Chapter 61: Alchemy Fire
Time on Mona Island passed silently.
Every morning when Rhys woke up, the light outside the window was at a slightly different angle than the day before.
Amber coiled by his pillow, its triangular head resting on its body, red eyes half-open like two semi-melted pomegranate seeds.
Rhys stretched out a finger to touch its tail, and it lazily flicked it in response.
A week passed.
Runes—the ancient writing system composed of twenty-four characters—had been completely engraved into Rhys's mind.
It wasn't the kind of memorization that simply means "remembering"; it was the kind ingrained by muscle and bone after the tip of a knife had carved it hundreds of times over on metal plates.
A thin callus had formed on the web between his thumb and index finger, and there was a shallow indentation on the first knuckle of his index finger from holding the engraving knife.
Iron plates, copper plates, silver plates, gold plates—the front and back of all four metal plates were covered in Runes.
Some were deep, some shallow, some crooked, but as he went on, they became neater.
Nicolas came to check them once every day; he wouldn't speak, just pick up the metal plates to hold them against the light for a moment, set them down, nod, and leave.
The progress of Parseltongue also shifted from "feeling" it with Amber to writing it down.
Dumbledore gave him a stack of blank parchment, and Rhys broke down every syllable Amber made into letters, then used Latin letters to annotate the approximate pronunciation.
This task was more difficult than engraving Runes because the vocal organs of snakes were completely different from humans—some sounds weren't "produced," but rather resonances naturally formed when airflow was squeezed from deep in the throat.
It took Rhys several days to break down Amber's "Hsssah" into the six letters H, s, s, s, a, h, and another day to determine that the syllable corresponded to the meaning "warm/comfortable."
By the end of the week, his parchment was already filled with Parseltongue vocabulary.
Every word was annotated with its pronunciation, meaning, and written form—that writing wasn't spelling with Latin letters, but symbols he had extracted from the shapes of the throat and tongue when snakes made sounds.
Dumbledore looked at those symbols, was silent for a long time, and finally said, "You can call this'Snake Script'."
Rhys listed the organized Parseltongue vocabulary on a separate piece of parchment:
Dh-sss-ak — Attack
Kth-ssth — Coil
Ess-ka-ss — Deterrence
Sseth-ka — Bloodline
Mar-sss-ga — Curse
Veh-sss — Sleep
There were over a dozen other small words, each verified repeatedly—by saying them to Amber and watching its reaction.
If he said it right, Amber would flick its tongue; if he said it wrong, it would turn its head away and ignore him.
On the evening of the seventh day, Rhys was engraving the fifteenth Ancient Rune of the day on the workbench when Nicolas pushed the door open and walked in.
The old man was wearing a light gray robe today, his sleeves still rolled up to his forearms, revealing thin but strong wrists.
He walked to the workbench, picked up the copper plate Rhys had just finished engraving, held it up to the light to look at it, and put it down.
"Rhys, take a break first."
Nicolas's voice was unhurried. "Your progress is very good. You have finished learning both Runes and Parseltongue. In the remaining time, I will teach you the production process of ancient Alchemy—the synthesis of Blackening, Whitening, Yellowing, and Reddening, as well as the complete process of combination, fermentation, and sublimation."
Rhys set down his engraving knife, turned around, and nodded. "Alright, Mentor."
Nicolas walked to the Alchemy furnace and patted the furnace wall gently with his palm, as if comforting an old friend.
"As for the object to be made, let's use the Talisman you envisioned to conduct the experiment. It might succeed, or it might fail."
He turned around, looking at Rhys. "But what you must personally remember is the process of ancient Alchemy, and learn this process."
Rhys fished out the copper block he had been experimenting with from his pocket—octagonal, the size of a bottle cap, made of a dark gray alloy, the back covered in Runes and Parseltongue symbols, the front engraved with a coiling snake.
This was something he had carved in his spare time over the past few days, not yet processed through any Alchemyprocedure, just a rough semi-finished product.
"Okay."
Rhys put the copper block back in his pocket.
Nicolas walked to the workbench and spread a huge piece of parchment on the table.
On it was drawn a complete flowchart—seven nodes connected by arrows, with dense annotations next to each node.
He picked up a quill and pointed to the far left of the diagram.
"The first day, the Blackening stage. This is the most basic preparatory stage. Alchemists will decompose the 'primal matter' for initial fusion, causing it to become a black, chaotic state—symbolizing the disintegration of the old system."
Rhys stood firmly in front of the Alchemy furnace.
The furnace chamber was empty and cold, the soot on the furnace walls proving it had been used for many years.
He opened the material box, took out four metals: copper, iron, tin, and lead, and weighed them according to the proportions Nicolas gave—60% copper, 20% iron, and 10% each of tin and lead.
He put the four metals into a clay crucible, covered it, and pushed the crucible into the furnace chamber.
"The fire is under your control."
Nicolas stood behind him. "The fire of an Alchemist is not ordinary fire; it has its own will. What you need to learn is not to make it burn brighter, but to make it burn just right."
Rhys pointed his wand at the furnace's air intake and cast "Incendio."
The fire ignited; it wasn't golden-red, but blue—blue to the point of being white, blue like the cloudless sky at noon in summer.
Nicolas stood to the side without speaking, but his gaze lingered on the blue flame for a moment.
The metals in the crucible began to melt.
The copper melted first, then the tin, then the lead, and the iron was the last to soften.
The four metals slowly fused together under high heat, turning into a pool of dark red liquid with a thin layer of oxide floating on the surface.
Rhys stirred it with a special small spoon, and the liquid gradually changed from dark red to gray-black, finally becoming a deep, lusterless black.
The Blackening was complete.
Rhys clamped the crucible out of the furnace and poured the black alloy liquid into a rectangular mold.
After cooling, he obtained a black metal ingot, its surface rough like a stone burned by fire.
"The second day, the Whitening stage—purification."
Nicolas stood by the workbench, watching Rhys break the black metal ingot and put it into a glass flask.
Rhys added distilled water and a colorless, transparent liquid to the flask—the "Philosopher's Water," which was much heavier than ordinary water and would sink to the bottom when poured into a beaker.
He placed the flask on a distillation rack and heated it over a low fire.
Water vapor rose, passed through the condenser tube, and dripped into another flask.
Left at the bottom of the original flask was a grayish-white precipitate; Rhys scraped it out and ground it into a fine powder with a mortar.
The powder was white and very fine, like the first snow of winter falling on a windowsill.
The Whitening was complete.
"The third day, the Yellowing stage."
Nicolas's voice came from behind him. "Add a small amount of gold to the alloy as a'seed' or 'yeast' to make the entire alloy 'infected' with the properties of gold."
Rhys took a small piece of gold leaf from the material box—so thin it was almost transparent, feeling as light as if it had no weight in his palm.
He tore the gold leaf into fragments and sprinkled them into the re-melted black alloy liquid.
The gold leaf melted the instant it touched the liquid, golden veins spreading like lightning in the black liquid, and a few seconds later, they completely disappeared, the entire liquid turning a deep purple-red, with a golden luster on the surface.
The Yellowing was complete.
"The fourth day, the Reddening stage."
Nicolas handed him an octagonal mold—made of copper, the inner wall polished very smoothly.
Rhys poured the alloy liquid, which had already turned gray-black, into the mold.
The liquid slowly cooled in the mold, the color changing from gray-black to dark gray, and from dark gray to dark red.
After it completely solidified, Rhys took the octagonal alloy block out of the mold—bottle-cap sized, gray-black, with a metallic luster on the surface, but it didn't feel like metal to the touch, more like warm, smooth jade.
He put on a magnifying glass—the kind that old watchmakers wear on their eyes, the kind that can be flipped up and down.
The lens was circular with a copper frame, the edges heavily worn.
He clipped the magnifying glass onto his right eye, picked up the smallest engraving knife, and began to engrave on the back of the octagonal alloy block.
Runes. Symbols of Parseltongue. The two types of scripts were interwoven; some represented borrowing, some represented protection, some represented invisibility, and some represented silence.
The tip of the blade glided across the gray-black alloy surface, leaving fine, silvery-white engravings.
Rhys's hand was steady; every cut was just right—neither too deep nor too shallow, neither off-center nor skewed.
It took him over an hour to finish engraving the back.
Then he flipped the alloy piece over to engrave the serpentine totem on the front—a coiled snake, tail biting its head, exactly the same as the pattern on the Snake Talisman.
The snake's eyes were the two deepest points of the engraving. When he reached this part, Rhys's fingers paused slightly before delivering the final cut.
On the eight side edges, he engraved the Eight Trigrams patterns—Qian, Kun, Zhen, Xun, Kan, Li, Gen, and Dui, eight symbols in total, with each symbol occupying one edge.
He had spent several days deciding on this: placing Eastern hexagrams and Western Runes on the same Alchemy item felt like a reconciliation spanning time and space.
Rubedo completed.
Rhys used a small brush to fill the engravings bit by bit with the white powder—the kind made during the Albedo stage.
The powder was very fine; once it fell into the engravings, it wouldn't come out, as if it were being held by something.
After filling in the last stroke, the front, back, and sides of the entire Talisman were covered in white lines. The gray-black background and the white engravings intertwined like a miniature map.
"Day five, Conjunction." Nicolas Flamel's voice was a bit lower than usual. "Child, channel your Zodiac magic into the Talisman to activate it. Remember the essence of this magic, then replicate it."
Rhys's fingers touched the surface of the Talisman. The alloy block felt slightly cool under his fingertips, and the edges of the engravings were somewhat sharp.
He closed his eyes, sensing the Snake Talisman within him—that power curled deep in his consciousness, like a sleeping snake, breathing quietly and slowly.
He tried to mobilize it, drawing it out from his body and letting it flow through his fingers into the Talisman.
The power moved. It rose from the depths of his consciousness, traveled down the meridians of his arm, passed through his elbow and wrist, and gathered at his fingertips. Then, it stopped there.
It was like a river meeting a dam, unable to flow through. Rhys frowned. He tried again.
The power gathered at his fingertips, touching the surface of the Talisman, but the Talisman was like a wall, refusing to accept anything external. It wasn't rejection; it was "unfamiliarity." The Talisman didn't recognize the power of the Snake Talisman, so it wouldn't let it in.
"Is the method wrong?" Rhys muttered to himself.
Nicolas Flamel stood by, saying nothing. His gaze rested on Rhys's face for a moment, then shifted to the Alchemyfurnace.
Rhys also looked at the furnace. The hearth was still hot, and the embers glowed faintly beneath the ash. He stood up, walked to the Alchemy furnace, and ignited the fire in the hearth with his wand.
This time, the fire was not blue—it was a deeper blue, as blue as midnight, as the deep sea, as the starless sky. He placed the Talisman in the palm of his right hand and reached into the furnace.
Nicolas Flamel's eyelid twitched. He said nothing, but his fingers tightened on the edge of his robe.
The flames licked the back of Rhys's hand, his fingers, and the gray-black Talisman in his palm. The flames glided over his skin without leaving any marks—warm, scorching, but without pain.
It was the same as when Norbert first breathed fire at him, the same as when the fire in the fireplace burned at his fingertips. The flames found the Talisman and wrapped around it.
Amber crawled out from Rhys's collar and coiled around his shoulder, its triangular head extending toward the Alchemy furnace. It flicked its tongue and made a sound Rhys had never heard before—not "Hsssah," not "Sshar," but something more ancient and profound. It was like a stone falling into deep water, like wind passing through an empty valley.
Rhys's pupils changed. They shifted from gray to cyan-green, and the pattern of the Snake Talisman emerged in the center of his pupils—a coiled snake, tail biting its head, exactly the same as the totem on the front of the Talisman.
He opened his mouth and, together with Amber, chanted in Parseltongue toward the Alchemy furnace. "Sseth-ka... Ess-ka-ss... Mar-sss-ga..."
Bloodline. Deterrence. Curse.
The three words were spoken simultaneously, human vocal cords and the hissing of snakes blending together, echoing between the stone walls of the workshop.
The fire in the Alchemy furnace turned from blue to green—not grass green, but that deep green, like the patina on ancient bronze. The flames swirled in the hearth like a miniature vortex, sucking the Talisman into the very center.
Rhys's hand was still in the flames. He felt the Talismanmoving—not the movement caused by the flames, but it was moving on its own, as if something had awakened inside it.
The power of the Snake Talisman surged out from Rhys's fingers; this time, there was no dam. It flowed into the flames, into the Talisman, into the octagonal alloy block slowly rotating in the green fire.
The serpentine pattern on the front of the Talisman lit up. Green light shone through the engravings, faint at first, like the tail light of a firefly, then brighter and brighter, until the white powder became transparent, revealing the gray-black alloy underneath.
The snake's eyes—those two engraved points—lit up like two tiny emeralds.
Then the light became internalized. It didn't extinguish; it retracted. It shrank into the engravings, into the powder, into the molecules of the alloy.
The white powder on the surface of the Talisman turned from white to green—not a green painted on, but a green emanating from within, like jade, like the first leaf of spring.
Rhys withdrew his hand from the flames. The Talisman in his palm was still hot, but no longer scalding. He placed it on the workbench, stepped back, and looked at it. The Talisman lay there quietly, the serpentine pattern glowing faintly in the candlelight.
Nicolas Flamel stood on the other side of the workbench, one hand pressed against his chest. His complexion was a bit paler than usual, but his eyes were bright.
"Next time, tell me in advance whether you are afraid of fire." Nicolas Flamel's voice was a bit tight. "Otherwise, your teacher here might be scared to an early grave by you."
Rhys lowered his head, the corners of his mouth curving slightly. "Understood, Mentor."
"Day six, Fermentation." Nicolas Flamel walked to the workbench and took a glass jar from the material cabinet, which contained a pale blue liquid. "Soak the Talisman in this special solution and let it 'grow' within it."
He handed Rhys a list. Rhys took it and glanced at it—Nundu fur, Demiguise hair, Fanged Geranium caps, Knotgrass twigs, Troll boogers, Christmas Rose, and Mist-weed. Each name was followed by the dosage and preparation method.
He placed the Talisman into a glass beaker and added the ingredients one by one in the order on the list. The Nundu fur had to be burned to ash first, the Demiguise hair had to be cut into one-millimeter segments, the Jumping Toadstool caps had to be ground into powder, the Knotgrass twigs had to be mashed into a paste, the Trollboogers had to be heated to body temperature, the Christmas Rose had to have its petals removed, and the Mist-weed had to be soaked whole. Rhys performed every step slowly, but without any hesitation.
After all the materials were added to the beaker, the solution turned from pale blue to deep purple. The Talisman sank to the bottom of the beaker, like a pebble forgotten in deep water.
"How long does it need to soak?" Rhys asked.
"Twenty-four hours," Nicolas Flamel said. "This time tomorrow."
Rhys placed the beaker in the corner of the workbench and covered it with a black cloth.
"Day seven, Sublimation." Nicolas Flamel's voice was lighter than before, as if he were speaking about something very solemn. "Sublimation requires a 'Philosophical Egg'—a sealed glass container that provides a closed environment for material transformation. The Talisman needs to complete its final transformation inside it."
He walked to the desk, opened a thick notebook, flipped through several pages, and stopped.
"I don't have a Philosophical Egg here. The only one—the one I used to create the Philosopher's Stone—is now in the school collection room at Beauxbatons. No one studies ancient Alchemy anymore, so that item has become a piece of history." He closed the notebook, turned to look at Rhys, and said, "You will need to obtain this yourself. As it happens, Albus Dumbledore is going to Beauxbatons for a three-day exchange, and he will take you to retrieve the Philosophical Egg. Once you return, we will complete the final Sublimation part."
Rhys nodded and touched the semi-finished Talisman in his pocket again, confirming it was still there.
Amber crawled out from his collar, wound around his arm to his wrist, coiled twice, looked at Rhys with its red eyes, and flicked its tongue gently in the air. Rhys tapped its head with his finger. "We're going to Beauxbatonstomorrow," he said. Amber flicked its tongue, as if in response.
Outside the window, the sun had already set, and the light on the sea surface changed from orange-red to deep purple, and then from deep purple to gray-blue. The cries of seagulls came from afar, thin, like wind passing through the eye of a needle. Rhys stood by the window, watching the darkening sea, the Talisman in his palm still retaining a trace of lingering warmth.
Chapter 62: Beauxbatons
On the southern foothills of the Pyrenees, sunlight leaked through the gaps in the clouds, painting moving patches of light across the ridges. The air was crisp, carrying a mixture of pine and earth, much drier than by the sea. Dumbledorestood on a protruding crag, his robes flapping loudly in the mountain wind, yet his silver beard remained perfectly still—presumably held in place by magic.
Polaris stood beside him, looking at the cliffs and deep valleys before them. There was nothing here—no Castle, no walls, not a trace of human habitation. Only rocks, pine trees, and the rolling ridgelines in the distance.
"To prevent discovery by Muggles, the exact location of Beauxbatons, like Hogwarts, has been placed under a concealment charm," Dumbledore said, his gaze fixed on the depths of the valley. "We shall wait here for Headmistress Maxime; she will guide us."
He pulled an old pocket watch from the inner pocket of his robes, checked the time, and tucked it away again.
"Beauxbatons Academy of magic has a history of over seven hundred years. It is one of the founding schools of the Triwizard Tournament. The students are primarily French, though it also accepts Wizards from Spain, Portugal, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Belgium. In terms of enrollment size—the total number of students is greater than at Hogwarts."
Polaris nodded, his gaze still wandering over the distant ridgelines. He tried to find any trace of the Castle through the gaps in the trees and rocks, but he could see nothing. The concealment charm was very well done.
A few minutes later, the surrounding space changed. It wasn't a sound, nor the wind, but a "feeling"—the air became slightly viscous, as if something were squeezing into this world from another dimension. Then, water patterns appeared, like a stone thrown into a calm lake, ripples spreading outward from a point in mid-air, expanding in circles.
From the center of the ripples, two figures emerged from nothingness.
The first figure was very tall, so tall that Polaris instinctively looked up. A woman, statuesque, even taller than Hagrid, yet well-proportioned, wearing a Black silk robe embroidered with silver vine patterns at the collar and cuffs. Her hair was dark brown, coiled atop her head and secured with a silver hairpin. Her face was broad with high cheekbones, and her eyes were dark brown, her gaze steady and sharp. Around her neck, she wore a heavy gold necklace with a massive opal pendant that shimmered with a milky luster in the sunlight.
Olympe Maxime. Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of magic.
When the second figure stepped out of the ripples, Polaris's gaze paused.
She was much shorter than Maxime, though still tall by ordinary standards. Her long hair was silver-gold—not gray, not white, but truly like molten silver—cascading to her waist and shimmering with fine light in the sun. Her eyes were azure, as blue as the sky above the peaks of the Pyrenees, with a ring of deep blue around the pupils. Her skin was very fair, almost translucent, revealing the fine blue veins beneath her temples. She wore a pale blue silk robe embroidered with the Beauxbatons coat of arms—two crossed golden wands, each emitting three stars. Her waist was slender, and her gait was light, every step as if she were walking on water.
Fleur Delacour.
One-quarter Veela heritage, having inherited her grandmother's stunning beauty. Polaris had read about Veela in books—a magical creature from Northern Europe possessing beauty beyond human comprehension and the ability to bewitch hearts. He had thought it was just a legend. Now he knew it was not.
"Long time no see, Albus." Maxime's voice was much gentler than her appearance, deep and resonant, like the C-string of a cello. She extended her hand.
"Long time no see, Olympe." Dumbledore took her hand and bowed slightly. Both of their hands were long and knobby, locking together like two keys when they grasped each other.
Maxime's gaze moved over Dumbledore's shoulder and landed on Polaris. "Is this the Polaris Black that Nicolas mentioned?"
Polaris stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Hello, Madame Maxime."
Maxime's gaze lingered on his face for two seconds, then she nodded slightly. She didn't speak, but the corners of her mouth curved into a faint arc—the kind of arc that said, "I think I know why Nicolas chose you."
Fleur stood beside Maxime, watching Polaris with her large eyes blinking. Her eyelashes were golden and very long, fluttering like butterfly wings when she blinked. Her expression wasn't smiling, but the corners of her mouth were slightly upturned, carrying an innate, unconscious pride.
"This is my most outstanding student, Fleur Delacour." Maxime turned slightly. "For the next few days, she will be your guide."
Fleur took a half-step forward and bowed slightly. Her movements were light, slow, with every joint in its proper place. "Hello, Headmaster Dumbledore. Hello, Black. Welcome to Beauxbatons."
Dumbledore nodded without saying much. Polaris replied with a "Thank you," his voice as flat as usual. Fleur's gaze lingered on his face for another second before she looked away.
Maxime raised her hand and drew a simple rune in the air. The air rippled again, but not spreading from a single point like before; instead, it pushed outward from where they stood, as if an invisible door had been opened. On the other side of that door, a Castle emerged from the air.
It was not the Gothic spires and flying buttresses of Hogwarts, but a French palace—symmetrical, majestic, with every stone polished smooth and flat. The main structure was milky white, glowing softly in the sunlight, with deep blue roofs that looked like an inverted sky. In front of the Castle was a massive garden filled with flowers of various colors—red, purple, white, yellow—trimmed into geometric shapes, resembling a huge embroidery when viewed from above. In the very center of the garden, a fountain sparkled in the sunlight, water gushing from the spring, dispersing into fine mist at its peak, with a faint rainbow within the mist.
"The Flamel Fountain," Dumbledore said softly. "Funded by Nicolas Flamel. It is said to have healing and beautifying properties."
Polaris took another look at the fountain. The water was very clear, the pebbles at the bottom of the pool were colorful, and a few Beauxbatons students were sitting by the pool reading, with younger students occasionally running over to cup the water in their hands to drink.
Maxime led them through the garden, passed through an archway, and entered the interior of the Castle. The corridors were wide, lined with huge oil paintings depicting portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses of Beauxbatons—like the paintings at Hogwarts, they moved, blinked, and conversed with one another. At the end of the corridor was a spacious circular hall with a glass dome ceiling; sunlight poured down from the dome, casting a huge circular patch of light on the floor. In the center of the light patch was the Beauxbatons coat of arms—two crossed golden wands, each emitting three stars—inlaid in the floor with colored marble.
Maxime stopped and turned around.
"I have already heard from Flamel about the Philosopher's Egg," she said, her voice not loud, but echoing clearly in the circular hall. "However, as a symbol of Beauxbatons' heritage in Alchemy, I cannot simply hand over the item."
Polaris listened quietly.
"In three days, there will be a school Alchemy competition. Although it is during the holidays, the students who are able to participate will remain at school." Maxime's gaze fell on Polaris's face. "As long as you can win first place in the competition, the Philosopher's Egg will be yours."
Polaris hesitated almost not at all. "It would be my honor, Madame. I am willing to participate. I will not tarnish my teacher's reputation."
The corners of Maxime's mouth curved. The arc was a bit larger than before. "Now, let Fleur arrange your accommodation." She turned to Dumbledore. "Albus, let us go and discuss the exchange meeting."
Dumbledore nodded toward Polaris and followed Maxime away. The sound of their footsteps gradually faded in the corridor, one steady, the other light.
Chapter 63 Fleur
Fleur stood where she was, watching Reese.
Her silvery-blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight filtering through the dome, and her deep blue eyes reflected the grid pattern of the glass dome.
She tilted her head, the angle natural, yet Reese felt that if anyone else did it, it would surely seem affected.
"Mr. Black, please follow me," she said.
Reese followed her down the corridor, up two flights of stairs, through a hallway lined with landscape paintings, and finally stopped in front of a dark brown wooden door.
Fleur pushed the door open.
The room was not large, but it was more spacious than the dormitories at Hogwarts.
A single bed was placed by the window, with light blue sheets folded neatly.
A desk stood against the wall, holding a brass desk lamp and several blank notebooks.
In the corner was a simple Alchemy workbench—not large, but it had everything necessary: a cauldron, scales, a few engraving knives, and a small box of metal plates.
"This will be your accommodation for the next three days," Fleur said. "If you are missing anything, you can let me know."
Reese walked in, placed his suitcase at the foot of the bed, and looked at the engraving knives on the workbench—though they were not as good as the set gifted by Nicolas Flamel, the quality was not bad either.
"Thank you, this is already wonderful, Miss Delacour."
"Just call me Fleur."
She stood at the doorway, her hand resting on the doorframe in a relaxed posture, yet the placement of her fingers seemed meticulously calculated.
Reese nodded. "All right, Fleur."
"So, what's next—shall I show you around the school? And then we can go get something to eat?" she asked.
"Sure."
Fleur took Reese through the main buildings of Beauxbatons.
The classrooms were not large, but each had big windows, providing excellent lighting.
Every few steps in the hallway, there was a niche containing Alchemy apparatus from different eras—ancient cauldrons, medieval scales, Renaissance stills—each piece polished to a shine, with an explanatory plaque beside it.
The library door was made of glass, and through it, one could see bookshelves stretching up to the ceiling, packed with books of various colors.
The greenhouses were smaller than those at Hogwarts, but contained a greater variety of plants; several species Reese couldn't name were in bloom, their flowers large, brightly colored, and with a fragrance so rich it was almost choking.
"How is it here?" Fleur walked beside him, her pace steady and perfectly synchronized with his. "Compared to Hogwarts?"
"A different kind of scenery; both have their own merits," Reese said, looking at the Flamel Fountain in the distant garden, where the rainbow in the mist still lingered. "Does Beauxbatons not have houses?"
Fleur tilted her head slightly to look at him. "Beauxbatonsfocuses more on a unified, elegant atmosphere. Beyond mandatory classes, students can choose their electives based on their own preferences."
She paused. "Though, I am quite curious about the house system at Hogwarts."
"It divides students into four houses based on their personality and essence," Reese said. "The curriculum is the same. The house system might make it easier to gather students with similar interests together." He shrugged.
Fleur looked at his profile. "And what about me? If it were you, which house would I be in at your Hogwarts?"
Reese thought for a moment. "Hmm—Slytherin? Or Ravenclaw?"
"Oh? What does that represent?"
"Slytherin values elegance, ambition, and lineage." Reese thought of Draco, and the corners of his mouth curled up involuntarily—not because it was funny, but out of the helplessness one feels when thinking of a troublesome relative. "There are more pure-blood aristocrats there. Ravenclaw, on the other hand, favors knowledge and learning; it feels quite similar to the atmosphere at Beauxbatons."
"And you?"
"I am in Ravenclaw."
Fleur didn't ask again. She walked beside Reese, her silvery-blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight, her steps light.
When they reached a quiet corridor, she suddenly turned her head and looked into Reese's eyes.
A strange feeling appeared in Reese's consciousness—not a sound, not an image, but an impulse to "want to trust her," "want to be good to her," and "want to answer all her questions."
The feeling came suddenly, like a gust of wind blowing through the cracks in his consciousness, attempting to scatter his judgment.
Then it slammed into a wall. Occlumency.
That invisible, impenetrable wall that had existed deep within Reese's consciousness since birth.
It felt like a wave crashing against a reef; it shattered, receded, and left nothing behind.
Reese furrowed his brows slightly, looking into Fleur's eyes.
In those deep blue eyes, a faint, almost invisible silver light was swirling—the Veela bloodline was at work.
"That doesn't work on me," Reese said. His voice was not loud, very flat.
Fleur's eyes widened slightly. The silver light vanished, her expression shifting from pride to a momentary embarrassment, then quickly returning to calm.
"My apologies," she said, her voice lower than before. "You are quite special. I was just curious about your level of Alchemy."
Reese did not pursue the matter. "I don't know what level I'm at right now. Is there a grading system?"
Fleur's expression relaxed. She continued walking forward, and Reese followed beside her.
"The school's curriculum for Alchemy has seven levels—Calciner, Dissolver, Separator, Conjuncter, Fermenter, Distiller, and Coagulator. They correspond to the seven stages of Alchemy." She glanced at Reese. "The Alchemycompetition is for students in years one through four. Currently, the most capable ones are at the Separator stage. Like me."
Reese nodded. "I see. So, Master Flamel and Madame Maxime are at the Coagulator stage?"
"No," Fleur shook her head. "That is just the school's internal classification. Principal Maxime achieved the Coagulator level before graduating. As for Master Nicolas Flamel—he is a legendary alchemist; no one would assign him a level."
She paused. "Among the school's Alchemy levels, graduating as a Fermenter means one can be considered a conventional alchemist. Reaching Coagulator means becoming an Alchemy master renowned in the wizarding world."
Reese pinched the pendant around his neck. A silver chain, a double-sided rotating disc, sun and moon, dragon and Phoenix. He was already familiar with the sensation—cool against his skin, like a small piece of ice that would never warm up to body temperature.
Fleur's gaze fell on his fingers, then shifted to his neckline. She reached out and pulled from the collar of her light blue silk robe an identical silver chain, an identical pendant—a double-sided rotating disc, sun and moon, dragon and Phoenix.
"You also accepted the inheritance ritual of the ancient alchemists?" Reese was somewhat surprised.
Fleur tucked the pendant back into her collar, the silver chain flashing in the sunlight. "I am Principal Maxime's apprentice."
She looked at Reese. "My mentor said you are studying under Nicolas Flamel, that you are his inheritance apprentice. I don't believe I will lose to you in Alchemy."
Her chin lifted slightly. "That is why I used the Veela charm on you, to try and get information. Apologies."
Reese shook his head. "It's fine. You didn't succeed, after all." He paused. "So the Philosopher's Egg is useful to you as well? Because of the ancient Alchemy learning process?"
Fleur nodded.
Reese was silent for a moment, then said: "Well, although I have reasons why I must obtain it, everything depends on the competition results."
He did not continue the topic. Fleur did not ask again.
"The dining hall is this way." Fleur pointed to a set of double doors at the end of the hallway, where warm yellow light and the scent of food spilled out from the cracks.
The two walked over together. Fleur pushed the door open; the Beauxbatons dining hall was much smaller than Hogwarts', but more refined.
Several long tables were covered with white tablecloths, set with silver candlesticks and vases filled with fresh flowers.
The ceiling did not have a magical sky, but there were crystal chandeliers, the light refracting into tiny rainbows among the crystals.
A few students remaining at school were sitting in the corner eating; seeing Fleur enter, some looked up to greet her, while others lowered their heads and continued eating.
Reese took a tray and followed behind Fleur, selecting food along the serving counter.
French bread, cheese, olives, smoked ham, grilled fish, vegetable salad, and a large pot of steaming onion soup.
He took a little of everything and sat down by the window.
Fleur sat opposite him, with only a small salad and a glass of water in front of her.
She ate very slowly, chewing each bite for a long time before cutting the next.
Reese's eating pace was slower than usual—not intentionally, but the atmosphere of the dining hall made him slow down unconsciously.
Outside the window was the Flamel Fountain, the water jets turning golden in the setting sun, the rainbow in the mist not yet dissipated.
"What is the content of the competition?" Reese took a sip of onion soup.
"It's different every year," Fleur said. "But the core is always practical Alchemy. Last year's task was to create an alchemical lamp that could shine continuously for twelve hours using specified materials. The year before, it was to repair a damaged alchemical item."
She thought for a moment. "Principal Maxime hasn't announced this year's task yet. But she won't tell us in advance; it will only be announced on the day of the competition."
Reese nodded.
"Are you nervous?" Fleur asked.
"Not nervous," Reese said. This was the truth.
He had already experienced the trials of the Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts, the shadows in the Forbidden Forest, Quirrell, and that voice. An Alchemy competition would not be harder than those.
Fleur looked at him, the probing light in her deep blue eyes gone, replaced by pure curiosity.
She watched for a few seconds, then lowered her head to continue eating her salad.
Reese finished the onion soup in his bowl, then took another piece of French bread, tore it into small pieces, and ate it dipped in the remaining soup on the plate.
The bread was fragrant, the crust crispy, the inside soft.
He remembered the bread Bangbang used to make, which was a bit sweeter and had more butter.
He was a little homesick.
But he didn't show it, just finished the last piece of bread and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
"Tomorrow morning, I will take you to see the competition venue," Fleur said.
"All right." Reese stood up and placed his tray at the collection point.
The two walked out of the dining hall; the corridor had already darkened.
The wall lamps turned on automatically, casting soft shadows on the stone walls with their warm yellow light.
Fleur walked in front, her steps still as light as ever.
Reese walked behind her, his gaze falling on her silvery-blonde hair—not drawn by her beauty, but because he noticed that the hair changed color in the light of the wall lamps, from silver-gold to warm gold, and from warm gold to amber.
"What are you looking at?" Fleur asked without turning her head.
"Your hair changes color," Reese said.
Fleur turned her head slightly, the corners of her mouth curling up. "Veela bloodline. The color changes in the light."
She paused. "Did you not notice anything else special about me?"
"I did," Reese said. "Your Veela charm doesn't work on me."
Fleur laughed. This laugh was different from before; it wasn't polite, proud, or probing—it was genuine amusement.
"You, as a person, are truly very unique."
Reese did not respond. The two reached the door of his room; Fleur stopped and turned around.
"I'll come pick you up at eight tomorrow morning."
"All right."
Fleur left. Her footsteps gradually faded in the corridor, her silvery-blonde hair flashing one last time in the light of the wall lamps before disappearing around the corner.
Chapter 64: The Competition Begins
The competition venue was a huge Great Hall on the third floor of the main Beauxbatons Castle. As Ries followed Fleur through the corridor, he thought it was a banquet hall in a nobleman's mansion—the arched dome was adorned with Renaissance-style murals, the milky-white marble walls were inlaid with golden decorative lines, and huge crystal chandeliers hung from the dome, illuminating the entire space as if it were daytime. At this moment, the Great Hall was empty. There were no operating tables, no Alchemy furnaces, no chairs. Only the bare floor and sunlight streaming in from the high windows.
"The operating tables will only be set up tomorrow, and then this place will be closed off," Fleur's voice echoed slightly in the empty Great Hall. "It won't be reopened until the competition begins the day after tomorrow."
Ries stood in the center of the Great Hall, looking around. The murals on the dome appeared exceptionally vibrant in the sunlight—a group of people in ancient Greek robes surrounded a huge Alchemy furnace, flames soaring from the furnace, and at the top of the flames was a Phoenixwith outstretched wings. The mural was painted with great detail, even the patterns on each tail feather of the Phoenixwere clearly discernible.
"Contestants are only allowed to bring one set of their usual engraving knives," Fleur continued. "No Alchemy-related books are allowed."
Ries nodded, taking out the set of "sacred faith" that Nicolas Flamel had given him from his pocket to examine. Twelve knives, neatly arranged in a dark brown leather case, the apostles' images and Latin inscriptions on the silver handles gleamed faintly in the sunlight.
"Does Hogwarts have Alchemy courses?" Fleur asked.
"Yes, but it's an elective for seventh-years."Ries put the leather case back into his pocket.
"For the Alchemy competition, first to third-year material is enough." Fleur glanced at him. "I happen to be a third-year. Just use mine—as for how much you can learn in two days, that's up to you."
Ries looked at her and nodded. "Thank you."
Fleur said nothing more, turning and walking out of the Great Hall.Ries followed her, their footsteps echoing one after another in the empty corridor, like two metronomes with different rhythms.
Beauxbatons' library was smaller than Hogwarts', but more exquisite. The bookshelves were made of dark walnut, with copper decorative strips inlaid along the edge of each shelf. The aisles between the bookshelves were wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side without bumping shoulders. The windows were large, with cushioned sills, and sunlight streamed in, casting neat rows of light spots on the bookshelves.
Fleur led Ries to a long table at the deepest part of the library, took three textbooks of varying thickness from a shelf, and laid them out. The first had a dark blue cover with a gilded title—"Introduction to Alchemy." The second had an ink-green cover—"Intermediate Alchemy: From Calcination to Separation." The third had a dark red cover—"Advanced Alchemy: Combination and Fermentation."
"First to third-year material is all here." Fleur pushed the third book further away. "Third-year only covers fermentation; later years' courses are not within the scope of the competition."
Ries opened the first book. Beauxbatons' Alchemytextbooks were well-organized, progressing from simple to profound, forming a complete system for teaching modern Alchemy. Each chapter began with a brief overview, followed by detailed step-by-step instructions, and finally, a few practice problems. The margins were left blank for students to take notes. Fleur's notes were meticulously written, her handwriting delicate and clear, occasionally drawing a small asterisk next to a key step or writing "Note" beside a common mistake.
Ries read page by page. He was mostly familiar with the introductory content—the apprentice practice tools Nicolas Flamel had him make covered almost all of this basic knowledge. However, the textbook's explanations were more systematic, with theoretical foundations for each step, unlike Nicolas Flamel's approach of "you do it first, and I'll tell you why after you're done." When he turned to the second chapter, he discovered a pattern—the textbook's content was broken down, item by item, to be learned individually. In contrast, every item in Nicolas Flamel's "Apprentice Handbook" required combining multiple different Alchemy techniques and applying them simultaneously in the same work.
Ries's finger paused on the page. So that was it. His mentor had considered this problem from the beginning—having him do comprehensive, complex tasks first, then returning to deconstructed, systematic ones. It was like learning to walk before learning how each muscle moved. He continued to flip through, his speed increasing. He barely needed to look at the first-year content, was largely familiar with the second-year, and some of the third-year required careful consideration.
He stopped, pulled a stack of blank parchment from his bag, picked up his quill, and began to write. He wasn't copying the book; he was recombining, deconstructing, and reassembling the textbook's content. Alchemy simulation problems were written on his scratch paper, then solved using different methods. This was a method HermioneGranger taught him before exams—create your own questions and solve them yourself. She said it was the only way to know "if you really understand."Ries applied this method to Alchemy. He broke down the knowledge points from the textbook, rearranged them, designed various Alchemy scenarios, and then deduced how each step should be performed.
Fleur sat opposite him, holding a book but not reading it. She watched Ries write continuously, her brows slightly furrowed, the quill scratching quickly and densely across the paper. She leaned forward curiously and picked up a piece of scratch paper Ries had written.
On the paper was a complete Alchemical array—a main rune at the center, surrounded by six auxiliary runes, each connected by lines of varying thickness, with arrows indicating the energy flow. Next to it, densely written, were the deduction steps, from material selection to heat control, from engraving depth to filler ratios, every step clearly detailed.
Fleur's eyebrows raised slightly.
"You can try to solve it too,"Ries said without looking up, his quill still moving on the paper. "Just deduce it in your mind."
Fleur glanced at him, neither saying "good" nor "not good." She put down the scratch paper, picked up her own quill, and began to write on a blank piece of parchment. The two sat facing each other, neither speaking, only the sound of quills scratching on paper.
On the first day, Ries went through all three textbooks and wrote over forty simulation problems. Fleur solved half of them, putting question marks next to the ones she couldn't solve. On the morning of the second day, Ries took those problems with question marks, re-deconstructed them, and wrote more detailed deduction steps next to them. After Fleur read them, she redid those problems, solving all of them this time. On the afternoon of the second day, it was Fleur's turn to create problems. Her problems were more tricky than Ries's—not difficult, but obscure, specifically picking out those inconspicuous footnotes and small print explanations from the textbook.Ries paused on the third problem, thought for a while, then wrote down a solution different from the textbook.
Fleur looked at his answer and was silent for a few seconds. "This solution is shorter," she said.
"Yes, my mentor taught an alternative, using a reinforcement rune instead of the third Runes, which saves two steps."
Fleur picked up her quill and copied his solution into her notebook. She didn't say thank you, but the act of copying was more significant than words.
Time passed quickly. The two immersed themselves in the library, constantly challenging each other with problems, deconstructing them, and optimizing them. There wasn't much communication, but the efficiency was high. Occasionally, Beauxbatons students would walk past their table, see the Hogwarts crest on Ries's robe, and take a second look, but no one came over to talk. Fleur sat opposite him, her silver-gold hair falling over her shoulders, the sunlight shining on it, changing its color from silver-gold to warm gold, then from warm gold to amber.Ries would occasionally look up, see that color change, think of the amber candy Bangbang made, and then continue writing.
On the day of the competition.
The Great Hall had transformed. The murals on the dome were still there, the crystal chandeliers were still there, but the empty floor now had twenty operating tables, arranged in four rows. Each table had a small Alchemy furnace embedded in it, its hearth clean and shining, with crucibles, scales, measuring cups, and various unnamed Alchemical instruments neatly arranged beside it. To the left front of the operating tables stood a testing stand—a slender metal pillar with a groove at the top, just large enough to hold a set of engraving knives.
Students entered one after another, wearing their uniform Beauxbatons school robes—light blue silk robes, with the school crest embroidered on the collar and a thin silver belt tied at the waist. The styles for boys and girls were slightly different, but the color and material were the same, standing together like a neat, wind-blown lake.Ries wore his Hogwarts black robe, standing among them like a black stone dropped into a light blue lake.
The faculty seating was at the very front of the Great Hall, three steps higher than the operating table area. A long table, covered with a dark blue tablecloth, had nameplates and water glasses on it. Dumbledore and Madame Maxime sat in the center, Dumbledore's purple robes standing out conspicuously in Beauxbatons' light blue ocean. Madame Maxime wore a dark green velvet robe today, her golden necklace replaced with pearls, each round and lustrous, glowing with a soft, milky-white halo in the candlelight. The other nine Professors sat on either side, some conversing in low voices, others flipping through documents in front of them.
Madame Maxime stood up. She didn't need a "Sonorus" charm—her voice itself was deep and resonant enough, and the Great Hall's dome distributed her voice evenly to every corner.
"Alright, children. The annual Alchemy competition has begun." She paused, her gaze sweeping across the room. "Scores will be awarded based on the quality and completeness of the finished work. The highest scorer will be crowned champion of this competition, receiving the Mirror of Sophia, the Flame of Prometheus, and the Knot of Mercury. Likewise, your promotion in Alchemy ranks will also be decided based on your work's score."
Ries slightly tilted his head and glanced at Fleur. Fleurlowered her voice, speaking quickly but clearly.
"The Mirror of Sophia—a palm-sized polished obsidian mirror, set in an Ouroboros-shaped silver frame, with garnet eyes for the snake. Better than a head-mounted clock mirror, it can adjust the magnified or reduced image according to the wearer's thoughts."
Ries nodded.
"The Flame of Prometheus—an 'Eternal Ember' housed in a transparent quartz bottle. It looks like a slowly beating amber heart, but is actually a stable phosphorescent substance that glows continuously. It consumes no fuel and provides a constant, perfectly adequate heat source for an Alchemy furnace."
"The Knot of Mercury—a liquid metal chain that can be disassembled into countless rings, usually worn on the wrist. At room temperature, it appears solid, but as long as the wearer concentrates, it flows like mercury. When mixing potions, the wearer can more acutely perceive the'spiritual resonance' of materials, greatly reducing the risk of furnace explosions due to improper proportions."
She paused.
"Oh, and there's the Crown of Hermes, a laurel wreath crafted from gold, silver, copper, and iron. That's just like a trophy, a symbol of honor, with no practical use."
Madame Maxime's voice rang out again.
"Today, we have two special guests." She turned sideways, nodding slightly to Dumbledore. "They are Headmaster Dumbledore from Hogwarts—"
Dumbledore stood up and bowed slightly to the students. A polite, restrained round of applause rippled across the light blue lake.
"And—Nicolas Flamel's successor, Polaris Black."
The nine Professors on the faculty seating all turned their heads simultaneously. The students' gazes fell uniformly on Ries, like rain slanted by the wind.
"Nicolas Flamel? *That* Nicolas Flamel?"
"Master Flamel's successor? When did Master Flamel take an apprentice?"
"He's wearing a Hogwarts uniform—does Hogwarts have Alchemy courses? I don't remember it having any."
"Quiet." Madame Maxime's voice wasn't loud, but the Great Hall immediately fell silent. "Polaris Black will be participating in the competition with you. To my knowledge, he has only studied Alchemy for two weeks." Her lips curved slightly. "Elegant ladies and gentlemen—let the competition begin."
Ries sighed inwardly. Two weeks. He had indeed only studied for two weeks, but the content Nicolas Flamel had crammed into him was enough for Beauxbatons students to learn for two years. He took out the set of "sacred faith" from his pocket, walked to the nearest testing stand, and placed the leather case into the groove. A blue light rose from the bottom of the metal pillar, traveled up the shaft, scanned the leather case, and flashed three times at the top—approved. No cheating, no prohibited items, no pre-engraved runes.Ries took out the leather case and walked to his operating table to sit down.
The examination scroll in front of him was made of parchment, rolled into a thin cylinder and tied with a red ribbon. He untied the ribbon and unrolled the scroll. The problem was printed in the center of the scroll in large font, with wide blank margins, presumably for contestants to write their solution ideas directly on the scroll.
Ries read the question once, then again.
Then he put down the scroll, took the smallest engraving knife from his leather case, and twirled it between his fingers. The image of Saint Peter on the silver handle glinted in the candlelight—keys and the gate of heaven.Ries aimed the knife tip at the first metal plate, not rushing to make a cut. He was waiting.
Waiting for the plan in his mind to go from vague to clear, from clear to specific, from specific to the precise point of each knife tip. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, there was no tension, no hesitation in his gray eyes, only a quiet, focused light.
The knife tip descended.
Chapter 65: The Competition - Part 1
After the command to start the competition was given, the Great Hall fell silent. On twenty workbenches, twenty contestants simultaneously unrolled the scrolls in front of them. The rustling of paper turning sounded like a gentle breeze sweeping through a wheat field, then was quickly replaced by more fragmented noises—the scratching of engraving tools against metal, the clinking of scales weighing materials, the crisp sound of glass instruments colliding.
Rhys read the prompt again.
"Create a magic gauntlet using the provided materials. It must have basic protective properties, similar to Protego. The better the effect, the higher the score. In addition to the basic protective properties, the creator may add other effects."
He put down the scroll and glanced at the materials provided on the workbench—copper sheets, iron sheets, leather, several bottles of potions of various colors, a small packet of gold leaf, metal wires of different thicknesses, and several pieces of ore of different materials. The variety of materials wasn't extensive, but it was enough to make a decent gauntlet. The key was how to make it.
Rhys closed his eyes and mentally went through the entire process. From material cutting to smelting, from engraving to filling, from leather treatment to final assembly. He reviewed the sequence of each step, the dosage of each material, and potential problems in each stage along with corresponding remedies. He had done this process many times—in the Hogwarts library, at the workbench on Mona Island, and when he and Fleur challenged each other in the Beauxbatons library. Nicolas Flamel's first lesson wasn't how to start working, but how to not start working until you've thought everything through.
He opened his eyes and picked up the engraving tool.
Unlike the other students, Rhys did not directly engrave Runes onto the metal sheets. He cut the copper and iron sheets into small pieces proportionally, then weighed them in a crucible—seven parts copper, three parts iron. Then he pushed the crucible into the alchemy furnace and lit the fire with his wand.
The moment the blue flames rose, several Beauxbatonsstudents sitting nearby simultaneously stopped their actions.
"Blue? Why are the flames blue?"
"Why is his fire this color?"
"What kind of fire is that?"
There was a subtle stir in the teachers' section as well. A white-haired male Professor leaned forward, squinting at Rhys's furnace. Another female Professor shielded her eyes with her hand, trying to see more clearly. Dumbledore, sitting next to Madame Maxime, straightened slightly from his relaxed position against the chair back. He watched the steady, pale blue flame in Rhys's furnace and tapped his finger lightly on the armrest.
That was the color of flame Grindelwald once used. Not ordinary magic flame, but the kind of blue that appears only when infused with powerful magic and will—a pure, almost temperatureless blue, yet capable of melting the hardest metals. Dumbledore's gaze lingered on the flame for a moment, then shifted to Rhys's face. There was no expression on that face, his gray eyes focused on the furnace, like an experienced blacksmith observing whether the furnace fire had reached the right temperature for casting. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his fingers no longer tapping.
Rhys paid no attention to the commotion in the teachers' section. He was waiting for the metal in the crucible to fully liquefy. Copper and iron slowly merged in the high heat, transforming from solid to liquid, from red to orange, from orange to a bright golden yellow. Once the liquid surface calmed and a thin layer of oxide floated to the top, he used long-handled tongs to remove the crucible and poured the molten metal into a circular mold. He had carved it while heating—the inside of the mold was engraved with a coiled snake, identical to the totem on the front of the Talisman.
After pouring the main mold, some molten metal remained at the bottom of the crucible. Rhys didn't waste it, pouring it into a rectangular ingot mold. After cooling, that bar could be drawn into metal wire the thickness of a ring.
He set the two molds aside to cool and turned to process the leather.
The leather was already cut, roughly two palm-widths in size, dark brown in color, with a smooth surface and a fine suede backing. Rhys placed the leather and a roll of stitching thread into a ceramic vat, then poured in the prepared potion. The potion was dark red, thick like blood, and had a pungent smell—it contained dragon hide powder, fire crab shell ash, crumple-horned snorkack horn shavings, and bloodroot juice. He soaked the leather and thread in the potion for fifteen minutes, then used tweezers to take them out and hung them on a drying rack above the workbench. Drops of potion fell, leaving a trail of dark red stains on the edge of the workbench.
The cooled circular metal detached from the mold. Rhys picked it up and examined it—about the diameter of a bottle cap, less than half a centimeter thick, with a clear serpentine relief on the front, smooth lines, and distinct scales. He then picked up the rectangular metal ingot, placed it on an anvil, and gently hammered it into a slender strip. Then he used a drawing plate to draw it into metal wire the thickness of a ring.
As soon as the metal wire was drawn, the leather also dried. Rhys took the leather from the drying rack and touched it with his fingers—it was much harder than before soaking, and its surface had a sheen, like a thin layer of glaze. He used a leather cutting knife to cut it into the shape of a gauntlet, smoothed the edges, and then sewed the cut leather pieces together with a needle and thread. When sewing, he didn't use tweezers; he held the needle directly with his fingers, sewing stitch by stitch. The stitches were dense, each one almost the same distance apart, and the thread ends were tucked inside, invisible from the outside.
The main body of the gauntlet took shape. Dark brown leather, conforming to the curve of the palm, narrowed at the wrist, with space left on the back of the hand for the circular metal inlay. Rhys tried on the gauntlet on his right hand; the fit was just right. He took it off, placed it on one side of the workbench, and began to process the metal parts.
The back of the circular metal needed to be engraved with Runes. Rhys picked up the smallest engraving tool and carved four Runes onto the metal piece—Defense, Fortitude, Protection, Durability. Each stroke was steady, neither too deep nor too shallow. After engraving, he used a small brush to dip into the prepared gelatinous filler—a powdery white paste extracted from distilled sediment and mixed with adhesive—and filled it into the grooves, scraped it flat with a spatula, and then wiped the surface clean with a velvet cloth.
The engraving of the metal wire was even more delicate. He fixed the metal wire onto a wax board and used a needle-point engraving tool to carve a circle of miniature Runes onto it—also Defense, Fortitude, Protection, Durability, but arranged differently from those on the circular metal piece. After engraving, he filled, scraped, and wiped it using the same method.
Next was the most crucial step.
Rhys placed the circular metal piece on the back of the gauntlet, measured it, then picked up the engraving tool and drew a circular outline on the leather surface of the gauntlet. He did not engrave Runes on the leather—he used another symbol. The symbol of the Mountain Demon, an upward-pointing triangle with a horizontal line at its base, and an ancient rune representing "mountain" drawn inside the triangle. Around the symbol, he used an extremely fine pen tip to draw a circle of Parseltonguescript, with content such as "Harden," "Guard," and "Immovable as a Mountain." After drawing, he traced along the lines of the symbols and text with a treatment liquid mixed with gold leaf. The gold leaf specks shimmered faintly in the candlelight, and after the treatment liquid dried, the symbols appeared embedded in the leather, smooth to the touch yet visible.
The circular metal and metal wire were processed, the array diagram on the leather was drawn, and the gauntlet was sewn. Rhys laid out all the components on the workbench and checked them—nothing was missing, no errors, no need for rework.
He took a deep breath, placed the circular metal piece on the back of the gauntlet, bent the metal wire into a bracelet shape, and fitted it around the wrist of the gauntlet. Then he put the gauntlet on his right hand, picked up his wand with his left hand, and pointed it at the alchemy furnace.
The blue flames rose again. This time, Rhys did not push the crucible into the furnace—he extended his right hand, wearing the gauntlet, into the flames.
Someone in the teachers' section stood up. Not Dumbledore, but the white-haired male Professor. His chair slid back with a grating sound. Several surrounding Professors also leaned forward, some covering their mouths, others opening their mouths but making no sound. The students' reactions were more direct—a short gasp escaped from a girl's throat, then spread like ripples, filling the Great Hall with gasps and the creaking of chair legs scraping the floor.
"He put his hand in!"
"Merlin's beard—"
"His hand! His hand is still there!"
Rhys ignored the sounds. His attention was entirely on the flames. The blue flames licked the surface of the gauntlet, licked the circular metal piece, licked the metal wire. The gauntlet did not scorch, the metal piece did not melt, the leather did not curl. The flames coiled around the gauntlet like a snake, enveloping every component in even heat.
On Rhys's right cheek, dark red lines spread from his temple to his jawline, like magma flowing beneath his skin. These were the Mountain Demon's markings, appearing exceptionally alluring under the blue flames—dark red intertwined with deep blue, like an ancient totem not belonging to this world. His eyes were fixed on the furnace, pupils turned green, devoid of expression or emotion, only a pure, focused
The demon power surged from the markings, flowing down his neck, shoulder, and arm, all the way to his fingertips, then into the flames, and from the flames into the gauntlet. The circular metal glowed faintly in the flames, not the redness of being burned, but a warm, jade-like luster emanating from within. The metal wire also glowed, but its light was fluid, like a thin river winding through the flames.
Rhys felt it—the two metal ingots, after being tempered by the demon power, had changed in texture. Not harder, but more "dense." The gaps between molecules had shrunk, the structure had become more compact, and it was less likely to be penetrated by external forces. But they did not replicate his abilities like the Talisman. When he tried to channel the Snake Talisman's power into the circular metal piece, the power stopped on the metal's surface, like a drop of water on a lotus leaf, rolling around and then sliding off. It wouldn't work. The replication of the Talisman was much harder than he had imagined. But he wasn't disappointed—being able to strengthen the metal itself this time was already good progress.
He withdrew his hand from the flames. The gauntlet glowed with a warm luster in the candlelight—dark brown leather, dark silver metal, and gold leaf patterns shimmering faintly on the symbols. Rhys gently tapped the gauntlet with his wand and softly chanted the spells corresponding to the Runes and Parseltongue words—not complete sentences, but keywords, uttered clearly and slowly from his mouth, one by one.
"Defense." "Fortitude." "Protection." "Durability." "Harden." "Immovable as a Mountain."
With each word spoken, the corresponding symbol on the gauntlet would light up. When the last word was uttered, all the symbols on the gauntlet lit up simultaneously—the gold leaf patterns turned silvery-white, the serpentine totem on the circular metal piece glowed dark red, and the Runes on the metal wire looked like a circle of tiny stars. Then the light receded, and all the symbols dimmed, leaving only faint engravings and the color of the filler.
Rhys took the gauntlet off his right hand, placed it on the workbench, and raised his hand. "I am finished."
His voice was not loud, but it was clear in the quiet Great Hall. Several students who hadn't finished looked up at him, some sped up their movements, others sighed and continued to engrave. In the teachers' section, the white-haired male Professor glanced at the hourglass; a small portion of sand remained in the upper bulb.