irreversible effects will set in.]
"…"
Lucien fell silent.
A hundred Avada Kedavra spells a day, for a whole month?
That was… interesting.
The world would probably need a new prison, one to rival Azkaban and Nurmengard, just to hold Lucien Grafton.