Seeing the new line of text pop up on the System screen, Theodore froze.
…Huh?
I am clearly a once-in-a-millennium formations genius, and the Southern Extreme Immortal doesn't want to cultivate me?
What do you mean "don't let him touch formations"?
If I can't touch formations, where am I supposed to keep milking resources from?
Must be the System being half-blind again. Wouldn't be the first time it bugged out.
Theodore quickly turned to Dumbledore and made a very sincere suggestion.
"Headmaster, ahem, I really think this dungeon-style trial is great for improving Hogwarts' overall teaching quality."
"How about we make this a permanent project? One every school year. I'd be more than happy to handle it for everyone."
Dumbledore almost choked and very delicately looked away.
"Ten points to Gryffindor," he said, "for a highly adventurous and creative proposal, Mr. Ashbourne."
"As for making this dungeon a permanent fixture… ah. Well. That would require committee discussion. As everyone knows, our processes are quite lengthy. Let's leave that decision… to a future Headmaster."
The very next second, Dumbledore hastily changed the subject.
"Speaking of which—what time is it now? It's awfully late, isn't it? Oh dear, Theodore, you have classes tomorrow, don't you?"
"At your age, getting enough sleep is very important. Off to bed with you. I'll think carefully about all your suggestions."
Theodore's face was full of disappointment.
Such a world-shaking talent for formations, and he wasn't being allowed to show it off. He still had so many dungeon tricks from his previous life he hadn't used yet. Truly… unrecognized genius!
Now he could only hope Dumbledore was a man of his word and didn't conveniently "forget" about the biting cabbages and mandrakes he'd promised.
Reluctantly, he left the stages behind.
Once Theodore was gone, Dumbledore let out a very long breath.
Before Harry's first year, he really had been toying with the idea that, if this year's "dungeon" worked well and proved to be a good training tool for Harry, they could set up one every year.
That way, by Harry's fourth or fifth year, he'd be used to such trials, and Dumbledore could then push to resurrect the Triwizard Tournament. Harry would naturally be selected as Hogwarts' champion and undergo an unprecedented tempering.
Now, however…
Dumbledore pulled a little notebook from his robes and carefully crossed out several items, adding a very clear annotation:
"Never let Theodore Ashbourne find out about the Triwizard Tournament.
Absolutely forbid his involvement in organizing it!"
…
Meanwhile, after leaving the fourth floor, Theodore did not go straight back to the dorm. Instead, he slipped once more into the Room of Requirement.
His gaze landed on the reward he'd just gained from becoming acquaintances with Dumbledore—Fude Zhenxian, the True Immortal of Merit and Virtue—and his eyes burned with heat.
This was a reward from befriending a quasi-saint. It could increase his merit, functioning somewhat like an upgrade to his luck.
The subtler and higher the mystery, the more coveted it was by top-level cultivators. The Twelve Golden Immortals of the Chan Sect would probably be green with envy if they saw this!
Right now, Theodore's highest-tier talent was still the flesh-saint-level ability Adamantine Undying Body—so many of his trump-card combat and survival methods were built directly on that, making it absolutely central to his strength.
But in terms of realm?
Even if the post–Gods-and-Demons War Yang Jian, Nezha, and Lei Zhenzi all joined forces with their perfected flesh-saint bodies, they still wouldn't be able to touch the Southern Extreme Immortal's level.
By that logic, the True Immortal of Merit talent had to sit above Adamantine Undying Body in the hierarchy.
Theodore took a long breath and spoke softly in his heart.
"System, claim: Fude Zhenxian."
The rewards bar on the System screen flickered.
A line of characters—True Immortal of Merit—appeared, shining with a faint golden light. It even pushed Adamantine Undying Body one slot back, taking the frontmost position on the list.
At the same time, Theodore's mind went hazy for a moment. The world in front of his eyes seemed subtly altered.
Merit, cause and effect, karmic reward…
All those things that had once sounded vague and flowery suddenly felt solid to him, as if they carried real weight.
You reap what you sow—Theodore still couldn't see through this profound truth, but it no longer felt like empty words. There was an actual sense of it lingering on the edge of his perception.
"So this is the Dao of Merit that the Southern Extreme Immortal walks?"
"No wonder he can be the senior brother of the Chan Sect. This level of cultivation… really is beyond those Twelve Golden Immortals, still stumbling along without realising the slaughter-calamity has already closed in on them."
"And no wonder his art of divining the Heavenly Dao is unmatched beneath the Saints. From this path of merit alone, you can already see how tightly it's woven with fate and destiny."
Theodore lowered his gaze to himself and couldn't help looking a little surprised.
His accumulated merit wasn't what you'd call astonishingly deep—not yet at the level of "Heaven's Favourite Son"—but compared to ordinary people, he was definitely miles ahead.
Understanding rose naturally in his heart.
"A chunk of this merit must come from the orphanage I supported with my royalties in my previous life. Those donations have kept a lot of kids alive. That built up a lot of merit."
"Another portion came from Diagon Alley—I wrecked Voldemort's plan there and saved quite a few young witches and wizards."
"And then there's all the bits I earned by making friends, nudging people toward better paths, and inspiring them to be kinder."
"No wonder my luck's been pretty good lately, and the success rate on talent fusion was so high. That must've been the merit subtly tipping the scales."
He thought for a moment and then laughed softly.
"No wonder those stories about 'ten lifetimes of goodness' and 'a hundred lifetimes of goodness' have gods and Buddhas paying attention. If your merit gets that thick, even a casual nudge from a deity nets them a handsome harvest in return."
"In the Harry Potter world, Voldemort's luck has been getting worse and worse. This has to be part of the reason."
"That bastard's accumulated far too much sin. Of course his luck's going down the drain. Serves him right."
His gaze drifted back to the rewards list.
It had been a while since his last talent fusion. The bar, once nicely streamlined, was jammed full again with all sorts of talents he'd picked up.
Theodore's eyes flashed.
"Looks like it's time to run another fusion."
"Especially those talents related to spiritual energy—those are absolutely crucial for me. I have to merge them into a single, higher-tier talent. That one decision affects my future growth rate, and I cannot afford to botch it."
"With the merit I've got now, fusing normal talents should be pretty safe. But to guarantee success on a top-tier spiritual-energy talent? That's still not enough."
"I need more merit. A lot more. Time to rack up good deeds."
…
The next morning.
Harry, Ron and the others opened their eyes, glanced at the clock—and panicked.
"Oh no, we're out of time for breakfast—we're going to be late!"
They'd spent half the night fretting over Theodore, wondering how his talk with Dumbledore had gone and whether the Headmaster had managed to change his mind.
They'd waited and waited, but Theodore hadn't come back. In the end, they just passed out from exhaustion.
Now there were only minutes left before class. They really didn't want another lecture.
As they leapt out of bed, fumbling for their clothes and ready to sprint to the washroom, they suddenly felt their robes… move on their own.
Shirts, ties and jumpers slid into place as if they were alive.
They turned their heads and saw Theodore, wand in hand, calmly casting.
Not only that—the dormitory table was covered in a lavish breakfast spread.
Theodore smiled.
"No need to thank me. This is what friends do—we look out for each other."
Harry and Ron looked at each other.
…Why did Theodore seem a bit off today?
Theodore, for his part, was frowning, grumbling silently in his heart.
Seriously? I've been up all night, didn't even sleep—
I helped Filch clean the corridors, scrubbed out the owlery, posted homework answer hints in the common room, delivered breakfast to every dorm…
Got showered in praise from every Gryffindor…
And my merit only went up this much?
No wonder those legends talk about "ten lives of doing good" and "a hundred lives of doing good" before ascension. At this rate of accumulation, anyone relying on good deeds alone to become a god will need several reincarnations to get there.
If he wanted enough merit to reliably fuse a super-high-tier spiritual-energy talent, who knew how many years that would take?
As Theodore was scowling over the slow drip of merit, things at the far end of the fourth-floor corridor were… less than tranquil.
Quirrell stumbled out from behind the trapdoor, face deathly pale, while Voldemort shrieked inside his mind.
"Quirrell! Didn't you say you'd learned a spell that works well on dogs? That you had a fair chance of handling the beast while the professors were at breakfast?"
"Why did I have to intervene again, wasting yet more of my precious power?"
"And what in Merlin's name did you do to that dog? Why is it so much stronger than last time?!"
Quirrell was almost in tears.
"I don't know, my Lord!"
"I didn't even get the spell off! The moment I walked in, that dog was acting like it had just downed some kind of miraculous potion!"
"It's got to be Snape—Snape must have brewed it an enhancer potion behind our backs!"
Voldemort's tone turned colder than ice, as if he wanted to grind his teeth into dust.
"No. Snape is still loyal."
"It was Dumbledore. It must be that despicable old man."
"Feeding a three-headed dog strengthening draughts—Dumbledore, is there no lower limit to your shamelessness?!"
At the same time, back in Gryffindor Tower, Theodore—still brooding over how slowly merit accumulated from "doing good"—suddenly paused.
In that instant, a solid surge of merit washed over him.
After a brief moment of confusion, he instantly understood where it came from.
"Because I gave Fluffy a Flying Tiger Pill, it got a lot stronger than before, forcing Voldemort to burn extra power…"
"So I get more merit?"
Theodore's eyes lit up.
"Damn."
"Good men spend ten or a hundred lifetimes practicing virtue and still struggle to ascend, but an evildoer only has to drop the knife and suddenly the merit pours in and they're ready-made Buddhas."
"The ancients weren't lying. Who in their right mind tries to ascend on good deeds alone?"
He set down the trays he'd been about to carry to Harry and Ron, and strode off in search of the Weasley twins.
"Fred, George."
"I heard you two have been working on some new Dungbombs. Lend me a few, will you?"
"What for? For doing what a real Gryffindor is meant to do, of course."
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