In the two years since Sherlock arrived in this world, besides learning Spells, he had also extensively researched the history of the Wizarding World, especially the history of Hogwarts.
Legend had it that the four Wizards and Witches who founded Hogwarts had each left behind precious relics associated with themselves.
Before seeing Gryffindor's sword with his own eyes, Sherlock had considered it nothing more than a legend, much like the Deathly Hallows in The Tale of the Three Brothers from The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and had never taken it seriously.
But since Gryffindor had been able to leave behind a sword, it was likely that the other three founders had also left behind valuable relics.
The cup carved with a small badger, currently sitting on a wooden shelf in the Lestrange Family vault, naturally made Sherlock think of Helga Hufflepuff, the founder of Hufflepuff House!
The fact that it had caused the crescent moon mark on his arm to react meant that it was undoubtedly a Horcrux.
For someone as arrogant as Lord Voldemort, would he really use mediocre, nameless objects when creating Horcruxes?
Hufflepuff's cup had been made into a Horcrux, while Gryffindor's sword was protected by Dumbledore. Therefore, Lord Voldemort might also have acquired the relics of Ravenclaw and Slytherin, hiding them somewhere unknown.
In this vault, Sherlock had obtained more than just a cup; more importantly, he had gained information that expanded the clues regarding the other Horcruxes.
A smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. This trip to Gringotts had not been a waste.
He had no intention of touching the cup directly. Although Sherlock could handle the Fiendfyre and Duplication Charms if they were triggered, causing him no harm, doing so would alert Ragnuk, who was guarding the door outside.
He directly used Control Magic to lift the cup from the wooden shelf, then pulled a pre-prepared wooden box from his bag and placed the cup inside.
After securing the Horcrux, Sherlock finally turned his attention to the gold and silver treasures.
He didn't value this wealth highly, but he also wasn't going to leave it in the vault.
Lord Voldemort's return was only a matter of time. If Bella and the others escaped from Azkaban, this money would inevitably fall back into their hands if left here.
Sherlock certainly wouldn't do something that amounted to indirectly funding the enemy, but he currently didn't have the ability to take all the treasures at once.
He simply selected a few items at random, intending to take them back and study the Fiendfyre and Duplication Charms attached to them. Once he found a way to lift these Spells, he would return.
Having accomplished his goal for the trip, Sherlock walked out of the vault with an indifferent expression.
"Have you obtained what you needed, sir?"
Ragnuk asked while glancing sideways at the vault, finding no signs that any protective Spells had been triggered inside.
"Do I need to report what I took to Gringotts?" Sherlock's attitude was still poor; naturally, it would have been strange if his attitude had suddenly improved.
Ragnuk closed the vault door again and returned the key to Sherlock.
"No, of course not, sir."
They got back into the cart and did not speak again until they returned to the Gringotts Hall, where Ragnuk bowed and saw him off.
The old Goblin, who was carefully weighing gems with a scale, glanced at Ragnuk as he came over to rest.
"Is this Lestrange Family member alright?"
Ragnuk nodded.
"He is indeed a Lestrange Family member."
"I can't believe there's still someone from that family who hasn't been arrested and sent to Azkaban."
"Keep your voice down. Who knows whether he should have been arrested?"
After Sherlock left Gringotts, he did not linger in Diagon Alley but immediately used Apparition to return to Hogwarts.
Removing the disguise from his face, he did not return to his office or seek out Dumbledore. Instead, he took the cup deep into the Forbidden Forest, to Eddie's grave.
This spot was very secluded and far from the Centaur territory, so he didn't have to worry about being disturbed.
Sherlock took the cup out of the wooden box, drew his wand, and carefully tapped the cup.
The Duplication Charm and Fiendfyre attached to it were naturally not ordinary Spells.
These were unique Goblin magics, and it was not easy for a Wizard to break them.
But before he could think of a countermeasure, the two Goblin Spells on the cup began to fail on their own.
Sherlock carefully observed the Spells' reaction and realised that they were dependent on Gringotts to function. Once the item left the Gringotts premises, the Fiendfyre and Duplication Charms—which were somewhat tricky even for him—would lose their effect.
This undoubtedly saved Sherlock a lot of effort.
He didn't delay any further and reached out his hand towards the cup.
The Crescent Moon Mark on his left arm produced a noticeable burning sensation. Before Sherlock could utter a Spell, a chilling black mist, as if sensing something, suddenly rose from the cup!
Sherlock was not unfamiliar with this black mist, as he had personally experienced it just a few days earlier.
The black mist spread above the cup, quickly forming a handsome yet incredibly hideous human face!
"Do you know what you are doing?"
Sherlock's hand remained on the cup. He looked at Riddle's face—the one that still had a nose—without showing any signs of panic.
"Oh? Do you have any last words?" he asked calmly.
A Horcrux itself had no combat ability or speech. The diary that had rampaged through Hogwarts for so long last year, even after absorbing the life force of Neville and Percy and finally manifesting a physical form, had only possessed the ability to control the Basilisk. Therefore, Sherlock wasn't worried even when faced with Lord Voldemort.
The hideous human face saw that Sherlock was willing to communicate, and its expression suddenly softened.
That unique, alluring voice rang out from the black mist.
"All you desire is powerful strength, Sherlock, and in that, we are alike. Find me... find the me that is slowly regaining power, and I will give you everything you want... nothing is impossible. If you are willing to join me, you can freely learn all the knowledge in the entire Wizarding World. What can that old fool Dumbledore give you? Only a few empty words. If you like Hogwarts, I can even make you the future Headmaster here, as long as you are willing to submit to me, as long as you are willing to join us."
Sherlock had deliberately studied Occlumency, but this kind of magic required mastery over time; one could not simply study it casually and easily become an Occlumency master.
Under normal circumstances, his current level would definitely have been sufficient, but Lord Voldemort was Lord Voldemort. Even a mere fragment of soul within a Horcrux possessed extremely powerful Legilimency.
Except for the deepest memories that Sherlock intentionally guarded, Lord Voldemort could clearly see all the other irrelevant ones.
"Hmm, that does sound very good." His hand did not loosen its grip on the cup, and he nodded, appearing tempted. "However, right now, I just want to ask you for one thing."
The face formed by the black mist smiled at Sherlock and declared loudly in a hoarse but not deep voice.
"Anything you want, I can give you! Power! Knowledge! Wealth! Women! Authority! Everything! Pledge your allegiance to me, Sherlock!"
Sherlock also smiled, his smile brilliant.
"Since you're so generous, then hand yourself over to me, Riddle."
"Of course!" Lord Voldemort's soul fragment readily agreed, then realised something was wrong. The face formed by the black mist showed a look of confusion. "What? Me?"
Sherlock stopped wasting words and softly chanted an obscure and difficult Spell.
A burst of grey light suddenly illuminated the point where his hand met the cup!
The moment this light shone, the fragment of Lord Voldemort's soul in the cup finally realised what he was trying to do!
"This magic... who taught you?"
He screamed, the anxiety and fear contained in his voice obvious to anyone who heard it.
"How dare you! Do you know what you are doing! Do you know what you are doing!"
Sherlock's expression remained cold, showing no intention of paying attention to him.
The grey light had completely enveloped the entire cup. The black smoke extending from the cup was forcibly squeezed by some unseen power, as if a pair of invisible hands were cupping Lord Voldemort's soul fragment and continuously kneading it, twisting it into a long, thin thread!
"You demon! You will die a horrible death! Demon!!!"
Lord Voldemort's final scream gradually weakened until it completely subsided.
Sherlock felt his arm burning intensely, but he was in no mood to worry about it. The sensation of absorbing a fragment of Lord Voldemort's soul from the diary for the first time surged through his mind again.
And this time, it was much more intense than before!
His entire body floated in the air. Within a ten-metre radius centred around Sherlock, it was as if everything had ceased all movement!
Leaves drifting down from the branches were frozen mid-air, the ants moving house on the ground were motionless, and even the wind stopped. Yet ten metres away, everything was normal, like two different worlds.
In this moment, Sherlock felt like the master of all creation!
God is Number One, he is Number Two!(TN:???????)
Lord Voldemort? Just an incompetent, barking, noseless old monster.
If he wished, he could easily erase him from this world without even moving a finger.(TN: I am speechless.)
Sherlock, floating mid-air, slowly opened his eyes.
His originally emerald eyes shone with a golden light!
That light was so captivating, yet no one was there to witness it.
In Sherlock's own perception, he became incredibly marvellous.
It was an indescribable wonder; he couldn't express it, yet he could immediately try to control it.
The world within the ten-metre radius began to move again.
The wind continued to blow, the leaves continued to fall, and the ants continued moving house, as if they had never stopped, having always been that way.
He gently extended one hand. There was no visible movement, no wand waving, and no Spell casting—just a simple thought arising in his mind.
In front of him, the large, leafy tree suddenly twisted!
It was like a lump of putty, which he could reshape according to his desires.
Flowers, grass, stones, pigs, cows, horses, sheep.
The tree completed over a dozen transformations based on his thoughts in an instant.
But it seemed there was more to it than just that.
A slight shift in Sherlock's thoughts was followed by an explosion nearby, kicking up chunks of dirt from the ground. Then, a bird flying past the treetops suddenly fainted and fell onto the soft grass, while a sneaky mouse suddenly began jumping and dancing uncontrollably on the spot!
The next moment, it was as if something had swept past.
The exploded dirt pit reformed, the small bird woke up in confusion and took flight again, and the mouse's body returned to normal, fleeing in terror.
Sherlock stared blankly at his own hands. As he stood there stunned, his body suddenly dropped to the ground.
That marvellous feeling immediately faded, and he returned to being the ordinary Sherlock. All the strange and wonderful things that had just happened seemed to have nothing to do with him.
Last time, when he "ate" the fragment of Lord Voldemort's soul in the diary, Sherlock hadn't fully experienced the sensation of his soul being mended because his injuries were too severe.
But now, he had truly and completely experienced it.
The feeling was indescribable, as if he had become the absolute master of a localised area.
All laws had to manifest according to his will. No matter what changes occurred in creation, they required his nod of approval!
Sherlock, having returned to normal, sat on the ground, his expression thoughtful as he savoured the feeling he had just experienced.
But soon, he snapped out of his contemplation and shook his head.
No matter how powerful he was in that moment, it was ultimately not his own strength. Indulging in it would do no good; instead, it would make him forget his fundamental purpose.
After coming to this realisation, he let out a long breath, feeling that his current mental state was better than ever before.
He drew his wand and casually waved it at a small blade of grass nearby, which instantly disintegrated into countless fragments.
This was a Silent Disintegration Charm, and Sherlock could clearly feel that the intensity of the Spell he cast directly had increased significantly compared to before.
Next, he spread out his Control Domain.
Although the maximum range was still ten metres, he clearly noticed a difference.
Previously, Control Magic had mainly been used to manipulate matter, and he had used his wand as a medium for casting magic.
But now, it seemed he could directly perform some not-too-profound Spells relying solely on Control Magic itself.
Without waving his wand, Sherlock looked up at a Bowtruckle climbing up a branch and softly uttered the Spell.
"Petrificus Totalus."
Without any magical beam appearing, the Bowtruckle suddenly froze.