At this moment, Theodore was genuinely taken aback.
In the original story, Fenrir Greyback was certainly infamous, but his actual page time was limited. If one measured purely by combat strength, a Fenrir who had not fully transformed was only around the level of a core Death Eater.
So Theodore truly had not expected the System to hold him in such high regard—to the point of directly linking him to a "Saint."
"One of the Two Saints of the West… Zhunti."
Thought flickered in Theodore's eyes.
Among the "saint-level" beings he currently knew the wizarding world to contain, Godric Gryffindor had been interpreted by the System as corresponding to Yuanshi Tianzun, while Salazar Slytherin seemed to align with Tongtian Jiaozhu.
As for Rowena Ravenclaw, Theodore suspected she most likely corresponded to the Grand Pure One.
So who, then, did Zhunti correspond to?
"Helga Hufflepuff?"
"Hufflepuff's philosophy is to accept all students. That does bear a certain resemblance to the Western Sect's habit of sweeping in everything—humans, spirits, beasts, all alike."
"If Hufflepuff really does correspond to one of the Two Saints of the West, it wouldn't be impossible."
"But what connection would werewolves have had with Hufflepuff in history? That doesn't quite fit."
A stream of information about werewolves rose through Theodore's mind.
To this day, no one truly knew how werewolves had first appeared in the magical world.
This exceptionally strange race seemed to have stepped onto the stage of history all at once, without warning or clear origin.
Some wizards believed lycanthropy was a magical mutation, a kind of disease.
Others argued it was a special bloodline.
But the view most accepted in academic circles was different.
The prevailing theory was that lycanthropy was an extraordinarily bizarre and powerful curse.
Ordinarily, if something was a curse, then it should be possible to remove it.
Yet the curse carried by werewolves was unlike any other.
For a thousand years, generations of brilliant wizards had tried to free werewolves from their suffering. Among them had been many truly dazzling minds.
And yet every effort had ended in failure.
After a millennium of study, the only conclusion anyone had managed to reach was this:
Once bitten by a werewolf and transformed, the condition was irreversible.
The only thing that could even be called progress was the Wolfsbane Potion invented by Damocles.
But Wolfsbane was hideously expensive to brew, difficult to prepare, and had to be taken for a full week before transformation. At best, it allowed a werewolf to retain reason and self-control after shifting.
To afford such a thing, one needed both a potions master willing to brew it and the kind of wealth most werewolves would never possess.
Historically, only a pitiful few had ever received that treatment.
As a result, almost every werewolf lived a life of exile and isolation.
And some—like Fenrir Greyback and those who followed him—eventually embraced the madness that came with transformation. They went out of their way to bite others and spread the curse.
Thanks to the tireless "efforts" of Fenrir's kind, the werewolf population in the magical world had reached one of its highest peaks in centuries.
In the original story, by the final war, werewolves had even become one of Voldemort's major sources of strength.
A strange light passed through Theodore's eyes.
"This curse really is abnormal."
"If it were an ordinary curse, then with a thousand years of research—countless brilliant wizards and who knows how many potions masters devoted to it—there should have been real progress."
"And yet the best result in all that time was merely a potion that lets werewolves keep their minds during transformation."
His gaze sharpened.
"So is it possible… that this curse came from something beyond the upper limit of wizardkind?"
"Only then would it stand like an impassable chasm before so many generations of magical geniuses."
"But if that's true…"
"What, exactly, was the intention of the being that left this curse behind and created werewolves in the first place?"
Theodore's thoughts drifted to the Room of Requirement in Hogwarts.
It too was a wonder from a thousand years ago—a miraculous work of magic that seemed to exceed the limit of ordinary wizardry. And it, too, appeared connected to something hidden.
Could werewolves be the result of a similar hand?
He considered it for a long while, but with too little information, he still could not pierce the heart of the matter.
At last he shook his head.
"Forget it."
"Too much from a thousand years ago has already been buried by history. There's no point in overthinking it."
"As long as I'm strong enough, no scheme—whatever lies behind it—will be more than dust beneath my feet."
"Rather than worrying about the twists and turns behind this, I'd be better off seeing what reward Fenrir can give me."
Theodore followed the blood-dark enemy relationship linked to Fenrir further down the System panel.
[If you beat One-Air Immortal Ma Yuan severely, you may obtain the talent reward: Blood-Hunger Without End. One-Air Immortal Ma Yuan feeds upon flesh and blood, drawing spiritual force from meat to increase his cultivation. With this talent, you may obtain spiritual force by devouring blood and flesh.]
[If you grievously wound One-Air Immortal Ma Yuan, you may obtain the talent reward: Soul-Trembling Terror. With this talent, the killing intent you release will inspire extreme fear in those who bear it.]
[If you kill One-Air Immortal Ma Yuan, you may obtain the talent reward: Malignant Hand Behind the Head. With this talent, a giant hand may grow from behind your head, possessing overwhelming power and easily tearing enemies to pieces. One-Air Immortal Ma Yuan once used this power to crush and batter countless living beings. The sins of that great hand are too many to record.]
[If you destroy his soul, kill his companions, sever his followers, and exterminate his bloodline, you may obtain the reward: Merit Descends Upon the Body. Ma Yuan is among the greatest evils of the Investiture era; slaying him brings merit.]
Theodore frowned as he looked at the first few rewards, disgust written openly across his face.
Blood-Hunger Without End. Soul-Trembling Terror. Malignant Hand Behind the Head.
Every one of them was a vile and twisted thing.
If it had been the old days, when he had been poor in every sense and forced to scrape together every advantage he could, he might have pinched his nose and used them anyway.
But now?
Now his foundations were deep beyond measure. He had no need of such filthy talents.
Even if he obtained them, they would likely end up thrown into the furnace and refined away.
Only the final reward—the one tied to exterminating the bloodline—made his frown ease.
"Merit is a good thing."
"Like destiny, it is one of the highest resources in the primordial world."
"Empress Houtu became a saint through the merit of transforming herself into reincarnation."
"Nuwa attained sainthood through the vast merit of creating humanity and mending the heavens."
"If merit descends upon me, it will naturally restrain all evil and corruption. It can even be used to refine treasures of merit, whose effects are no weaker than treasures of destiny."
A fierce heat rose in Theodore's eyes.
If the reward had only been those wretched talents, then unless Fenrir stumbled directly into his hands, Theodore would not have bothered going out of his way to hunt him down.
But now?
Now Theodore could only say one thing.
Fenrir Greyback—
your death is justified.
The next moment, Theodore's figure blurred and vanished, racing after the direction in which Fenrir had departed.
On the System screen, a new line of text suddenly appeared, brimming with admiration.
[Upon hearing that One-Air Immortal Ma Yuan may have ties to a Western Saint, the host's expression turns cold. His head rises proudly, and he lets out a sharp sneer.]
[So what if he is connected to a Western Saint?]
[Does that grant him the right to commit evil and poison living beings?]
[Connected or not, I act in this life only so that my heart may remain free of shame.]
[If it profits the living, then life and death alike may be borne—how could one shrink away for fear of fortune or misfortune?]
[Such a bane upon all living things deserves only one end—kill him.]
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