The Morticorns moved like living shadows.
Despite their equine frames, they were nothing like horses. On the ground, their hooves barely touched the stone as they sprinted, pivoted, and lunged with terrifying precision. In the air, their bat-like wings snapped open and carried them in sharp, angular bursts—short dives, sudden climbs, impossible turns that defied the bulk of their bodies.
Harry was forced on the defensive almost immediately.
A golden hoof crashed down where his head had been a second earlier, shattering stone into jagged shards. He twisted aside, cloak snapping behind him, only to feel a horn skim past his ribs close enough that the air itself burned. Another Morticorn dove from above, wings folded tight, aiming to skewer him straight through the spine.
Harry rolled, came up on one knee, and threw up a [Water Shield] just in time.
The translucent dome formed with a rush of roaring liquid, and the diving Morticorn slammed into it with a thunderous boom. Water exploded outward, spraying the chamber walls, but the beast wasn't stopped—only deflected. It screeched, wings flaring as it rebounded and landed lightly on a broken pillar, eyes blazing.
"They're faster than expected," Harry muttered, breath coming quicker now.
[HP: 640 / 820]
[MP: 1,120 / 1,580]
And there were more of them than he'd first thought.
From the far end of the chamber, shapes emerged from behind shattered stonework and broken iron cages. Smaller Morticorns—juveniles—huddled together instinctively, wings half-grown, horns still dull and unpolished. Around them stood the adults.
Six.
Six fully combat-capable Morticorns.
They moved as a unit.
Two pressed him on the ground, forcing him to retreat step by step, while another circled overhead and the remaining three guarded the young. Every feint, every charge was coordinated. These weren't mindless beasts.
They were protecting their herd.
And that made this far worse.
Harry's hand twitched toward instinct—toward [Fireball], toward [Lightning Wave], toward the clean, brutal efficiency of [Bone Spear].
He stopped himself.
Too lethal.
One wrong spell and he'd slaughter the very creatures the quest demanded he save.
A horn slammed into his [Death Ward], cracks spiderwebbing across the shimmering barrier as the enchantment groaned under the force. Harry slid backward across the stone floor, boots scraping, cloak trailing water and dust.
"This is impossible," he growled.
He tried again—reaching inward, forcing magic into a different shape.
[Soul Read – Lv. 5 | Activation Failed]
The moment he attempted the connection, the Morticorns reacted violently. A piercing scream ripped through the chamber, laden with hostility so raw it physically hurt. The air trembled as all six turned on him at once, aggression spiking like a blade to the throat.
They wouldn't let him in.
Their fear was too deep. Their rage too fresh.
Harry barely managed to evade the next charge, rolling beneath snapping wings and slashing hooves. His stamina dipped rapidly, muscles screaming as he pushed his body to keep up.
[Stamina: 410 / 660]
"Think," he told himself. "You've solved worse."
His eyes flicked to the juveniles again—thin, ribs visible beneath their dark coats, wings trembling with exhaustion. Hunger radiated from them like heat.
Predators driven half-mad by starvation and confinement.
Then it clicked.
Harry's gaze snapped inward, to the familiar mental interface he'd long since learned to treat as second nature.
Inventory.
His fingers moved without hesitation, mind racing ahead of his body. The inventory grid unfolded, rows of items shimmering into existence as time seemed to slow just enough.
Potions.
Weapons.
Artifacts.
Then—
[Draught of Strangling Green]
Harry's breath caught.
He pulled out two vials, emerald liquid swirling ominously within, seeds packed tightly into the enchanted caps. This potion wasn't lethal by design—but it was indiscriminate. When activated, it turned an area into a nightmare of living vines, roots, and choking growth.
Risky.
But it was the only way.
Harry hurled the first vial with all his strength.
The glass shattered mid-air.
The second followed a heartbeat later.
The seeds spilled.
For a split second, nothing happened.
Then the chamber exploded with life.
Thick green vines burst from the stone floor as if the earth itself had been violated. Roots tore through cracks, coiling, twisting, multiplying at impossible speed. Tendrils shot upward, wrapping around wings, legs, horns—dragging Morticorns out of the air and slamming them to the ground.
Screeches filled the chamber.
The adults fought back viciously, golden hooves hacking at vines, horns ripping through greenery, wings beating furiously—but the potion was relentless. The plants regenerated faster than they could tear them apart, tightening, spreading, forming a living cage.
The juveniles were ensnared more gently, vines curling around them protectively rather than crushingly, guided by Harry's intent.
He didn't waste a second.
Harry slammed his palm against the air and activated another interface.
[ID Create – Lv. 5]
Space warped.
A circular distortion opened beside him—an invisible doorway into his personal dungeon space. Harry rushed forward, ignoring the pain in his legs, and began dragging the bound Morticorns through one by one.
The adults resisted until the last moment, but the vines held.
One.
Two.
Three.
The juveniles followed, eyes wide, bodies trembling.
Sixteen.
Six adults.
Ten young.
The moment the last Morticorn vanished into the dungeon space, Harry canceled the spell. The vines collapsed into inert greenery, already beginning to wither.
The chamber fell silent.
Harry staggered back, bracing a hand against the wall as exhaustion crashed down on him like a tidal wave.
[MP: 780 / 1,580]
[Stamina: 290 / 660]
He sucked in a deep breath, chest burning, sweat dripping down his temples.
The quest notification shimmered faintly at the edge of his vision.
[Objective Complete: Rescue the surviving Morticorns]
[Remaining Objective: Escort the herd to a safe location ]
Harry let out a shaky laugh.
"So that's it," he murmured. "You don't end here… do you?"
Inside his personal dungeon, the Morticons were contained—but not calm. They paced, wings brushing against invisible boundaries, eyes locked on the unseen presence that had trapped them.
He could feel their hostility even now.
They weren't saved yet.
Harry straightened slowly, forcing his body to comply despite its protests. His gaze lifted toward the tunnel leading deeper into the breeding vault.
This dungeon was done with him.
But the work wasn't.
"Hang on," he said quietly, as if they could hear him. "I'll get you out. Somewhere no one can touch you again."
Then he turned and began walking back the way he came, mind already racing through possibilities—safe forests, protected sanctuaries, warded lands far from greedy hands.
The Morticorns had survived hell.
Now it was up to him to make sure they never had to again.
Harry did not linger in the breeding vault.
He stood at the threshold of the dungeon one last time, the faint glow of corrupted runes pulsing along the stone walls, the echoes of failed experiments still clinging to the air like a curse that refused to fade. Shelves of grimoires, journals bound in flayed hide, alchemical apparatus stained beyond recognition—all of it remained untouched.
He made a deliberate choice.
None of it would leave this place.
The knowledge here was not meant for the world. These were not ancient spells meant to be rediscovered or lost techniques waiting to elevate wizardkind. They were records of torture, of forced evolution, of magical creatures twisted into weapons and left to rot. Harry had seen enough of what curiosity without conscience could do.
If these books resurfaced, someone would try again.
So he turned away.
The dungeon gate sealed behind him with a low, final hum, wards reasserting themselves as if the place itself understood his decision. The breeding vault would remain forgotten, entombed beneath Gothic Alley, its horrors locked away with no witnesses left alive to speak of them.
What he did take with him, however, mattered.
The Morticorns—every last one of them—were safely contained within his personal dungeon space, resting in an artificial sanctuary he could shape and guard himself. And the gold… the gold was impossible to ignore. Twenty thousand galleons, accumulated through blood, suffering, and exploitation.
Harry accepted it without guilt.
That money would never hurt another creature.
As he stepped back into the dim alleys of Gothic Alley, the system flickered softly at the edge of his vision.
[EXP: 2,080 / 2,300]
So close.
Pain still lingered in his muscles, his movements stiff and careful, bruises dark beneath his sleeves and collar. To anyone watching, he looked like a boy who had barely crawled out of something far too dangerous for him.
Harry was painfully aware of the rule he lived by now—no leveling up in front of others. The moment his level rose, the system would heal him completely. Broken bones, torn muscle fibers, internal damage—gone in an instant.
And that was something no one could see.
So he resisted the urge to grind out the last bit of experience. No unnecessary fights. No reckless clearing of dungeon remnants. He would level up later, alone.
By the time he returned to Slytherin Castle, night had already settled over the ancient stronghold. The wards recognized him instantly, parting like a curtain as he passed through the gates. The familiar presence of the castle wrapped around him, steady and reassuring.
No one noticed the faint limp he carried, or how carefully he favored one side as he walked through the corridors. Harry went straight to the inner vault—his real vault, carved deep into the bones of the castle itself.
Runes flared as he opened it.
Gold poured out of his inventory in a controlled cascade, galleons stacking themselves neatly as the vault accepted the deposit. The pile grew quickly, reflecting warm light across the stone walls until the room looked like something out of legend.
When it was done, Harry stood there for a moment, staring at the fortune he had just added to his hoard.
He felt nothing.
Gold had stopped being important to him a long time ago.
What mattered were the lives he had pulled out of hell.
Satisfied, Harry closed the vault and sealed it with a thought. The wards locked into place, stronger than anything any wizard could ever offer. Then he straightened, rolled his shoulders, and allowed himself a small, tired smile.
To the world, he had simply returned from Italy a little worse for wear.
No one needed to know what he had buried beneath Gothic Alley.
And no one ever would.
Harry did not rush the decision.
Relocating the Morticorns was not as simple as opening a gate and letting them run free. Inside his Instant Dungeon, they were safe—isolated from the world, protected from hunters, fear, and starvation. But that safety was artificial. If he released them into the wild without preparation, two outcomes were almost guaranteed.
Either they would not survive…
or they would survive by killing everything around them.
Neither was acceptable.
Morticorns were not passive creatures. They were apex hybrids—Thestral instincts sharpened by unicorn magic, carnivorous, territorial, intelligent enough to recognize threats. Dropping them into an unfamiliar forest, even a magical one, could turn desperation into slaughter within days.
Harry stood in the courtyard of Slytherin Castle, staring across the vast grounds, weighing possibilities, when an unexpected solution presented itself.
One of the new house elves—an older one, with long ears and careful movements—had been quietly listening as Harry muttered his concerns aloud. When Harry finally paused, the elf stepped forward, eyes shining with unmistakable excitement.
"Master Harry," the elf said, bowing deeply, "this one has worked with flying beasts before. Thestrals. Pulled wagons for the Ministry. Trained them gentle. Trained them strong."
Harry turned slowly.
"You trained Thestrals?"
The elf nodded vigorously. "Before clothes. This one was useful."
There was no bitterness in the words—only pride.
Harry felt something settle into place.
The house elves of Slytherin Castle were different from those bound to old families. They were free, loyal by choice, intelligent, and—most importantly—experienced. They knew how to care for dangerous magical creatures without cruelty.
That was when the idea took shape.
That very evening, Harry began construction.
With controlled magic and careful intent, he shaped the land at the far edge of the castle grounds. Runes sank into the earth. Living wood rose from the soil—oak reinforced with layered enchantments, dragon-resistant fibers woven through the grain, charms embedded to suppress panic responses and prevent violent stampedes.
It was an enclosure.
A massive, open-air habitat surrounded by a reinforced wooden lattice, large enough for flight, grazing, and movement. Wards ensured nothing escaped accidentally—but nothing inside felt trapped.
When the Serpent Court noticed the construction, they helped without questions.
Jason reinforced the wards.
Cassia adjusted containment runes to respond to emotional spikes rather than physical force.
David ensured the structure could survive a charging beast the size of a carriage.
Harry told them only one thing.
"These are creatures I need trained. That's all."
They trusted him enough not to ask more.
When the enclosure was complete, Harry stood alone before it and opened his Instant Dungeon.
The air rippled.
One by one, the Morticons emerged—Sixteen in total. The adults landed first, wings flaring wide, hooves striking the ground hard as they reoriented. The young stayed close, horns lowered defensively, golden hooves scraping stone.
For a heartbeat, Harry thought they would attack.
Instead, they froze.
The open sky.
The scent of grass.
The absence of blood and fear.
Confusion replaced aggression.
The house elves stepped forward then—slow, deliberate, carrying prepared meat offerings and enchanted feed laced with calming draughts. They spoke softly, voices layered with ancient creature-handling magic older than Hogwarts itself.
The Morticorns did not submit.
But they did not strike either.
By nightfall, they were eating.
By morning, they were resting.
The elves promised Harry something more than care.
"We will train them, Master Harry."
Harry agreed without hesitation.
Once the Morticorns were ready—once they learned the land, the boundaries, the safety of the castle grounds—they would be released fully into Slytherin territory, free but watched, powerful but guided.
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