The diadem was… underwhelming at first glance.
Dust-covered.
Forgotten.
Hidden in a place where no one would think to look—except someone who already knew the answer.
I stood alone in the Room of Requirement, the lost-and-forgotten stretching endlessly around me like a graveyard of secrets. And yet, my attention rested solely on the delicate object in my hand.
Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem.
"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure…"
A faint smile.
"Indeed."
Thanks to Helena Ravenclaw, finding it had been trivial. Ghosts were… remarkably useful when approached correctly.
The moment my fingers fully grasped the diadem—
The system chimed.
Reward Issued:Rowena Ravenclaw's Magical Invention TalentRowena Ravenclaw's Spell Creation TalentRowena Ravenclaw's Air Magic Talent
It hit instantly.
My mind—
Expanded.
Not like before.
Not just intelligence.
This was creativity.
Ideas didn't just form—
They evolved.
Connected.
Improved themselves mid-thought.
Spell structures unfolded in my mind like living blueprints. Weaknesses became obvious. Improvements became instinctive.
"…So this is her genius."
And then—
Air.
Light.
Fluid.
I raised my hand slightly.
The air itself bent.
Compressed.
A razor-thin current of wind sliced across the room, carving through stacks of abandoned objects with surgical precision.
Fast.
Invisible.
Unblockable for most.
"Excellent."
Moments later—
I stood once more within Riddle Manor.
Three relics.
Salazar Slytherin's Locket.Helga Hufflepuff's Cup.Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem.
Only one remained.
Godric Gryffindor's Sword.
And that…
Was a problem.
I paced slowly through the manor, mind already calculating.
"The sword appears… to a worthy Gryffindor."
Not ownership.
Not inheritance.
Worth.
A different kind of requirement.
A different kind of challenge.
Then—
A solution.
Alastor Moody.
A Gryffindor.
Powerful.
Driven.
Capable of bravery under pressure.
"If placed in the right situation…"
The sword would appear.
Not to me.
But to him.
And once it did—
It would become mine.
A faint smile formed.
"Simple."
But before that—
I needed more power.
Not talent.
Not knowledge.
Output.
That night—
I began a new training method.
Brutal.
Efficient.
Necessary.
Magic surged through my body as I cast spell after spell in rapid succession.
Water constructs.
Earth barriers.
Air blades.
Dark curses.
No pause.
No restraint.
Only output.
Relentless.
Until—
My magic reserves hit zero.
Complete exhaustion.
My body trembled slightly.
Vision blurred.
But I didn't stop.
I forced myself upright.
"Again… tomorrow."
Days passed.
Then weeks.
The results became clear.
My recovery rate increased.
Faster.
More efficient.
My reserves began to expand.
Not dramatically at first—
But steadily.
Reliably.
"Good…"
This was the foundation I needed.
Because when the time came—
When I stood before Albus Dumbledore—
It wouldn't be talent that decided the outcome.
It would be endurance.
Control.
Raw magical power.
I stood at the center of the training chamber, breathing steady now, magic stabilizing within me.
Three relics secured.
One plan in motion.
Power increasing.
Everything aligned.
And soon—
Very soon—
I would hold all four relics of the Founders.
And whatever reward awaited beyond them…
Would push me even further beyond.
A faint, dangerous smile returned.
"The next step…"
"Is war preparation."