Chapter 602: One Step Closer to Legend
I fell asleep in that town again.
Fortunately, this time I didn't forget much. Perhaps it was because I hadn't
released my magic with total "blindness" this time?
When Sean woke, the words of Madam Brock still echoed in his mind, as did the
image of the wooden cottage and the figures standing outside its walls. Most
crucially, he had found the root of the massive spike in his Transfiguration
proficiency—and he had put it into practice.
[You have practiced Soul Transfiguration at a Legendary standard. Proficiency
+1,000,000] [Soul Transfiguration proficiency has significantly increased.]
How many zeros is that? Sean blinked, momentarily dazed.
[Name: Sean Green] [Transfiguration Talent: Purple (Transfiguration Master title
active)]
[Transfiguration Branches:]
- Magical Transfiguration: Master (1,250/3,000,000)
- Material Transfiguration: Master (1,250/3,000,000)
- Soul Transfiguration: Master (1,011,250/3,000,000)
[Evaluation: A wizard who has reached the Master tier in Transfiguration is an
elite among elites, capable of overwhelming multiple opponents who have only
just stepped into the Master rank.]
The staggering jump in Soul Transfiguration proficiency washed away the
lingering gloom Sean felt over the new cracks appearing in his Void Rune. At
this rate, he only needed to cross the Veil twice more to push the entire branch
into the Legendary tier.
Legendary...
What kind of realm would that be? Albus Dumbledore was undoubtedly a wizard
standing at the absolute peak of that mountain. Sean was certain that even now,
he had never truly glimpsed the full extent of the Headmaster's power.
What fundamental change will a Legendary title bring to my magic? he wondered.
Will it elevate my actual talent rating as well?
He didn't have the answers, but the drive to find them was intoxicating. After
returning from the Lands Between this time, Sean felt a profound internal shift.
First was his understanding of the craft itself. While channeling his magic in
the Veil, his own "Magical Circuits" had become visible—not to the eyes, but to
the soul.
They were structures that seemed not to exist in physical space, yet they
dictated the flow of power. For most wizards, sensing these was purely a matter
of intuition; even in magical beasts, these circuits left no tangible trace.
High-level students traditionally relied on ancient sketches and crabbed notes
from the Masters to guess at their form. But those were just
formulas—abstractions. They weren't written on the skin of reality.
As a result, most wizards succeeded or failed based purely on raw talent.
Now, however, Sean's perception of his own circuit was crystalline. It was an
inexplicable sensation; when he cast a spell, his control was far more precise.
He had discovered the secret of efficiency. When he cast a Transfiguration now,
he instinctively activated the most direct magical pathways. He could produce a
massive effect with barely a fraction of the effort.
It wasn't that the magic was "stronger"—it was that the delivery was perfect. In
his second private lesson, Dumbledore had taught him to limit time and range to
maximize power. This new realization was the logical evolution of that lesson.
Sean reached for his parchment. His eagle-feather quill began to dance,
recording his latest insights for the Wizard's Tome:
[When Transfiguration reaches the rank of Master, the wizard possesses absolute
faith in their intent, having built an unshakable internal 'Order.' This allows
them to grasp the core of the art and manifest high-level transformations with
ease. This is the rank of a Master.
But beyond this point, the path splits for the few who dare to continue. All
previous efforts teach the wizard that magic is a field of infinite potential.
With enough 'Blind Confidence,' the ceiling can be raised without limit—this is
the source of the ancients' terrifying power. But it is also the root of total
loss of control.
The path of 'Wisdom,' however, leads elsewhere. It is the path of absolute
Mastery. Perfect utilization brings perfect manifestation. This is the second
road—the road of the Conductor.]
Sean tucked the notes away, realizing he had enough material for an entirely new
volume. He looked at the Wizard's Tome in his lap, wondering if one day another
student would find this book and feel the same spark he felt when reading the
journals of the Masters. He hoped they would continue the cycle of exploration.
His gaze turned deep and distant. He wanted to learn more. Perhaps the Sorting
Hat was right; there was a touch of greed in his pursuit of the stars.
"Sean! Get a move on—we're going home today!"
Michael Corner's shout shattered the silence of the dormitory. "By the way,
you're going back to the farm, right?"
At the same time, Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot poked their heads into the
room.
"Mmm," Sean nodded simply. He was indeed heading to the McGonagall estate.
Michael knew Sean lived on a "farm" from their occasional letter exchanges over
the holidays. Michael would always send postcards of his travels—much like
Justin—trying to casually fish for details about Sean's personal life. He was
convinced Sean was too obtuse to notice the "interrogation."
In return, he had received a photo of a lush, stone-walled estate. The only
strange thing about the photo was a very familiar-looking tabby cat that seemed
to be in every shot. To Michael, this was definitive proof that Sean was just an
ordinary Muggle-born boy who liked animals.
"You really don't want to see McGonagall's face if we miss the carriages... come
on, move it!" Michael gave Sean a friendly shove, his lips curving into a grin.
The other students kept a respectful distance from "Headmaster-Elect Green," but
Michael and his friends were different. They didn't realize this might be the
last year they could shove a future legend around without getting a month of
detention. Once they graduated, the only time they'd see Sean would be on the
front page of the Daily Prophet—or when they brought their own children to the
front gates.
"The Quidditch World Cup is this summer! I bet you didn't even know," Michael
rattled on as they headed toward the Great Hall. "Are you going? If you are,
tell me which tent you're in. We have to meet up!"
"It might be cancelled, with everything that's been happening lately," Anthony
added darkly from behind them.
"Oh, come off it, Anthony," Michael scoffed. "The Ministry will have it sorted.
Besides, Dumbledore is still out there. Stop being such a pessimist."
"Sean, you will finish the summer homework, won't you? Can I look at your notes
in September?"
Walking among his friends, Sean almost forgot that a Dark Lord was rising in the
shadows. Perhaps he was being too sensitive. With Gellert Grindelwald guarding
the school, what was there to truly fear?
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