154: Sentient Silver Wick Sword

Today was the day to go to Hogsmeade, so Snape put the search on hold for now.

Seeing Snape hurriedly walking through the school, John could guess he was off to catch someone.

Folding up the Marauder's Map, John made his way to the Constellation Society's secret chamber.

Come to think of it, he hadn't been in there all week, and the Firebolt that was originally placed in the Constellation Society was borrowed by Malfoy.

He said that he wanted to use it as a secret weapon, so he did not advertise it.

However, John saw Malfoy returning to the dormitory with injuries several times, probably from falling.

Standing at the round table of the Constellation Society, the ceiling above shone with the light of thirty-six purple stars, casting a star map onto the table.

With a snap of his fingers, the table split open from the center, revealing a hidden entrance.

This was the armory, and a pair of half-finished shoes rested there.

John hadn't had the time to finish them. Several enchanted rings were placed on the counter, and the Silver Wick Sword hung on the wall in the center.

Raising his hand, the Silver Wick Sword trembled briefly before flying into John's grasp.

Taking a bottle of prepared soul potion, John drank it down—he was about to attempt a bold experiment.

He called it "Soul Infusion."

He waited for the effects of the soul potion to take hold.

He took a purified, extracted soul from the cabinet. Raising his right hand, John watched as a silver ring spread over his entire arm like liquid.

His silver, gleaming hand moved slightly, momentarily suppressing the injury on his right hand.

Opening the bottle containing the soul, he placed it on the table. John's mouth moved, and ancient, cryptic syllables filled the air.

The soul responded to his incantation, unraveling strand by strand, gradually entwining around the Silver Wick Sword.

In an instant, the chamber burst into light.

Magic drained rapidly, and John's gaze fixed unwaveringly on the Silver Wick Sword.

The next second, the soul was fully infused into the sword.

The sword's mithril-crafted blade shook violently, and John felt his own soul being tugged apart.

"Ug, Anima, veni."

With the spell cast, John forcefully suppressed the sensation of his soul being pulled away. Inside the Silver Wick Sword, the infused soul was restless.

In that moment, it felt as if an invisible pressure was descending upon him.

Gritting his teeth, John held steady as the soul within the Silver Wick Sword resisted fiercely.

Even when he had once torn souls apart and ingested them, he had never encountered resistance like this.

"Is this the rebellion against touching the forbidden?"

A glint of determination flashed in John's eyes as the Silver Wick Sword flew out of his hand, hovering in mid-air.

He hadn't used a Levitation Charm—this was the sword acting on its own.

With his now-free left hand, he drew his wand. Overhead, the thirty-six magical crystals embedded in the dome erupted with light, shooting beams directly downward.

The concentrated beams transformed into an immense force pressing onto his wand.

Under the strain, his arm lowered bit by bit, absorbing all the energy until the wand shimmered with an intense purple glow, nearly overflowing. His left arm bore thunder-like marks as the energy began to invade, carving patterns into his skin.

He adjusted the wand with forceful control, aiming it at the Silver Wick Sword.

A dazzling white laser burst from the wand's tip, landing on the blade, engraving intricate designs across its surface.

This immense power coursed through his body like a conduit, forcibly infusing itself into the sword.

The process went on for over ten minutes, with the Silver Wick Sword nearly breaking free several times, restrained only by the specialized silver gauntlet he wore.

Finally, as the wand expelled its last bit of energy, a wisp of black smoke curled from its tip.

John's left sleeve was shredded, with only a few scraps hanging, though he paid it no mind.

His eyes remained fixed on the Silver Wick Sword, which was now aglow with silver light, flames, and crackling arcs of electricity rippling along its blade.

Ancient, mysterious patterns adorned the blade, chaotic yet uniquely beautiful.

The most notable part was the hilt, where a magical crystal had formed cracks but, miraculously, had not shattered.

It was both a success and not quite a success.

John stepped forward, tentatively reaching out to grasp the hilt.

An immense surge of power erupted from within, but the six magic crystals on his gauntlet activated, containing the sword's resistance.

No matter how hard the sword struggled, it ultimately couldn't break free.

In the end, the Silver Wick Sword relented.

Yes, it surrendered.

John could sense the sword's emotions—utterly chaotic, like a child babbling while having its candy taken away and unable to reclaim it.

He aimed the sword at a human-shaped target in the chamber and swung. Though he didn't touch it, the target was sliced cleanly in two.

The cut was sharp and clean, with a charred edge.

"It'll do, though I wonder how long that supercharged magic crystal will hold out."

Returning the Silver Wick Sword to its original spot, John lifted his hand.

This time, he didn't use magic—the Silver Wick Sword flew directly back into his hand.

After infusing the Silver Wick Sword with a soul, John had forcibly created a consciousness within it. Initially resistant, that consciousness gradually yielded.

Or rather, it was the soul itself.

The supercharged magic crystal—formed by merging the energy of thirty-six magic crystals—shaped the soul into a conscious entity with intense magic.

In a way, John's actions had already ventured into an unforgivable realm.

But with no one else knowing, it was as good as nonexistent.

Magic itself is rooted in belief, and John, equally at ease, relied on that belief.

Returning to the upper level of the secret chamber, he noticed that the thirty-six magical crystals in the ceiling had dimmed somewhat.

There was no need to recharge them; the chamber itself, designed as a massive alchemy furnace, would continuously replenish the magic crystals as long as a tiny bit of magic acted as a catalyst.

If the magic crystals became fully charged, the excess magic would simply contribute to forming additional crystals.

When constructing the Constellation Society's secret chamber, John had modeled it on the Room of Requirement.

He held a handful of Galleons, and as they dwindled, the broken components of the chamber quickly regenerated.

John looked down at his left hand, where fierce, lightning-like patterns remained, almost like a tattoo. In one brief flashback, he even glimpsed a thunderbird.

It seemed that the intense magical impact had transferred the damage to his left hand, leaving a mark.

Once he'd finished restoring what had been damaged by the magical shock, John stepped out of the chamber.

As soon as he stepped out, John saw Harry, sweating profusely, caught red-handed by Professor Snape near the statue of the one-eyed, hunchbacked witch.

Despite Harry's frantic explanations that he hadn't gone to Hogsmeade, it was futile—Snape was dragging him off to his office.

John watched for a moment but didn't linger; he continued on his way.

Soon he ran into Hermione, looking flustered, her hair sticking to her forehead from urgency.

"John."

She halted abruptly upon seeing him.

After hesitating for a while, she finally spoke up, "John, there's something I want to ask you."

Seeing her anxious expression, John paused and asked, "What's up?"

Hermione's clear eyes darted over to the giant troll security statue in the corridor. She bit her lip and said, "Let's go somewhere more private."

John scratched his head and nodded in agreement.

Around the corner, Daphne, who had been about to greet John, stopped in her tracks.

Her expression shifted, the initial joy on her face fading away. The pineapple pizza she'd painstakingly made slipped from her hand onto the floor.

Hermione led the way, with John following behind her.

Every so often, he glanced down at the lightning-like pattern on the back of his hand, thinking to himself that it actually looked pretty cool.

Unlike the scar on Harry's forehead, John's mark was both intimidating and strangely beautiful.

When they reached the covered bridge, Hermione, who had been silent the entire way, finally spoke.

She stared at John for a moment, then asked, hopefully, "John, do you still have the password note I gave you?"

John was taken aback, thinking back to when he'd fought Sirius.

He'd used a fire spell to dry out the swamp, and the note had turned to ash.

So he replied honestly, "It's gone. Burned up."

Burned up?

Hermione hadn't expected that answer; it seemed absurd to her.

After a long pause, she walked away without saying another word.

John, puzzled, rubbed his chin and guessed, "Does she not want me feeding the cat anymore?"

Well, that was fine. He still had to track down Sirius Black, so his time was limited.

Turning away from the bridge, he bumped into Daphne.

From this angle, he could see the bridge clearly and wondered why she was here.

With a victorious smile, clearly in a good mood, Daphne walked over and tugged on his sleeve.

"I've mastered Italian pineapple pizza and Chinese strawberry dumplings!"

She looked very happy.

John took a breath of cold air when he heard the names of these dishes.

P-Pineapple Pizza.. Strawberry Dumplings...

How could anyone come up with this?

Didn't you say last time that you studied cooking for two and a half years? I liked you very much (smiley face)...

Why do you have to pick on fruits? You should be banned from the kitchen!!

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