Thaddeus finished his breakfast in quiet routine, the kind of silence that had slowly become part of his survival since waking up in this old era. The wooden ship beneath him creaked softly as it moved across an endless gray-blue sea, carried forward by his magic.
He set the empty bowl down on the rough table.
No movement followed at first.
Then he lifted two fingers.
As a Master of Charms, spellcasting no longer required verbal structure alone. It flowed through gesture, thought, and precision of will. His hand motion was minimal—almost lazy—but the result was anything but.
A faint shimmer passed over the utensils. Invisible force swept through the bowl, plate, and spoon. Residue dissolved, stains vanished, and the objects briefly glowed as if reality itself was being rewritten at a microscopic level.
He sighed in satisfaction and pushed himself up from the table. The utensils drifted on their own toward the dish rack.
The wooden chair creaked softly as he stood.
The ship's interior was quiet, broken only by the low rhythm of wood against water. No footsteps echoed except his own.
He stepped out of the kitchen area and walked onto the open deck.
The ocean greeted him immediately.
Endless water stretched in every direction, broken only by faint waves and shifting light. No horizon markers. No birds. No other ships—only isolation wrapped in motion.
And yet the ship moved steadily.
Not by sails alone, but by the system he had constructed the previous night—carefully layered utility magic functioning like an artificial engine.
But he had to be honest—casting it had nearly killed him.
He remembered that feeling all too clearly.
After the magic stabilized, the exhaustion had not come all at once. It had built slowly—like pressure behind his eyes, like heat beneath his ribs.
He had pushed too many spells at once, unleashing the system-given magic he could barely contain, while also stabilizing the system he had created without resting his own magical output. His control had held—but his body had not.
He had collapsed on the deck, and for a moment, he simply lay there, realizing how close he had come to magical burnout. Fortunately, he had prepared potions in advance—enough to restore his strength and allow him to make his way to the captain's cabin to rest.
He would not repeat that mistake.
Still, it had been worth it.
Thaddeus closed his eyes briefly, letting the sea wind strike his face. He was eager to see land, yet perhaps because he had endured working sixty-hour workweeks in his past life that this quiet stillness did not feel so unbearable.
The air pressed against him in steady, unrelenting gusts, and the robe he wore danced around him in theatrical, restless waves.
Then a familiar interface flickered into existence in his mind.
--
[SIGN IN TODAY?]
--
He paused.
"Sign in," he whispered.
The system responded instantly.
--
[CONGRATULATIONS TO THE HOST FOR ACQUIRING: 1,000 GALLEONS]
[CLAIM THE REWARD]
[Y/N]
--
Thaddeus immediately confirmed yes, and a heavy bag of galleons materialized midair before dropping onto the deck with a solid thud.
He exhaled slowly and bent down to retrieve it as the interface faded from his sight.
A thousand galleons.
Real, physical magical currency in the wizarding world. It was only the second time the system had given him galleons—the first being the beginner's pack.
Even if he had no immediate use for it, as a pragmatic perso—no, wizard—he understood its significance.
So he cast a levitation charm when he felt how heavy it was before guiding it toward his cabin, which was now his treasure vault.
He turned slightly, letting the wind strike his face fully. Salt hung in the air—sharp, clean, unchanging. The ocean stretched on in quiet indifference, vast and unmoved by his presence. And yet, even with this sight before him, he did not panic.
He should have been, logically. Any rational person stranded in an endless sea with no confirmed direction or map would have fallen into panic long ago.
Perhaps it was because he had already survived his most difficult crisis that his mind refused to slip into negativity—instead, he held onto a quiet, steady optimism.
Thaddeus checked his status window. Since yesterday, he had taken to checking his system more frequently, wary of missing another update as he had before. If he had looked earlier, he would not have exhausted himself cleaning the upper deck. But regret was pointless now. He could only remain attentive.
---
[STATUS WINDOW]
[HOST: THADDEUS ]
[TITLE: MASTER OF CHARMS]
[CONDITION: HEALTHY ]
[MAGICAL CAPACITY: MEDIUM]
[CURRENT STATE: STABLE ]
---
After seven days, much had already changed. Even his condition had stabilized to "healthy," recovering from the poison that had killed the original owner—fully healed by his fourth day here—as well as the exhaustion from the previous night. The potions had been a great help.
Because of that, for the first time since his transmigration, he had finally managed to sleep properly last night.
He also held the title of Master of Charms. But would it stack if he mastered other branches of magic as well? The thought lingered—could such titles compound into something greater, or were they nothing more than separate labels of achievement?
With this alone, could he defeat Dumbledore now?
Thaddeus remained uncertain. His magical capacity had not changed—still "Medium," still undefined, still offering no real scale to measure himself against. He had no clear understanding of where he stood in the broader hierarchy of magic.
Now that he was fully recovered and in good condition, he was more than ready to turn his attention to the next problem ahead.
Thaddeus turned and walked back toward the captain's cabin.
Inside, the air was still and dry, laced with the scent of aged wood and salt-stained parchment. Maps lay scattered across the central table—some torn, others faded, all partially unreliable.
He approached them slowly.
They were unchanged.
Incomplete. Inconsistent. Impossible to fully interpret.
Lines cut across seas in ways that defied known geography. Markings suggested routes without clear reference points, while entire sections were missing, as though deliberately erased or lost to time.
Every time he studied them, the result was the same.
Frustration.
He pressed his fingers lightly against the edge of the table.
Think, Thaddeus.
Not guesswork. Not instinct.
Logic.
The maps wouldn't help him.
He had to start from what he knew.
The system's name—J.K. Rowling Wizard System Online—was itself a strong indicator that he was in a wizarding world. If that assumption held, then England became the natural reference point.
Britain. Europe.
A familiar anchor in what might be an unfamiliar era.
But there was a contradiction.
Fragmented memories from the original owner surfaced intermittently—never clear enough to be fully reliable, yet consistent enough for him to notice patterns.
Crowded merchant ports. People in his hometown covering their faces and wearing black robes. Vast trading hubs dominated by foreign goods and spices. Warm climates, yet biting winter winds carried down from high mountains.
He frowned slightly.
India?
If those memories were accurate, then his current position might not be near Europe at all.
It could be the Indian Ocean… or somewhere further west.
Or perhaps somewhere entirely uncharted.
A world that refused to align cleanly with his assumptions.
He exhaled slowly.
"So I might be wrong," he muttered.
But uncertainty alone was not enough to halt his movement.
He raised his wand slightly.
"Point me."
He cast the spell using his Charms knowledge. As a Master of Charms, even if it was his first time casting it, the spell formed flawlessly.
It activated instantly.
A faint pull stirred within his wand—not physical, but directional, as though gravity itself had been reoriented through instinct. It wavered briefly in the air before settling, pointing north.
Thaddeus studied the sensation carefully. By his understanding, the ship's current course was east.
He compared it with his modern knowledge, combining it with fragments of the original owner's memories.
If this was the Indian Ocean, then west should lead toward Europe.
As expected… magic still worked in his favor.
He lowered his hand.
"Good enough."
Turning away, he stepped out of the captain's cabin and made his way to the upper deck.
He spread his arms as he let the wind meet him head-on, his robe swept back in theatrical waves as the gusts tore through it like a living banner.
The ship responded the moment his will settled.
He adjusted its course.
An invisible force stirred beneath the hull as the propulsion enchantment activated. Something deep within the vessel shifted—like unseen currents obeying a new command. The ship groaned softly as it began to turn, slowly correcting its trajectory.
West.
Toward where the sun sank.
Thaddeus stood at the bow.
Wind pressed against his robes. Salt lingered in the air. The horizon remained empty—unchanged, indifferent.
Behind him, the ship pressed forward through the endless sea.
And Thaddeus remained still.
Everything was in place.
Now he could focus on his goal.
To become the greatest wizard this age had ever seen.
TBC
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