The sea stretched endlessly in every direction, a vast breathing expanse of deep blue and shifting silver beneath the pale morning sky.
Thaddeus stood alone on the deck of the wooden ship, letting the wind press against him. It was cold, steady, and unrelenting, threading through the edges of his navy-blue robes. The fabric moved softly with each gust, no longer simple cloth, but something lightly reinforced by enchantment—resistant, adaptive, and quietly responsive to magic.
Below his boots, the ship creaked. It was still technically the old wooden merchant vessel, but it had long since become something else entirely.
A vessel bound to his will—layered with ancient runes and charms, sustained in quiet continuity by his magic, as if the ship itself had learned to breathe through him.
A month ago, this would have felt impossible to obtain or accept. Now, it was different.
The ship no longer merely obeyed the utility magic he cast into it; it now moved through layered ancient rune enchantments intertwined with utility and practical charms. Before, the magic had only focused on three core systems of the ship to sail and sustain itself, requiring him to reinforce the spells every five days. Now, every part of the vessel was embedded with magic and ancient runes, stabilizing one another so that the reinforcement cycle only needed to be done every other week for the spells to hold.
Though the ship, instead of continuing west—his intended course—now sat unmoving beneath the afternoon sky.
He had already completed the latest reinforcement cycle. Yet the vessel remained still, and he had his reasons for allowing it to.
He lifted a simple wooden plank in his hand. It was unremarkable—weathered, slightly damp, shaped by nothing special. The object itself meant little; what mattered were the runes embedded within it.
He activated the enchantment and tossed the plank overboard.
For a moment, nothing changed.
The ocean swallowed it without resistance.
Then—something beneath the surface reacted.
The sea did not "move" so much as respond. A distortion spread outward—subtle at first, then rapidly intensifying. Fish scattered across a wide radius abruptly shifted direction in unnatural synchrony, as if drawn toward an invisible gravitational center.
Then the water broke.
A violent surge erupted beneath the plank's landing point as hundreds of fish shot upward, pulled not by instinct but by compulsion. The surface churned as silver bodies collided, twisted, and surged toward the net Thaddeus had prepared.
The net snapped tight.
Ropes groaned under the sudden, immense strain. Wooden pulleys creaked in protest, resisting a force far beyond anything ordinary fishing could ever produce.
But it lasted only seconds.
Thaddeus lifted his other hand slightly.
And the tension vanished.
Not eased. Not reduced.
Simply gone.
The net rose into the air as if gravity itself had simply lost interest in it. Thousands of kilograms of water and fish lifted effortlessly, held aloft by a stable levitation charm. Droplets fell in slow, glittering streams, catching the morning light like fragments of glass.
He observed it quietly. There was no satisfaction—only confirmation. The attraction spell embedded in the wooden plank functioned within expected parameters. "Good enough," he said at last.
A slight motion of his fingers.
The net unraveled midair.
Fish spilled downward—but not chaotically. There was structure even in release, a controlled collapse guided by his levitation charm. They fell neatly into five waiting barrels positioned on the deck.
Not a single fish missed its mark.
Within moments, the barrels were full. The last movements inside gradually slowed as the fish adjusted to confinement. The smell of saltwater and fresh catch spread across the deck—sharp, alive, fleeting.
Thaddeus nodded once.
"It should last for a while." As he spoke, the ship rumbled, resuming its voyage westward toward the wizarding world.
Another flick of his hand.
The barrels sealed themselves with soft wooden thuds, lids locking into place through minor enchantments. Then they lifted—hovering just behind him in perfect balance, responding to his movement like obedient extensions of will.
He turned and walked below deck.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the world shifted.
Not visually—but structurally.
Space expanded.
The narrow passage that should have been there did not exist in any practical sense. Instead, the interior unfolded into a vast chamber far larger than the external dimensions of the ship should have allowed.
Extension Charms, layered and stabilized with rune frameworks, held it together.
The galley had become something else entirely.
Stone countertops lined the walls, polished smooth. Cabinets held cookware arranged not for convenience, but for logic—everything categorized, indexed, maintained. A large iron stove sat at the far end, its flame stabilized by enchantment rather than fuel.
Above, a chandelier floated gently, its candlelight steady despite the ship's motion.
At the center stood a long dining table.
Too long. Too formal.
Built for many, though it had never served more than one.
He lived alone.
The barrels drifted in behind him silently.
He did not look at them as he crossed the room and stopped before a thick wooden door.
When he opened it, cold air surged outward immediately.
Inside was a preservation chamber—a freezer where decay did not simply slow, but stopped entirely.
Frost lined the doorway. The air inside was still, heavy with suspended time. Ancient runes glowed faintly along the walls, layered with continuous freezing charms and structural bindings that prevented collapse.
As a modern man in his past life, living without a refrigerator had always been a constant inconvenience. Preserving food was a struggle he had never fully appreciated until it was gone. So when he finally had the means, he created one without hesitation.
He guided the barrels inside.
They floated gently into position among other stored provisions—meat, vegetables, preserved goods. The cold wrapped around them instantly, slowing decay to near nonexistence.
He closed the door.
Warmth returned to the kitchen like a reversal of breath. He exhaled once and turned away. Beside the freezer stood another door—unassuming at first glance, almost normal. It was not.
When he opened it, space unfolded again.
A vast wooden room and field stretched beyond, far larger than any internal structure should contain, bigger than the galley. Rows of crops extended in ordered geometry—wheat swaying gently, vegetables growing in structured alignment, fruit trees placed at calculated intervals.
Above them floated arc lamps, suspended in precise positions.
The arc lamps emitted artificial sunlight. Not illusion. Not projection. But sustained luminous enchantment, carefully tuned to replicate true solar output. They also served as the primary light source for the entire expanse.
Thaddeus stepped inside.
The air shifted immediately.
Warmer. Damp with moisture. Thick with the scent of soil and living growth. A controlled breeze moved through the space, sustained by low-level atmospheric charms.
This was his most complex construct.
Not because of its size.
But because of its dependency.
It only existed through convergence—different branches of magic working together in constant balance.
Charms formed the base of it all, holding the environment together and keeping it stable. Transfiguration handled the real changes—most importantly, turning seawater into fertile soil. And beneath everything, ancient runes acted like hidden architecture, binding the different effects together so the entire system could sustain itself.
Two Master Cards given by the system had made it possible.
He used them on two branches of magic available within the system—Transfiguration and Ancient Runes. Now, he was no longer only a Master of Charms, but also a Master of Transfiguration and Ancient Runes.
The system had not merely given him knowledge and mastery over these branches of magic. It had forced him to adapt to the power it granted—magic he had been unable to contain during his first use of a Master Card.
Under that pressure, his magic capacity had expanded from medium to high after fully absorbing the system's power twice. He confirmed it himself upon checking his status window.
He walked between rows of wheat, fingers brushing lightly against the stalks. They moved under his touch—subtle, steady, alive in a way that still felt almost unreal.
Everything was working as intended.
The soil beneath his feet had once been seawater. By any reasonable standard, that transformation should have failed long ago, or never stabilized at all. But layered reinforcement had forced it to endure, holding it together against what it should have become.
Not natural but it worked enough.
The downside is everything here depended on him. That was the fundamental truth.
Every charm. Every rune. Every structural layer.
He was the anchor point.
Without him and his magic to sustain it, this space would collapse back into its original state—sea, wood, and emptiness.
That said, the magic required to maintain it was relatively small compared to what the ship itself demanded. Manageable. Stable. Almost negligible in comparison.
But "small" did not mean "insignificant."
He was aware of the weight of that responsibility.
Also its advantage. Now he can enjoy eating the pleasure of eating the goods he harvested. It was a huge leap from being cautious of eating the stocks in the ship without being afraid if it was poisoned or not.
Control always came with cost.
He harvested a few spices and vegetable already in mind to eat a salad this dinner.
After a time, he turned and left the chamber, sealing it behind him.
The kitchen returned—warm, still, contained. He glanced at the third wooden door beside it but did not open it. It led to another dimensional space he had created as a livestock farm aboard the ship.
Since he was having a salad tonight, no poultry would have its neck sliced today.
Thaddeus moved toward the kitchen table and set his dinner down for later. It was still too early to eat. He planned to practice magic for a while before calling it a day.
On his way out, he passed several shelves attached to the walls of the dining hall.
The shelves held potions arranged with careful precision. Crystal vials caught the light as he passed, each one containing something different.
Healing. Restoration. Protection.
Among them, a set of three boxes stood out.
Inside—golden liquid, softly glowing.
Felix Felicis.
The so-called Liquid Luck.
Few wizards ever encountered it in their lifetime. It was dangerous to brew, unstable when misused, and almost mythical in how rarely it appeared in consistent supply. Yet now, he had three sets of it—each box holding a dozen vials. A quiet reminder of the system's generosity.
Thaddeus paused and lifted one box, studying it without urgency.
Luck, bottled.
A contradiction in physical form.
"I wonder when I'll actually need this," he said quietly, then set it back where it belonged.
Nearby shelves held enchanted artifacts and system rewards. Another set of wands made by Ollivanders, along with books of spells he had already read. Most of them, however, were not here.
Some of the larger system rewards—like a Nimbus 2000 and chests of galleons—were stored in his enchanted pouch, along with other valuables from the old ship when he first arrived here.
He carried it with him at all times, even while asleep. A habit born from caution, and the quiet fear of losing everything overnight.
He continued walking back toward the upper deck. When he arrived, he stopped at the center of the open deck.
The ship sailed steadily westward, wind pressing against it. It struck him head-on, pulling at his robes and sending them fluttering behind him in a quiet, theatrical sweep.
Thaddeus didn't stand on ceremony.
With a single thought, magic surged outward from him. The space rippled—then expanded.
To an outside observer, he would still appear to be standing on the upper deck of the ship. But within his perception, everything had changed.
The world stretched wider, deeper, its edges slightly unstable. The space was now three times wider than before.
"Two hours before the magic fades," he said.
Without the aid of enchantments or ancient runes, he could sustain the expanded space for that long. A temporary domain carved purely from intent and control. Still, Thaddeus had a feeling—quiet, untested—that he could push it further if he truly focused.
For now, two hours was more than enough.
Then he moved.
With a precise flick of his hand, three wooden barrels scattered across the deck shot into position. Midair, they twisted and transfigured, reshaping into three humanoid dummies dressed in black robes. Each one held a wand.
The ocean answered with wind. Salt-heavy air swept through the expanded space, tugging at their robes and making them snap and flutter in sharp, restless motion. Then—three flat, artificial voices cut through at once.
"Expelliarmus."
Three disarming charms shot forward in perfect synchronization, aimed directly at him.
He opened himself to the incoming spells, arms loose at his sides, almost inviting the strike. But before they could reach him, a Protego shield snapped into place—fast, solid, instinctive.
He answered immediately with a Disarming Charm.
At the same time, the three dummies raised their own Protego shields in perfect synchronization, stopping it cleanly.
Thaddeus watched the exchange, then let a faint smile form.
Magic shaped through the combination of charms and transfiguration—working together, reacting without hesitation. It was his design, running exactly as intended.
Even alone on the ship, he could train properly like this. No need for another wizard. No need for real combat.
Still… it was a bit funny that he only thought of it two weeks ago.
"Bombarda."
The dummies moved first—too clean, too synchronized to feel natural.
All three cast the spell at the same time.
A violent burst of force erupted forward, tearing through the air as it surged toward Thaddeus. The pressure of it distorted the space between them, the wind itself compressing under the weight of raw destruction as it closed in on his position.
Thaddeus reacted instantly.
He raised his left hand. The air ahead of him answered. It frosted over in an instant, hardening into a dense wall of ice.
The moment it fully formed, the incoming explosion slammed into it.
Cracks spread violently across its surface.
Before it could collapse, Thaddeus shifted.
His left hand curled inward—fingers shaped like a claw, as if gripping the fractured space itself. His gaze locked onto the dummies ahead.
With a sharp motion, he dragged his hand forward.
The barrier dissolved under his control. It didn't break—it unraveled, transforming into a controlled storm of icicles. Guided by his gesture, they surged outward in a sweeping rain of sharpened ice, all converging toward the dummies with precise, relentless direction.
At the same time, his other hand swept toward the sea. He cast a Water-Making Charm, the motion sharp and precise.
The ocean responded violently, as if dragged into obedience.
A towering surge of saltwater erupted upward like a drawn blade, forming a roaring torrent that surged through the expanded space toward the three dummies.
The icicles struck first, breaking their rhythm—disrupting formation, forcing split-second corrections, and scattering their coordination.
Then the water followed.
The three dummies raised their shields in unison.
Too slow.
The torrent crashed through them, crushing Protego in a single overwhelming surge.
And then—frost spread through the aftermath without delay.
The water locked solid in an instant, freezing the three dummies mid-motion.
All three stood suspended in place, encased in thick ice, completely immobilized.
Still. Silent.
The match ended in under two minutes.
"Not bad," Thaddeus said quietly.
A small motion of his hand.
The ice cracked, melted, and dispersed into harmless water that vanished into the deck and air. The frozen constructs loosened, collapsing back into wooden barrels that settled neatly in place as if nothing had happened at all.
The once spacious deck returned to its original size.
Thaddeus, satisfied with the outcome of his afternoon practice, walked to the railings and rested a hand against them.
As the days passed and his strength grew, he couldn't help but compare himself to the known figures of the wizarding world.
At least now, with mastery over three branches of magic, he could stand on the same level as Albus Dumbledore… right?
It was only a passing thought. Still, he felt he fell short. No matter how much knowledge and control he had gained, he had no real experience fighting another wizard in true combat.
And in an age like this—an older era than the one he once knew—there might even be wizards stronger than Dumbledore.
"Time will tell," he whispered, gaze fixed on the horizon.
He had intended to simply enjoy the view.
But the sea did not remain calm.
Dark clouds gathered at the edge of the horizon, thick and heavy, slowly swallowing the light as they rolled in. Beneath them, a low veil of fog crept across the water, spreading without wind to carry it.
"A storm?" he murmured.
At sea, storms were nothing new. He had already passed through three since arriving in this world. The last one had been nothing more than a passing inconvenience—the ship held steady, untouched, protected by layered runes and defensive charms.
This should have been the same.
But the closer the ship drew, the clearer it became.
The storm wasn't behaving like a storm.
Wind should have been present at this distance. Waves should have been reacting naturally to the approaching pressure system.
But there was none of that.
Only stillness beneath the moving clouds.
Thaddeus narrowed his eyes.
"This… isn't natural."
TBC
Want to stay six chapters ahead? Join me on Patr*on.
Patr*on.com/Rabbinwriter.
Be a ChapterSeeker!
Or buy me a coffee~
NEXT FREE CHAPTER WILL BE POSTED AFTER REACHING 50 PS MILESTONE!