A pleasant, ringing echo from Demeter's Silver Cup resounded through the quiet of the small greenhouse. Char's eyes lit up. This time, the power of faith the cup had drawn seemed even greater than what the trolls had provided. By his calculations, the cooldown time for its ritual magic should be reduced by nearly half a month. He was now very close to being able to use it again, to create that ancient magic.
"Before Quirrell returns to Hogwarts," he thought, a wave of relief washing over him, "I should be able to perform the Demeter ritual again. This gives me a much better chance of success." He looked a lot more relaxed. He never expected that the Quidditch Cup final would bring such a welcome surprise. The reverence from his housemates could also generate the power of faith, which the Silver Cup could absorb.
This sparked a brief, tempting thought. Should he act more high-profile? Deliberately cultivate the respect the other students had for him? If he did, the power of faith he gained would surely be more than it was now. But soon, he shook his head again and again. Doing so at Hogwarts was far too risky. Dumbledore was extremely cautious about that kind of influence. It was only because Char was in Hufflepuff that the Headmaster wasn't too wary. If he were in Gryffindor or Slytherin and showed this kind of cohesion, Dumbledore's tests would surely begin. The benefits were not worth the risk.
In the charged atmosphere of the Quidditch final, the faith provided by so many Hufflepuff students was only slightly more than that of the five trolls. On average, the power of faith from a single troll was more than ten times that of a student. Perhaps it's because the trolls are not very intelligent, he reasoned. They don't overthink things. Once they revere and believe in something, they do so without reservation. The power of faith generated by that is quite considerable. On the other hand, even if the students admire or even worship me, it's hard for them to reach the level of true faith.
Char narrowed his eyes. "From this perspective, if I want to collect faith, it's more appropriate to collect it from the trolls." Before he knew it, the trolls had become a vital "resource" for his island. They could speed up the maturity of the goldfish spider plant and now also shorten the interval of Demeter's ritual magic. If only he had more of them. The benefits would be immense. He also had the Whomping Willow branches, the unknown ancient seeds from Charlemagne, and even a piece of the World Tree's root that he had hidden away. The cultivation of these ancient plants was a problem that even masters of Herbology couldn't solve. But the former Hufflepuff lady had used the golden cup to cultivate the Whomping Willow. Demeter's Silver Cup was its original, and perhaps it could also reduce the difficulty of cultivating these plants.
"But all of this," he reminded himself, "depends on first understanding the reason for the unusual gathering of trolls in the Forbidden Forest." He took a deep breath and headed back towards the library. The library was empty. The entire castle was still shrouded in the crazy atmosphere of the Quidditch final, with everyone discussing the incredible flying skills Char had displayed. The magical photos taken by Susan Burns had become treasures that all the girls rushed to circulate. This would be a day that would leave a deep impression in the minds of this class for many years to come.
But for Char, the excitement of making history had long since subsided. It was just another ordinary day. Honor and popularity were nothing but fleeting things. Rustle. Rustle. The sound of pages turning was heard again. He was immersed, still executing his established plan. After reading the troll literature for a while, he would go and practice the runes. His free time was used to maintain the small greenhouse and Sprout Island. He made full use of every minute and every second.
In this rhythm, seven days passed in the blink of an eye. In the library, Char sat quietly in a corner. As the aftermath of the Quidditch incident had not yet subsided, people often came to ask for his autograph, believing that he would become a Quidditch star destined for greatness. To avoid being disturbed, he still wore his Invisibility Cloak.
In this seemingly peaceful corner, Char had a serious expression, beads of sweat on his forehead. In his hand was an ash wand, sketching traces on a piece of parchment. It was the three runes from the ancient weather magic he had witnessed. After seven days of practice, relying on the blessing of the flow state, he had already mastered the construction method of the first three basic nodes for each of the three runes. On his system panel, although he had not yet mastered ancient weather magic, the words were no longer illusory. The traces had finally become more solid.
However, the deeper he delved into the runes, the more he felt the vastness and mystery of this magical knowledge. Inside each symbol, there were so-called endless magic nodes. At least seven were needed to form the basic structure of a single rune, but his current magical perception could only support him in constructing three. He couldn't even write the most basic structure, let alone unleash its power. A single rune was already vast and profound, and there was still a mysterious connection between different runes. Like the choice of words and sentences in language, different arrangements and combinations could produce mysterious effects. Many powerful magics in history were derived from such combinations.
"To truly get started with ancient weather magic," he murmured, "I have to master the combination of these three runes. This difficulty is much higher than that of a single rune. It seems that it is impossible to master it in a short period of time. I'll have to wait until my magic perception is improved to the Platinum level."
But the practice was not without its benefits. He waved his wand with difficulty, slowly displaying the three basic nodes of the magic runes on the parchment. He could almost see some magical power being guided by the runes, producing strange changes. A moment later, the traces of the three runes all collapsed. Writing the basic configuration of three magic runes in succession had exceeded the limit of what he could currently handle. But in this process, the Transfiguration spell on his system panel had a more solid luster. His accumulated knowledge in Transfiguration was much richer than before.
"The combination of these three runes is similar to the principles of Transfiguration," he realized. "Studying them has given me a deeper understanding of the changing nature of magic. Transfiguration has benefited greatly, and the foundation of my other magics has also been improved. Compared to before, although my magical abilities haven't made any breakthroughs, my accumulation has definitely reached a new level." This made him look delighted. He could continue.
Thinking of other things still made him frown. There was still no clue about the unusual gathering of trolls. If he still couldn't find the cause in another week, he would have no choice but to take a risk and investigate in person. Besides, there was another small matter that should have been easily resolved but was still hanging. That was the matter of purchasing Chalati grass seeds. There were originally two acres of land left on Sprout Island, but during this time, Eugene and the trolls had reclaimed another five. That added up to seven acres of open space available for growing Chalati grass. He didn't have nearly enough seeds, so he needed to buy them from the market. This shouldn't have been a difficult thing to do. The price of Chalati grass was high, but the seeds were not that expensive. With Professor Sprout's resources, it should have been no problem. But the matter had not been resolved yet.
He stood up and decided to ask Professor Sprout for the details. Just after he arrived at her office, he saw her ugly expression. Seeing him, she barely suppressed her anger. "Char. Are you here about the Chalati grass seeds?"
He nodded, also looking a little confused. "Aunt. What happened?"
Professor Sprout took a deep breath, her grip tightening on a potted plant. "Logically, the seeds I ordered should have been delivered to Hogwarts long ago. But today, I received letters from all the Chalati grass manors. Without exception, they all said they couldn't sell them. But now is not the time when seeds are in short supply. And the owner of one manor has been hinting at me, asking if I've offended anyone." Her eyes flashed coldly. She seemed to be wondering who was trying to pick a fight with her.
Char's expression was also somewhat solemn. Could it be some enemy of his aunt's in the Herbology community? He shook his head. "Aunt. In that case, there's no need to worry about it. Let's wait until we find out who's behind this. I'm not in a hurry. I don't want you to be schemed against by anyone because of this." Professor Sprout showed a look of relief, but at the same time, a coldness settled deep in her eyes. She swore that if she found out who was stopping her from buying seeds for Char, even if Dumbledore came to intercede, she would still put a biting cabbage on the man's head.
Char left her office. As he was walking down the corridor, still wondering who was responsible, an owl flapped down, a letter dropping into his hand. He reached out and grasped the envelope. When he saw the signature, he raised his eyebrows. "Bacon Flint?" He was the patriarch of the Flint family, the man who had come to his island and left with threats. His son, Marcus, had then tried to take action in class, only to be hung up and beaten by Char, and was now stuck in bed for half a year. Why was Bacon Flint writing to him now? Carefully opening the envelope, he was met with a rude, thuggish tone that had nothing to do with "aristocrats."
"Now you know the price of messing with our Flint family? If I don't give the order, no one will dare to sell anything to you. Let me tell you, our family has plenty of ways to deal with you. If you don't want the situation to escalate further, apologize to me and my poor child in person. Otherwise, you will definitely regret it—"
Char didn't even finish reading the several pages of threats and curses. He simply shook his head. At first, he had thought someone was plotting against Professor Sprout. If someone dared to plot against a master of Herbology and the Head of a Hogwarts house, one could imagine how turbulent things were. But he only found out now that it was just the Flint family, a group of idiots who worked in demolition and real estate. This made him feel relieved, and a sneer appeared on the corner of his mouth.
He immediately wrote back, giving a coordinate at sea. "I've experienced the power of your Flint family, one of the twenty-eight sacred families. Don't make things worse. I admit defeat. I'll apologize to you in person, okay? But I represent the Sprout family, so I can't be seen by others. I'll apologize to you at sea. There, we can conclude the matter." The owl carried his reply and disappeared into the horizon.
In a magnificent mansion that exuded the atmosphere of a nouveau riche, Marcus Flint was lying in his hospital bed, uttering bitter cries of pain. He already knew what had happened at Hogwarts. After being beaten by Char and having to stay in bed for half a year, the boy had not received any punishment. He had even become famous in Quidditch. The Daily Prophet had even reported on the match, stating that Char Sprout would be the most anticipated rising star in the professional arena. This truly angered Marcus. Joining a professional team was his life's goal. But now, it was all over. He had been not only beaten bloodily but also nailed to the pillar of shame. What about Char, who had become a widely reported rising star? How could he tolerate this?
"Father! Father! Is this the end of the matter? What about those wizards we have at home? Aren't they very powerful when they go to demolish houses? Can't they deal with Char Sprout? We are one of the twenty-eight pure-blood families! Even Malfoy has to obey my orders at school!"
Bacon Flint hurried in with a piece of parchment. "Don't make any noise. Look at what this is. That little brat, Char Sprout, he's gone soft." Marcus took the letter, looked at it, and threw it aside. "You want to accept his apology? He made me like this."
Bacon Flint smirked. "Of course not. How could I let go of someone who insulted our family? Since he wants to apologize at sea, I must teach him a lesson. We'll bring our men and make sure he stays in bed for a year. As for Professor Sprout, the Herbology Master, the Head of Hogwarts… so what? It's okay to respect her a little at ordinary times, but if she really offends our family, what can she do? Humph, it's not like we haven't demolished the houses of several pure-blood nobles before!"
Hearing his father's words, Marcus finally breathed a sigh of relief. "Then I want to go too. I want to see that little brat get beaten up right before my eyes." A ferocious look appeared on his face. "Isn't he some future Quidditch star? I'll break his hands and burn his eyes with a cigar so he'll be afraid of me and my broomstick from now on!"
At this time, Char sent out the reply letter, a gloomy look in his own eyes. The Flint family's style was simply that of the wizarding world's underworld. They claimed to be pure-blooded nobles but were engaged in forced demolitions. Judging from their behavior, if he really went there, he would be faced with a gang of thugs. But he had no intention of going there himself. The Kraken had helped him a lot, and last time, the two-faced man had cut off several of its tentacles. It was time to give it a snack.
Just as a cold look flashed in his eyes, a figure with platinum-blond hair stopped in front of him, as if he had been looking for him for a long time. It was Malfoy. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Char. "Char. I finally found you. Is the Flint family against you? That group of pure-blood disgraces, trash that tarnishes the reputation of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Threats and blackmail, they're the only ones who would do such despicable things. That's why many ordinary wizards are afraid of them. But this does not include our Malfoy family."
Malfoy's eyes burned. "You need Chalati grass seeds, right? It's a coincidence. Our family happens to own the Charati Manor, the top-notch manor in the wizarding world. Every grass here is a highly sought-after luxury product, and the seeds have been cultivated for many generations. In a day or two, I can get you as many seeds as you want." When he said this, there was finally some arrogance in his eyes. Before this, he almost couldn't raise his head when facing Char. This little wizard of the same age was too good in both magic and Quidditch. The Malfoy family background finally allowed him to regain some sense of superiority. Even someone as good as Char still needed his help.
After hearing what Malfoy said, Char's eyes lit up. Top-quality Chalati seeds? This was a pleasant surprise. Even though they might not be comparable to the seeds he had blessed with Demeter's Silver Cup, they were much better than ordinary seeds. The Chalati grass grown from them would bring him more rewards. Draco Malfoy really showed some sincerity. It seemed the Malfoy family really wanted to invest in him.
After pondering for a moment, he looked at Malfoy. "High-quality Chalati seeds… this is exactly what I need. I accept your sincerity. In that case, I can also tell you a piece of news."
Malfoy was stunned for a moment, his arrogance retreating slightly. Information? The Malfoy family was so well-informed that few families in the entire wizarding world could match them. He didn't think Char could get any information that he didn't already know. His father had instructed him to make Char understand how beneficial it was to be allied with them, to show their power and value. But the next moment, he heard a light voice coming from Char's mouth.
"Perhaps your Malfoy family can prepare to acquire the Flint family's assets."
Malfoy processed the words subconsciously. "Okay, I understand. Very valuable information—" He froze. He suddenly realized what Char had just said. His eyes widened, looking at Char with an expression of disbelief mixed with a bit of horror.
"Char… you?!"