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Whether in the magical world or the Muggle world, the purpose of writing is to record information. However, in the magical world, written text serves an additional function—it carries power.
Even ordinary writing, when infused with magic, gains a hint of mystical force. This principle forms the foundation of magical contracts. Though the characters used in contracts have evolved over time, the core function of contract magic has remained unchanged throughout history.
A more advanced application of writing appears in alchemy. One of the most critical aspects of alchemy is constructing alchemical arrays, which produce different effects. These arrays are composed of magical script designed by wizards specifically to facilitate their research. Ancient runes are one example, but in modern times, more refined alternatives have emerged. As a result, ancient magical script has gradually faded from the attention of wizards, and alchemical inscriptions have become a fundamental subject for aspiring alchemists.
Each alchemical inscription draws inspiration from the wonders of nature. Wizards discovered that the magical cores of fantastic creatures and plants contain intricate vein-like patterns. These patterns are particularly effective in amplifying specific types of magical power. Over centuries of refinement, alchemical inscriptions have been meticulously developed. Even across vast oceans and continents, alchemists with no contact have discovered identical alchemical symbols. If any form of writing could be considered a universal language, it would undoubtedly be the highly perfected system of alchemical inscriptions.
Functionally, Awakener script—more mysterious and powerful than alchemical inscriptions—shares similar properties. In fact, Awakeners rely even more heavily on their magical script than wizards do, as their magic itself is entirely dependent on its use.
Without Awakener script, an Awakener is nothing more than a powerhouse devoid of direction. However, this "blank slate" has a unique advantage—it can incorporate standard magic, allowing Awakeners to wield ordinary spells with extraordinary efficiency, pushing them beyond biological limits.
Yet, it remains an undeniable fact that Awakeners cannot operate without their script. Any technique that surpasses conventional magic requires its power.
Take, for example, the ability to turn an ordinary, useless stick into a powerful casting medium that enhances an Awakener's abilities.
The same principle applies to the alchemical armor in front of Harry.
For an Awakener to transform an object into a usable "artifact," they must imprint a set of specialized Awakener scripts onto it using their own magic. This process initiates a fundamental transformation, elevating the object from mundane to extraordinary. Although the procedure itself is not particularly complex, most Awakeners lack the patience for such tasks. Their unique psychological traits set them apart from ordinary people, and most believe their raw power is already sufficient—few bother with such intricate enhancements.
Throughout history, there have been very few individuals, like the legendary Qinglian Sword Immortal, who have gone to the trouble of crafting their own personalized set of artifacts. Even Seti, a senior Awakener, lacked the patience for such efforts. If something piqued his interest, he could dedicate years—even decades—to studying it without complaint. However, when faced with something that failed to hold his attention, he would rather spend his time daydreaming by the river, fishing, than waste even a moment on it.
Ask him why, and the answer is simple—stubbornness. He was born this way, and there's no changing it.
Despite possessing the world's most formidable combat power, Awakeners are also bound by the strictest constraints. They cannot defy the "instincts" imposed upon them by the world itself. Perhaps their only means of resistance is the cultivation of "quarter-gods" like Harry.
They cannot rebel against the fundamental laws that govern their existence, but individuals like Harry and Li Jiannan—beings of mixed blood—are free from such restrictions. The only requirement is that they ensure their chosen successors do not recklessly overstep certain boundaries. Otherwise, even if the Awakeners wished to ignore the matter, some higher force would intervene, forcing them to personally eliminate the threat.
And there is likely no being in existence capable of defying these world-enforcers.
---
Awakener Script
[Zii]—Spirit
[Slen]—Flesh
[Gron]—Union
This combination of three Awakener scripts is the fundamental key to transforming the mundane into the extraordinary.
To align with his future Animagus second-stage transformation, Harry also inscribed the following scripts:
[Mul]—Strength
[Qua]—Armor
[Diiv]—Dragon
This script set serves as the bridge between his dragon form and his enhanced half-dragon state.
[Strun]—Storm
[Bah]—Fury
[Qo]—Lightning
These runes sharpen and refine the power of the thunder-infused scepter and the storm-wrapped spear in his right hand.
[Krii]—Slaughter
[Lun]—Drain
[Aus]—Agony
Engraved upon his heavy shield, this trio of runes casts a deathly seal over his enemies.
[Lok]—Sky
[Ven]—Wind
[Gaar]—Release
Together, these runes grant dominion over the sky and the wind, allowing four vibrating wings to carry the dreams of the earth into the clouds.
---
A layer of iron-gray Awakener magic enveloped the cold alchemical armor, breaking it down into countless individual components as the magic forcefully saturated each piece. The once dazzling white sheen, so brilliant under the light, now appeared slightly subdued—not due to fading, but because its radiance had turned inward, growing calm and restrained.
As Harry personally worked on the armor's localized transformation, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the firearm advancement course he had recently taken at Durmstrang had immediate practical application.
Nicolas Flamel, as a top-tier researcher, obviously had access to far more knowledge than Harry. When they first discussed weapon configurations, Harry hadn't fully grasped what Flamel meant.
Back then, all he knew was that this so-called "modular transformation" sounded impressive—definitely something worth trying out. But once he got his hands on it...
Oh? This thing is just like those firearm enhancement plug-ins the professor talked about in class!
All he had to do was insert the ebony and ivory pistol forms into the interface, and after a compatibility fusion process, the external module would transform into an additional wand form for Ebony and Ivory. Compared to the basic attachments introduced in class, Flamel's designs were on an entirely different level—more advanced, more intricate, and unmistakably custom-made.
That said, this kind of modification, which completely altered a firearm's structure—essentially turning a gun into an artillery piece—was borderline ridiculous. If this ever became widely available, why would anyone bother learning new cannon-based spellcasting mediums? Just slap on a shell and be done with it!
Still, after estimating the cost of such a project, Harry figured that even with billions in wealth, he wouldn't be able to afford more than a few attempts. This was the realm of true pay-to-win warriors. Anyone using Flamel's creations wasn't just a high-spending player—they were the top-tier spender, the undisputed champion of the elite.
This thing burned through more money than Iron Man's Mark XX armor. If given the chance, Harry would love to press his ebony wand to a certain someone's head and demand a free trip to a parallel world, just so he could introduce Tech-Side Tony Stark to the sheer absurdity of Magic-Side engineering.
After all, wizards here weren't the kind of weaklings who couldn't even fix a crippled hand. One dose of Snape's potion, and you could grow back an entire limb with ease. Magic wasn't a monolith—some mages begged eldritch deities for power, but that was just a cosmic version of maxing out credit cards to pay off other debts. A shady strategy like that would eventually collapse. True strength came from self-sufficiency.
For now, Harry was still some distance away from completing his second-stage Animagus transformation. The alchemical armor modification would also take considerable time. But unlike most Awakeners, patience was the least of his worries. He wasn't some mentally unstable obsessive. Even when dealing with tasks he didn't particularly enjoy, if they were necessary, he could focus and work through them with meticulous attention.
Busy days flew by in a blur. Aside from his usual studies and research, Harry's free time had notably lost one major component—Quidditch.
Durmstrang had its own variation of the sport, and it had even gained significant popularity in recent years. After all, this year, the school had produced a professional player—Viktor Krum had officially joined Bulgaria's national Quidditch team. Over the break, he had even secured the runner-up position in the European Cup and earned the title of Best Seeker.
But Harry didn't care much about that. Neither did the other squad members, who had nearly been run into the ground by their training. After all, the champions of that very European Cup tournament… were them.
With their overwhelming physical superiority, they could make up for any lack of technical skill through sheer brute force. The extreme intensity of their physical clashes had nearly driven the other teams to the brink of collapse. In fact, the International Quidditch League had even introduced new regulations to reduce the level of direct body contact in matches—entirely because of them.
Can you imagine a fourteen-year-old, slender, delicate girl single-handedly holding a Quaffle while an opposing seeker—whose throwing hand has been dislocated from repeated attempts to intercept—tries to snatch the ball? The goalkeeper did manage to block the shot, but being knocked down 22 times in fifteen minutes nearly conditioned him to duck at the mere sight of the ball in the second half.
Amid the angry shouts of opposing supporters yelling, "Refund! Do you think you deserve our money?!" the players—nearly suffering from on-court PTSD—slumped off the field with their brooms. Later, in the locker room, they formed a circle, heads bowed, and cried their hearts out.
The team members, already losing their thrill for Quidditch, began searching for a new "adrenaline sport." And after Christmas, the excitement they'd been waiting for was about to arrive.
Giant, drifting snowflakes had transformed Durmstrang into a futuristic magical city built of snow and ice crystals. Racing on speed skates across the snow became the favorite leisure activity for students during the off-season. Without the need to wear heavy, cumbersome fur cloaks, the light school uniform was sufficient to fend off the biting chill of more than twenty degrees below zero.
Yet above the wind and snow, where no gust could reach, two figures bathed in sunlight laughed and chatted high in the sky.
Thor had grown a bit taller—now nearly five meters long—and his robust, waist-high frame was sturdy enough that Harry's ample posterior could sit comfortably. Though still young, Thor was more than capable of carrying several tons through the air, even if one of the passengers was a burly giant standing at 2.05 meters.
Furong, sitting on Harry's lap, looked as delicate as a doll. Yet standing at 1.74 meters tall, she was anything but slight. Even without high heels, she carried an air of regal, queen-like authority.
At this moment, both the burly passenger and the diminutive queen were dressed in athletic wear, their windproof goggles pulled low over their foreheads. After checking their backpacks, the two stooped and patted Thor's long neck.
"Ascend, Thor! Fly to the highest heights!"
After emitting a long, resonant dragon's roar, Thor flapped his four wings powerfully. A howling storm gathered around him as dissipated lightning trailed behind like a brilliant comet tail. In an instant, Thor, climbing nearly vertically at a 90-degree angle, shattered the sound barrier. Though he couldn't fly at full speed due to carrying passengers on his back, the G-force from his rapid ascent wasn't a burden for Harry. However, for Furong—who wasn't wearing a protective suit—this acceleration, many times faster than any race car, was almost unbearable.
"This Christmas, wherever we glide down to, we're celebrating there!"
They had decided on this as soon as they took flight. This Christmas, they wouldn't return home. After arriving at Durmstrang, Harry had hoped for many joyful days with Furong. Instead, the relentless demands of study and duty left him with only a few days free to truly enjoy each other's company. Once the Christmas break ended, he would be heading back to the frontline of the Abyssal Battlefield to experience the harsh realities of wizarding war. This separation would last for a long time, making this Christmas together all the more precious.
As they ascended, the once-straight horizon gradually acquired a gentle, curving arc. Commercial airliners typically cruise at altitudes between 8,000 and 12,600 meters, while certain special-purpose aircraft soar as high as 15,000 or even 18,000 meters. This altitude lies roughly in the stratosphere—the most active layer of Earth's atmosphere, where weather phenomena frequently occur. Beyond that, between 15 and 50 kilometers high, the air stabilizes into what is known as the tropopause, or isothermal layer.
Closer to the Sun, temperatures drop despite the reduced distance, and the thin air already made breathing a challenge. Yet neither Thor nor the two passengers on his back felt any pressure from the climb.
As they continued upward, reaching the mesosphere, the temperature plummeted, and the external environment contained barely enough oxygen for normal breathing. At this point, a bubble hood served as an alternative to an oxygen mask. The bubble charm not only provided wizards with air filtration and underwater breathing but also proved effective at high altitudes—though in the oxygen-deprived environment of space, it couldn't conjure oxygen from nothing, as even magic has its limits.
Viewing Earth from over 100 kilometers above ground is an enthralling experience. Though one can't see the entire planet, its graceful, rounded curvature remains captivating and mesmerizing.
Thor slowed his ascent; the storm generated by his flapping wings diminished significantly. However, the persistent acceleration of his trailing lightning now served as an engine, propelling him forward. As a Thunderstorm Dragon, his flight didn't rely solely on wind for lift—the wind was merely a force that helped him break free of most of Earth's gravitational constraints during ascent.
"Thor is studying hard at school too," Furong's muffled voice came through. "He even attends classes. There's a professor who, upon hearing of his arrival, arranged a special course just for him—something called Dragon Biomechanics or similar. Although I don't fully understand it, it sounds quite interesting."
"Really, Thor?"
As Harry ruffled Thor's head, Thor turned his long neck toward him, his two slightly dazed eyes blinking rapidly. With one vigorous flap, the lightning coiled around his elongated body instantly surged up to his four wings, and the ionized air drew a dazzling tail behind him.
The storm around him dispersed as the lightning gathered along his wing edges. Suddenly, Thor accelerated to nearly thirty times the speed of sound, causing Furong to frown in discomfort. Unconsciously, she released a burst of magic that both strengthened her resistance and forced Thor into a sharp 180-degree turn.
"Flying that fast—are you trying to scare the living daylights out of your mother?!"
A resounding slap on his forehead from Harry sent Thor plummeting several dozen meters. Yet the smack also snapped him out of his enchanted state. Shrinking his head in apology, Thor nuzzled Harry's hand.
"Thor wasn't doing it on purpose, right? How can you be so harsh on him!"
Regaining her composure, Furong once again tightened her control over her magic. She patted the bump on Thor's head, silencing his protest as the dragon, now cheerful, flapped his wings exuberantly.
After admiring the breathtaking high-altitude scenery for a while, Thor dove headlong into a tiny opening, like a pocket entrance. His enormous body squeezed into a gap less than two centimeters wide, and in the very next moment, a miniature Thor emerged from Furong's transparent chest pouch, sprawled on the grass and basking in the sunlight.
"Harry! Do you think landing like this counts as illegal entry?"
"Get in first! We can pay for the ticket later! Worst case, we'll just pay the fine—and if that fails, I'll run away with you!"
"The world is vast—there's nowhere we can't go!"
(End of Chapter)