Within the manor, the three-foot killing sword-light circled through Theodore's hand like a real flying sword.
He had waited there for quite some time, but not a single dark wizard had dared approach the estate again.
A trace of delight appeared on his face.
The transformations of the Eight-Nine Mystical Art truly were extraordinary. Compared to ordinary Transfiguration or Polyjuice Potion, they were vastly more useful.
It seemed his purpose had been achieved.
From now on, whenever he left Hogwarts, dark wizards would probably assume the Ministry was running some kind of entrapment scheme. They would not dare come close.
At last, that would spare him a measure of annoyance.
Then Theodore shook his head again and let out a soft sigh.
"Since the dark wizards aren't coming, this killing sword-light of mine has just taken shape—peerlessly sharp, yet with no one to test its edge on. A little regrettable."
A moment later, Theodore's heart stirred, and he drew the sword-light back into concealment before breathing out slowly.
"My killing intent seems a little heavier than before."
"Is that the influence of the Sword of Slaughter?"
He thought it over for only a moment before understanding dawned.
The Sword of Slaughter was, after all, the purest branch of the Dao of Slaughter. Anyone who cultivated it would naturally be affected by its nature.
It would not go so far as to erase his true self.
But if his desire to kill deepened somewhat, that was only natural.
Especially because Theodore's Sword of Slaughter had grown far too quickly. That sword-light was terrifyingly sharp, steeped in murderous force, and already counted among his strongest offensive methods.
No matter how many talents he possessed that clarified the mind and preserved the heart, it would be unrealistic to expect no influence at all.
Still, this was not truly a bad thing.
All he had to do was keep that killing heart under control.
"And in daily life, I should relax a little more. Cultivate the temperament."
"Not because I need to suppress anything. It's more like tempering a blade—keeping the sword in its sheath, so that when it's finally drawn, the edge will be even colder."
With that, Theodore's gaze fell on his exceptional chess talent, and a strange expression appeared in his eyes.
"I kept that talent originally for the sake of social interaction."
"I didn't expect that apart from helping Ron practice, it might actually prove useful."
"Chess may be a minor path, but even those great immortals and quasi-saints, when idle, often sit down for a game. That alone shows it must offer some help to cultivation."
"And it happens to be well suited to concealing the dense killing nature of my Sword of Slaughter."
Theodore took out a wizard's chessboard, his eyes gleaming faintly.
"The Eight-Nine Mystical Art—transform."
A moment later, two identical Theodores appeared on opposite sides of the board.
Their appearance and clothing were exactly the same.
But their bearing was utterly different.
One was sharp beyond measure, like a divine sword drawn bare.
The other was deep and quiet, like the sheath that concealed such a sword.
Naturally, this was no true incarnation, no supreme method like creating separate divine selves.
It was only a temporary transformation wrought by the Eight-Nine Mystical Art—convenient for playing against himself.
With Theodore's mental strength, dividing his attention was already effortless.
Now he split it cleanly in two.
One side attacked—brilliant, fierce, unstoppable.
The other defended—heavy, steady, profound.
The two utterly different chess styles clashed across the board, and they met as true equals. Attack and defense wove together in patterns so close and intense that the struggle was impossible to distinguish.
And as the balance of offense and defense shifted across the board, the tension Theodore had carried from his earlier battle with the horror gradually loosened.
He sank deeper and deeper into the game.
One tension, one release.
At once, the Microscopic Heavenly Eye caught a flash of spiritual light.
Then the entire chessboard before Theodore seemed to become abstract.
In his sight, there remained only black and white currents, the turning of yin and yang, life and death birthing and extinguishing one another in endless alternation.
It was profound beyond words.
This was precisely the sudden enlightenment state that all who walked the path longed for in their dreams.
In that condition, every move made by Theodore's two transformed selves seemed to come alive, each piece radiating a force that seized the heart.
He had no idea how long the game lasted.
To his own senses, it felt like only an instant.
Then—
careful knocking sounded at the door.
"Theodore?"
"Are you busy? I mean… it's almost time for us to leave. Shouldn't we head to the match venue soon?"
Only after knocking did Ron slowly push the door open.
What met his eyes were Theodore's pupils, just returning from that empty, transcendent state.
Ron looked a little worried.
"Theodore… did I interrupt you?"
Theodore shook his head.
For those who cultivated the path, having a moment of enlightenment interrupted was usually considered deeply unfortunate.
But Theodore was broad-minded enough not to care.
First, Ron had done it unintentionally.
Second, even if the enlightenment had continued, the gain would only have been a deeper comprehension of chess.
Chess was fine, but in the end it was only a minor path—useful for refining the temperament and passing the time.
This sudden enlightenment had already let him step into the way of chess and had even smoothed out his Sword of Slaughter considerably. That was already a delightful windfall.
Why ask for more?
"Come on, Ron. Today's your big day."
Ron nodded nervously.
His face showed tension, but his eyes could not help drifting toward the wizard's chessboard Theodore had just used.
Strangely enough, even though the board was now only a残局, with very few pieces remaining, Ron felt as though he could still see black and white radiance circulating across it.
It was as if the position itself contained some kind of deeply stirring power.
Theodore looked at Ron, and surprise flickered in his eyes.
He had felt it before, back when he had been helping Ron practice.
Ron's talent for wizard's chess was truly extraordinary.
Of course, it could not compare to Theodore's own talent in the path of chess.
But among ordinary people, Ron was unquestionably top tier.
And now it seemed that after all this hard practice, combined with his own natural talent, Ron might actually have the potential to enter the path through chess.
A strange expression crossed Theodore's face.
"Wizard's chess is still chess. Didn't I just enter the path myself through wizard's chess?"
"If Ron one day enters the path through wizard's chess too… that actually doesn't seem impossible."
At that moment, Ron's gaze seemed to become nailed to the board.
It was as if a vast vortex had opened there and was slowly pulling his mind into it.
Theodore waved a hand casually.
The pieces on the board were immediately thrown into disorder.
Only then did Ron jerk his gaze away, drenched in sweat, his eyes full of shock.
"That… what was that?"
"It felt like I saw the birth and death of the universe in there. The rise and fall of all things. How is this still wizard's chess?"
A faint smile appeared on Theodore's face.
"You'll understand later."
"But right now, that game is still too far beyond you. You can't look at it for long."
"Come on. Your own game is waiting for you at the venue."
…
At the same time, the wizard's chess arena—where everyone should have been busy preparing for the tournament—was wrapped in a strange, unnatural stillness.
Quirrell, cloaked in a hood, stood within the hall. Madness burned in his eyes.
"Master, as expected of you. Even dark wizard's chess—something that disappeared long ago from the history of the magical world—you still know how to create it."
"To forge a dark board, one must kill living beings, drench the board in blood, and cast a special sequence of spells upon it."
"Anyone who sits across from that board enters a game with their life as the wager. The winner lives. The loser dies."
"And the condition for victory… is whatever the creator of the dark board chooses."
A vicious smile spread across Quirrell's lips.
"Doesn't Theodore care deeply about his friends?"
"And isn't that Weasley boy desperate to stand out?"
"I'll make sure he reaches the finals smoothly."
"Then, on this board, I'll begin a dark match."
"The condition for victory will be this: he must defeat, in succession, ten wizard's chess champions whom I killed during the night and whose blood I used to anoint the board."
Quirrell's expression twisted with cold delight.
"I admit it—Theodore's magic is powerful."
"But the bindings of dark wizard's chess are not something he can unravel in a short time."
"He will have only two choices."
"Either he watches helplessly as Ron Weasley dies in the dark match, breaks down in despair, and sees his faith collapse…"
"Or he foolishly joins the dark match himself, only to be crushed by those wizard's chess champions and lose his own life there as well."
"Either way, I get my revenge."
"This time, Theodore will not escape."
"Unless, of course, that monster also happens to possess deep attainments in wizard's chess."
He laughed under his breath.
"But how likely is that?"
"Too difficult."
"Among the ten champions on the board is the legendary eight-time title holder—the greatest wizard's chess player of them all."
"He's an eight-time champion. And what champion are you, Theodore Ashbourne?"
"On what grounds do you think you can win?"
"What, are you going to produce some divine move?"
Quirrell ran through every detail of the plan in his mind once more.
Then unprecedented confidence rose in his eyes.
He snapped his fingers.
A dazed attendant at his side immediately shuffled over.
"Champagne," Quirrell said grandly.
"Fill it to the brim!!!"
Send the next chapter whenever you're ready, and I'll keep the terminology, tone, and Theodore/System continuity locked to this version.
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