In the middle of the night, the corridors of Hogwarts were quiet and still. A faint shadow flickered along the cold stone walls.
Ted moved like a wraith, cloaked in invisibility, worry clouding his thoughts.
Ever since the Chamber of Secrets was opened earlier that day, something had been gnawing at him. The message written on the wall had been different from the one recorded in the original timeline. It wasn't supposed to be.
A ripple in the flow of events? Ted frowned.
Tom Riddle's diary should have only just begun to awaken. His own presence in this world shouldn't have changed things so early. But clearly, something had shifted. Something unexpected.
He had to investigate.
Ted made his way to the third-floor girls' bathroom—the abandoned one. The place that once housed the entrance to the Chamber.
No sign of thinking minds inside. That meant no ghosts either.
His psicrystal familiar, Parker, slipped under the door and scanned the area with arcane senses. Nothing.
Ted followed invisibly, stepping quietly into the musty bathroom.
But something was wrong.
Where was Myrtle?
The faucet with the snake engraving looked unchanged, still hiding the entrance. But Myrtle—the ghost who always haunted this place with dramatic sobbing—was gone.
Ted didn't linger. He quietly withdrew, deciding instead to reach out to other ghosts around the castle. If Myrtle had left the bathroom, she must have gone somewhere. Someone had to know.
...
By the next morning, November 1st, Ted was already awake.
As he opened his eyes, a familiar chime echoed in his mind.
-----
Ding ~ Talent [Otherworld Knowledge (Gold)] has triggered. You've discovered [Daoist Knowledge (Red)].
-----
His heart skipped.
-----
[Cultivator Knowledge (Red)]: The journey of a cultivator during the Chaos Era. Requires 1300 experience to acquire.
-----
"Red quality?! This is the real deal!"
Ted bolted upright and quickly dressed.
Not wanting to wake his roommates, he headed down to the common room, trying to calm the buzz of excitement running through him.
He hadn't even finished digesting last month's shapeshifting knowledge—a core component of druidic wisdom that had already taken deep effort to understand.
He figured it would take at least two or three years to master fully.
And now, something even more powerful had appeared.
His eyes glinted with resolve. "System, exchange."
This time, the knowledge didn't simply appear in his mind.
Instead, Ted felt his consciousness being pulled, as though his thoughts had become weightless.
A hazy figure in ancient robes flickered before him—hair tied in a topknot, staff in hand, chanting softly as he meditated, trained, fought monsters, and retreated into seclusion.
Ted was a silent observer, witnessing a century-long journey of dedication and struggle.
The sage never reached enlightenment.
In his final days, he transcribed his experiences into a tome, then passed away, sitting in eternal meditation in a cave atop a cliff.
Time blurred.
Reality became distant.
And then—
Ted gasped, his vision locking on the familiar painted ceiling of the Ravenclaw common room.
His lungs burned, as if he hadn't breathed in hours. For several seconds, he just lay there, stunned.
He whispered hoarsely, "Parker... what just happened?"
A moment passed, then his familiar's voice echoed gently in his mind. "Master, your body showed no abnormalities. You seemed to blank out for a few seconds. But your consciousness—it was like your mind completely stopped. I tried to reach you, but you didn't respond..."
Ted rubbed his forehead.
He'd always suspected that there will be a time when exchanging otherworld knowledge from the system could be risky.
But this—this was different.
Not just knowledge.
It had been an experience. A lifetime.
If he'd forgotten who he was, if he hadn't come back...
There would be no Ted.
This was red-tier knowledge.
Dangerous. Powerful.
And it wasn't even the top.
There would be purple, orange, and even golden tiers to come.
He had to be more careful.
More deliberate.
But the insight he'd gained was massive.
Cultivator systems were rich and vast—spells, talismans, magical tools, alchemy, divination, spiritual geometry, and more.
Much of it wouldn't translate directly to his magic system, but there was plenty of inspiration to draw from.
Most importantly, that spiritual journey had changed him.
His mind felt sharper now—more grounded, more resilient.
Even though Ted had long committed to the path of arcane magic, a nostalgic thought crept in:
What wizard—or young dreamer from a certain world—had never imagined flying through the sky on a sword?
Ted smiled faintly.
He'd study flying swords. Maybe not to fight, but just enough to relive a piece of his childhood dreams.
Why not?
Some cultivators really had skill—especially in the art of forging their soul weapon.
He used rare magical metals to create a sword embryo, swallowed it whole, and then refined it over years using his own innate life force.
The real difficulty was the toll it took.
Ted had seen it with his own eyes—how the cultivator spent five or six years gathering the right materials, and then another three painstaking years refining the sword within his body.
When he finally used it, a burst of sword energy would shoot from his mouth and nose, sharp enough to slice through stone and steel.
It was a deadly technique for vanquishing dark creatures.
The master had poured years of effort into refining his soul weapon to destroy a powerful demon.
It took more than a decade of pursuit and struggle, but he finally succeeded.
Still, how many decades does one get in a lifetime?
The soul weapon was undoubtedly powerful, but sword-crafting immortals always seemed more focused on destroying evil than on finding true enlightenment.
If he hadn't spent those ten years on that one mission, could he have ascended to true immortality and achieve his great dao of enlightenment?
'Damn great dao of enlightenment, I was only reading this kind of shits in Manhua and Manhwa in my past life, now, I had the power to achieve it.' Ted thought excitedly,
But Ted couldn't afford to invest that much time or energy on creating some soul weapon right now.
A sould weapon was impressive, sure—but if he wanted to take down someone who's using an instant death spell like Avada Kedavra, there were simpler ways.
Ted's curiosity, however, was piqued.
He wondered if he could replicate the concept—not with ancient cultivation methods, but with alchemy and magic.
It was a wild idea.
But then again, magic was endlessly adaptable.
And he even had inspiration to work from.
Mrs. Weasley.
Yes—Mrs. Weasley,
Ted remembered visiting the Burrow once and watching in awe as she directed three kitchen knives with her wand, each one chopping vegetables, meat, and bread in perfect harmony.
She made knives cook for her—but they could just as easily cut people if she wanted.
If you could command multiple blades to fight on their own, wasn't that practically the same as controlling a weapon empowered by a special energy?
He shook his head, amused by the thought, and went for his morning run.
The days went on, and knowledge had to be absorbed little by little.
When the time came, the pieces would fall into place.
...
Ted reached the Black Lake to find Neville already stretching.
Ron and Jerry were nowhere in sight.
"Where are they?" Ted asked.
Neville replied, "Ron wasn't feeling well. Jerry stayed back with him."
Ted frowned slightly.
His friends had been slacking lately.
This was no time for sleeping in.
Looked like it was time to put his special training plan back into action.
After their morning run, they freshened up and headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.
Ted, Hermione, and a few others were halfway through their meal when Ron and Jerry finally showed up.
Harley, digging into her plate, speared a sausage and asked casually through a mouthful, "What took you so long? Food's almost gone."
Ron looked miserable, like he'd just lost his last few Sickles.
Jerry explained with a scowl, "We ran into Peeves on the way here. He hassled us for over ten minutes—then dumped something disgusting on us. We had to go back and change. That's why we're late."
The nearby students winced sympathetically.
They knew that pain.
By second year, most students were pretty familiar with the school's quirks.
Unfortunately, Peeves was just as familiar with them.
It was like: you bullied me in first year, and now you're still bullying me in second? What's the point of getting promoted?
But Peeves wasn't like ordinary ghosts. He could shift between tangible and intangible forms.
He wasn't even a ghost, technically—more like a magical poltergeist with a mind of his own.
Ted had read that, centuries ago, a very strict headmaster once tried to get rid of him.
Big mistake.
Peeves went berserk, turning the castle upside-down.
Classes were cancelled for three days before the staff gave up and made a magical truce with him—one that recognized his right to haunt the place.
So students just had to put up with him. He'd tease you, prank you, embarrass you.
But he also seemed to pick his targets.
He was surprisingly polite to older students, top of the class types, professors, and heads of house.
Ted had noticed, though—he hadn't shown much respect to Professor Quirrell last year, and now he was the same with Lockhart.
Ted suspected it was because of how the students viewed them.
Peeves seemed almost like a manifestation of the castle's collective mischief and magic—he instinctively sided with the students.
So when someone unpopular like Quirrell, Lockhart, or even Umbridge later on came along, they became natural targets.
But regardless, Ted couldn't just let Peeves bully his friends.
His mind returned to the sword-arts knowledge he'd pondered earlier that morning. Maybe there was a way...
"I might have an idea..."
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Word count: 1629
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