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Chapter 138: The Meaning of Netherworld Energy
And now, George was using what could be called the greatest magical creation and discovery of the past thousand years—the most cutting-edge, most fundamental power in existence: Netherworld Energy.
And he was using it in the cheapest way imaginable.
He was using Netherworld Energy to plagiarize bestselling novels from the Muggle world.
Not only that, but Kate had also been dragged into it as free labor. She was being forced to learn how to use Netherworld Energy herself, and was even being made to help write ghost-story adventure novels.
"So what we're doing now is writing ghost stories first, then adventure novels?" Kate stared at George in utter disbelief.
She had imagined many possibilities. At first, she thought George would merely make her do tedious assistant work.
She had already spent countless hours organizing George's notes, categorizing research materials, and arranging books.
She had helped him refine spells, discussed magical theories and developmental ideas with him, tutored younger students in study groups, and even helped Harry train.
But never—not even in her wildest imagination—had she expected George to drag her into writing ghost adventure novels.
"What's the point of this?" she asked helplessly.
It felt like using an electromagnetic cannon to swat mosquitoes or crush ants.
"We should be continuing research on major discoveries like ghostcraft. Shouldn't we be searching for similar magic to compare against it? Developing more applications?"
"Why are we suddenly writing adventure novels? What kind of bizarre style shift is this? Dragons? Ghosts? Fantasy literature? What the hell is going on here?"
George looked at Kate with an expression of utter disappointment, like someone furious at iron for refusing to become steel.
"It seems you still don't understand the importance of money," he said.
"Everything you mentioned matters. But those things can't be accomplished in just a few months. Before any of that, you need to ask yourself: what discoveries can actually be exchanged for value, and where can we make money?"
Kate still looked confused.
"What exactly are you planning to do with ghosts? They don't even own an extra set of clothes."
"As a qualified businessman," George replied firmly, "when geese fly overhead, you pluck a few feathers."
"Ghosts don't have money. But they can trade information, and they can gather information. Besides, the one thing they have in abundance is time."
George himself lacked time more than anything else.
And useful intelligence.
He had left messages in Knockturn Alley long ago, yet had received nothing useful in return.
That only proved one thing:
The wizarding world truly was a place where money couldn't buy the things that actually mattered.
Wizards did not indulge in luxury culture.
They practiced monogamy, rarely competed materially, and had no obsession with extravagance.
No sports cars. No yachts.
The core prices of the magical world remained absurdly low.
Take the Weasley family, for example. They were so poor they struggled to raise seven children, yet they could still afford to send all of them to Hogwarts.
Someone like Hagrid could practically survive by growing vegetables in a garden or living beside a forest.
Under those conditions, truly valuable things rarely even appeared on the market.
The magical world's economy—and its worship of gold—was nowhere near developed enough to satisfy a local tyrant who wanted to spend money freely to obtain treasures.
George had already abandoned the idea of using wealth to buy truly valuable things in the wizarding world.
But ghosts were different.
They possessed endless lifespans.
Their time cost them nothing.
And the things they desired were things only George could provide.
Under such conditions, how could George possibly resist exploiting them?
Even if they were already dead, George still intended to squeeze every last bit of value from them.
At the very least, perhaps they could help him uncover the origins of the eighty phoenixes.
Saturday morning.
After waking up, Draco Malfoy stretched lazily before enjoying an excellent breakfast.
Snake blood had already been applied to his body earlier, and he spent some time meditating to adjust his condition.
Only after feeling fully energized and at his absolute peak did he calmly leave the dormitory.
Today was the Quidditch match against Gryffindor.
That idiot Potter was finally going to lose to him.
This was something Draco had never truly achieved in all their previous confrontations.
The thought filled him with excitement, gradually dispelling the calmness meditation had brought him.
He had prepared extensively for today.
Not only had he built strong relationships with his teammates over the previous year, but during the summer holiday he had also earned his father Lucius's approval through practical achievements.
That was why Lucius had purchased seven Nimbus 2001 broomsticks for the Slytherin team at the start of the school year.
And now the time had come to reap the rewards.
He had successfully transformed the Quidditch match into a direct duel between himself and Harry Potter—and he was extremely confident in his chances.
At that thought, a sharp, predatory glint flashed through his eyes like that of a hunting eagle.
He wore a perfectly tailored Slytherin uniform custom-made by skilled seamstresses. Every detail fit his body flawlessly, allowing unrestricted movement.
Because he was still growing, such perfectly fitted clothing had to be remade every two months to ensure it remained ideal.
Inside the Slytherin common room, the team members appeared completely relaxed.
They understood their own strength and possessed absolute confidence in their ability to display it.
In their minds, defeat was never even worth considering.
The only question was how spectacularly they would win.
Marcus Flint began the pre-match speech.
Massive and intimidating, he looked almost like a monster. Anyone foolish enough to underestimate him because of that appearance would quickly regret it.
Flint was not stupid.
In fact, his cunning and tactical thinking rivaled that of any wizard.
"Today," Flint said with a sly grin, "we're dealing with Gryffindor turtles."
"It'll feel pretty good turning those stupid lions into frightened little turtles."
The Slytherin players burst into laughter, the entire team radiating relaxed confidence.
"A turtle might fight a lion," Flint continued, "but turtles can't withstand venomous snakes. Their shells are full of holes in front of us."
He had already planned everything carefully.
"We'll start with their female players."
The Slytherin team let out sinister chuckles, malicious excitement flashing in their eyes.
"I'm not going to talk about courage, glory, or victory," Flint said seriously.
"What I want is domination."
"In our eyes, there are no opponents. There is only victory."
"A crushing, overwhelming victory."
"Crush them! Crush them!" the Slytherin players roared.
No team desired victory more fiercely than Slytherin.
They would use any means necessary to win.
Flint turned toward Malfoy.
"Malfoy, your job is to keep Potter occupied. Don't let him catch the Snitch."
"We can take our time and build up the score by hundreds of points. But if necessary, grab the Snitch before he does."
"He won't have a single chance," Malfoy sneered coldly.
Winning by several hundred points…
That actually sounded like a very good idea.
(To be continued.)