[He who gathers the three Hallows will become the Master of Death]
Rhys recalled that line from the wizarding legends.
The Master of Death? An interesting claim.
Unfortunately, in his view, he had long since become someone who controlled death.
On the path to immortality, no one had traveled farther than he had. Perhaps only his three old friends could still glimpse his back in the distance.
As for those wizards who used Horcruxes to obtain so-called "immortality," Rhys was unwilling even to acknowledge that they had stepped onto this truly great path.
As for the origin of the three Hallows, compared with the absurd tale that they were gifts from Death itself, Rhys preferred to believe they were crafted by three extraordinarily skilled and powerful wizards, representing the wizarding world's exploration of power, life and death, and secrecy.
The black gemstone ring lay quietly inside the golden box, gleaming with a dazzling light.
A sudden impulse rose in Rhys's heart. He wanted to put the ring on his finger, so that he could properly explore the mysteries within it.
But before Rhys even took a step forward, he sensed something was wrong.
Why did he feel such a strong urge to put the ring on? That did not seem quite right.
Rhys took a deep breath and forcibly suppressed the stirring in his heart. Then he found the source of the problem: it was the ring. A filthy fragment of soul clung to it—naturally Riddle's handiwork.
Riddle's soul fragment was trying to bewitch him, attempting to secure one last chance at survival.
'What a cunning fellow. If it were someone else, they would probably have fallen for it,' Rhys thought as he bent down and discovered that the ring indeed carried an extremely vicious curse.
This kind of curse would exact an enormous price even if he were to come into contact with it without activating his domain.
Rhys drew his wand and lightly touched the ring with its tip for a moment, removing the curse attached to it.
Now the ring had returned to being an ordinary Horcrux, no longer posing much danger.
Rhys picked up the ring that had once belonged to the Gaunt family and examined it carefully. He could feel the ring trembling slightly in his hand. It seemed that the soul residing within it was shivering with fear.
"Easy now. I'm not going to do anything to you for the moment," Rhys said, attempting to calm the Horcrux, though it did not seem very effective.
This made Rhys somewhat irritated. Voldemort really had a knack for ruining things. Such a fine object had been wasted in his hands—turning the Resurrection Stone, one of the Deathly Hallows, into a Horcrux. The very idea was absurd.
However, the Resurrection Stone's function was to bring back the souls of the holder's deceased loved ones. Considering the "father dies, son rejoices" kind of relationship Voldemort had with his family, it was not surprising that he did not value it much.
What Rhys did not know was that Voldemort actually had very little understanding of the concept of the Deathly Hallows. The only one he knew about was the Elder Wand.
The ring struggled continuously in Rhys's hand, seemingly willing to consume the power of the soul just to escape from this monster's grasp. Someone unaware might have thought he was holding a Golden Snitch.
How annoying.
Rhys directly poked the Gaunt ring with his wand and used magic to forcibly suppress the restless soul inside it.
Once the ring finally became quiet, Rhys was able to examine it properly.
It had to be said that this was an outstanding piece of alchemical craftsmanship. Even Rhys did not know how it might be replicated. The three Peverell brothers were truly astonishingly talented.
A trace of admiration for the three Peverell brothers rose in Rhys's heart, along with a hint of concern: the Resurrection Stone had been turned into a Horcrux. Could it still perform its original function?
Rhys felt it probably would not affect it, especially since the fragment of soul inside the ring had already been forcibly suppressed by him.
So should he try using it?
Such a thought appeared in Rhys's mind.
Confident in his abilities, he had no concern about the possible negative effects of the Resurrection Stone, nor did he take Voldemort's soul fragment seriously at all. As far as he was concerned, every obstacle had already been cleared away. In that case, why not immediately explore the masterpiece of the Peverells?
Rhys was a man of action. He held the ring in his palm and turned the stone three times in his hand.
In just an instant, Rhys understood what had happened, because he heard faint movements around him—a soft rustling sound, like frail bodies slowly moving across soil covered with fallen branches and dead leaves.
Rhys turned his head and saw some familiar people.
So much time had passed that their faces had gradually blurred in his memory, but now their features became vivid once more, as if his memories had been freshly restored.
They were neither ghosts nor living people of flesh and blood. They were somewhat like that Riddle who had once emerged from the diary—memories that had almost become real. They lacked the warm, tangible bodies of the living, yet they were far more real than ghosts.
One by one, they entered the dilapidated cottage and walked toward him, gentle smiles on their faces.
[You are the pride of the Slytherin family.]
Rhys saw his father. His appearance had not changed much; he still looked exactly as he had that day.
[We have heard of the deeds you and your friends accomplished. Everyone raised their glasses in celebration of you—]
"What does that have to do with you? When you sent me to the dragon as a sacrifice, our relationship was already severed."
The middle-aged man froze for a moment, then disappeared with a bitter smile.
[You look younger. It reminds me of when you were little. Acha, don't blame your father…]
Rhys silently looked at the middle-aged woman before him without saying a word.
Her figure also faded away.
[Apothecary, it's been a long time!]
Next came a young witch, her eyes seeming to sparkle with stars.
Rhys smiled and nodded to her. Nerida, a lively Bulgarian witch and a friend he had met during his travels.
Apothecary… such a distant title.
Rhys almost sank into his memories again, but Nerida spoke once more.
[I did what you asked me to do!
I heard you and your friends founded a magic school? I founded one as well—Durmstrang. Does that name sound good?]
"Yeah.. Sounds good."
Nerida smiled brightly.
[With Durmstrang around, the remnants of those false gods won't be able to stir up trouble~]
"Thank you for your hard work," Rhys said sincerely.
Nerida waved her hand.
[It's nothing. See you again someday~]
Nerida's apparition also disappeared.
'See you again?' Rhys shook his head. He was not sure whether he would ever use the Resurrection Stone again.
[Teacher!!!]
The next voice was so familiar that it almost made Rhys's ears go numb.
A man with distinctive silver hair strode in with long steps.
"Adrian…" Rhys's expression became somewhat complicated.
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12 Chaps ahead at Patreon.com/HornyFBI