"Isn't this the perfect energy source?" he murmured, a thrill of anticipation coursing through him. If he incorporated these into his enchanted citadel, he might just have stumbled upon a true game-changer.
He condensed another magic crystal, holding it up to the light. It resembled nothing more than a clear glass marble, unremarkable at first glance. Yet Erwin could feel the pure magic humming inside, a reservoir of raw power waiting to be tapped.
Curious, he drew on it experimentally. The energy flowed seamlessly into his veins, replenishing his reserves as effectively as a restorative potion. A grin spread across his face. The potential here exceeded his wildest expectations. No longer would he worry about running dry in a prolonged duel or ritual. With this, he was edging toward true self-sufficiency—a perpetual motion machine in wizarding form.
Erwin conjured a handful more, storing them carefully in his enchanted ring. He stretched, rolling his shoulders. The lottery preparations were complete at last. Time to check his progress.
He summoned the System, and a holographic panel shimmered into view before him.
[Name: Erwin Cavendish]
[Age: Twelve]
[Magic Level: Level Four]
[Identity: Current Head of the Selwyn Family, First-Year Student at Hogwarts, First Slytherin Leader]
[Title: First Appearance of the Fourth Dark Lord! (Increases majesty by 25%, Dark Arts power by 25%)]
[Talents:
Transfiguration Talent: 10/10;
Common Charms Talent: 10/10;
Talent in the Dark Arts: 20/10;
Potions Mastery Talent: 10/10;
Ancient Magic Talent: ?/10 (Unlocked; requires special means to activate)]
Remaining Talent Points: Common Talent Points x15, Advanced Talent Points x1
[Pet: None]
[Special Skill Cards: Talent Plunder (Legendary Gold); Magical Source (Legendary Gold); Beast Master's Bond (Legendary Gold); Arcane Mastery (Legendary Gold); Metamorphmagus Ability (Gold); Binding Resistance (Gold)]
[Spells List: Omitted]
[Spell Mastery: 7000]
[Items: Enchanted Citadel Design Blueprints, Grindelwald's Puppet x1, Ever-Changing Suit x1, Enchanted Egg x1 (97/100), Unknown Material Wand, Enchanted Ring x1, Automated Potion Cauldron x1, Magical Herbicide, Decoy Doll (1/1), Family Heirloom Forge 499/500, Death's Token 1/1]
[Current Wizarding Acclaim: 62]
His gaze lingered on the age line. Twelve now—his birthday had slipped by unnoticed. He hadn't marked the occasion since he was seven, when a lavish feast at the Selwyn estate had turned into chaos. Assassins had struck that night, a curse tearing into his abdomen, The scar still ached faintly on cold days.
After that, celebrations felt like invitations to disaster. Joy bred carelessness, and Erwin refused to let happiness blind him. Besides, in those lean years, the family coffers were too empty for extravagance. The Selwyn legacy had crumbled under mismanagement before his rise; he'd clawed it back through sheer thrift. Old habits died hard—even now, with vaults brimming, he pinched every Knut.
But his eyes settled on the Wizarding Acclaim tally: a measly 62. It felt like starting over, yet the overall haul was staggering. His build was robust now, a fortress of talents and tools that finally granted him basic self-defense. Basic, mind you—in Erwin's eyes, anything less was suicide in this mad world.
The deeper he delved into wizarding society, the more its absurdities stood out. He set himself a modest goal: in five years, he'd confront Death itself. Not with pleas or bargains—those were fool's games, like bargaining with a dragon for its hoard. Past-life tales had taught him well: gods like Death didn't yield territory lightly.
No, Erwin's plan was bolder. He'd arm himself until he could press the advantage, wand to that hooded brow, and offer five Galleons for Lily's resurrection. Death might balk, but a well-aimed spell could tip the scales. It was commerce at its most direct.
Yet the road ahead stretched long. In Britain's wizarding circles, his acclaim trickled in slowly now, a sign his name already carried weight. To surge ahead, he needed fresh ground—two paths, really.
The first: stir the pot. Something seismic, like his takeover of Slytherin or the dismantling of the Yaxley clan. But those victories were lightning strikes, rare and reactive. Erwin's image as the steadfast defender was key to his schemes; he couldn't afford to play the aggressor and shatter that facade. The pure-blood houses had gone suspiciously meek since Yaxley's fall—lambs in lions' clothing. Provoking them risked everything.
So, option two: expand the map. The Daily Prophet reached abroad, but its foreign sales were niche. Local rags dominated elsewhere, leaving vast territories untapped. Those were Erwin's uncharted realms, ripe for acclaim.
Luckily, he had a itinerary brewing. It would wait for the holidays, though—post-Christmas term dragged on. He'd accelerated the timeline already; Voldemort was shifting gears, pulling Draco into a new alliance with a makeshift trio. The boy wasn't brilliant, but his Malfoy connections opened doors the golden trio could only dream of—secrets, influence, a father's shadowy reach.
Erwin closed the panel, a quiet resolve settling over him. The crystals pulsed faintly in his ring, a promise of power untamed. Five years to challenge the reaper? He'd make it four if luck htals – The Ultimate Backup Power!
Erwin's eyes lit up as he examined theld.
...
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