Gurgle.
Gurgle.
Under the sinister influence of Black Magic Transformation, countless bubbles erupted from the crimson blood swirling inside the test tube. Robert stood motionless before it, his gaze sharp and unwavering as he committed every change to memory.
"This is the two hundred and fifty-seventh transformation experiment… in just three days," he muttered, voice low but steady. "I hope this time, the result will finally meet my expectations."
As the last bubbles faded, Robert closed his eyes, calling upon his innate [Poison] ability to sense the changes within the blood. Compared to the first attempts, the transformation had become far more profound. If unleashed now, the toxin's potency would be more than ten times what it once was.
Such was the terrifying power of Black Magic Transformation — its ability to reshape flesh and blood was nothing short of miraculous.
Yet, despite the leap in strength, disappointment flashed in Robert's eyes as he opened them.
The poison was indeed stronger, but against the colossal magical beasts of the northern seas, it would still be woefully insufficient.
What Robert sought was something far more dangerous — a toxin capable of targeting extreme vitality itself. He hoped to harness the boundless life force coursing through his own blood and twist it into a weapon that preyed upon that very vitality.
But that goal remained elusive.
Three days had passed already, and with each failed attempt, his frustration grew. The rare ingredients — blood emerald, pute fruit — were crucial to advancing both Legendary Life and Legendary Power. They were vital to his next evolution, and they awaited him in the treacherous waters of the North Sea.
If he ventured there without a weapon capable of subduing the monstrous sea creatures lurking in the depths, he risked everything.
And Robert was not a man who left his fate to chance.
"Still not good enough?" he whispered. "Calm down. Calm down. Try again."
He gripped his wand tightly, inhaling deeply to still the anxiety swirling in his chest. Once the turbulence within him eased, he carefully poured a fresh vial of blood onto a piece of parchment, preparing for the two hundred and fifty-eighth attempt.
Then his eyes fell upon the faded words Lord Voldemort had once inscribed — a note that had guided him since the beginning.
"Black Magic Transformation requires a blasphemous, twisted will…"
Robert froze. The words resonated differently this time.
"Until now, I've followed Voldemort's instructions — focusing my will to force the blood to twist," he murmured. "But I've overlooked something crucial."
"With a rational mind, true distortion is impossible."
He had always maintained calm when casting magic — a habit ingrained in every competent wizard. For most spells, that composure was a strength. But for magic steeped in the Dark Arts, it was a liability.
"Negative emotions…" Robert whispered. "That's the key."
When working with dark magic, serenity was not an asset — fury was. Hatred, despair, rage — those were the catalysts for corruption.
Slowly, he began to dredge up every bitter memory: his humiliations, his failures, every moment that had left him powerless or enraged. The more he dwelled on them, the more his heart darkened.
The effect was immediate. On the system panel in his mind, the once dull, black-iron sheen of Black Magic Transformation deepened. Faint streaks of bronze began to emerge, pulsing ominously.
His wand, too, no longer moved with calculated precision. It trembled violently in his grip, mirroring the storm raging inside him.
When the tide of hatred and frustration crested, Robert slammed his wand against the test tube.
"Transform!" he bellowed. "Transform, damn you! Become what I desire!"
A surge of magic — darker and more volatile than anything he had ever conjured — exploded from the wand's tip and poured into the blood.
The reaction was immediate and chaotic. The liquid writhed and boiled, bubbling like a volcano on the verge of eruption. When the tumult finally stilled, Robert stood panting, chest heaving from the torrent of emotion he had unleashed.
He carefully reached out with his senses again — and this time, a triumphant light flared in his eyes.
Elsewhere, in a quiet home within the magical world, an owl swooped in through an open window, dropping a fresh copy of The Daily Prophet on a bedside table.
The headline declared that the Ministry of Magic, under Cornelius Fudge's leadership, fully supported Hogwarts students in their land reclamation and entrepreneurial efforts. It promised government backing and improved conditions for the wizarding community.
Everywhere, witches and wizards were abuzz with excitement, eagerly discussing applications for land permits and plans for new ventures.
But amid the cheer, one pair of eyes seethed with resentment — eyes that burned with hatred as they lingered on a single name in the article: Robert Sprout.
A bandaged hand snatched the newspaper and tore it to shreds.
"Robert Sprout," snarled Porgie Chalman, voice dripping with venom. "You ruined my reputation… my career… and now, you think you can walk free?"
A house-elf, alarmed by the commotion, scurried into the room.
"Mr. Chalman! The healers at St. Mungo's said your injuries from the Shadow Thorns haven't healed. You mustn't—"
"Shadow Thorns?" Chalman hissed, his eyes burning with madness. "How dare you speak that name!"
The elf's face drained of color. "M-Master, forgive me—"
But Chalman had already drawn a long, barbed whip. The elf screamed as lash after lash tore into its frail body. Only when the creature lay bloody and gasping did Chalman finally stop.
But the fury would not subside.
The humiliation Robert had dealt him was too great. During the last academic review at Hogwarts, Robert had unleashed Shadow Thorns and Devil's Snare upon him, leaving him comatose for weeks. By the time he awoke, he had become a laughingstock — the so-called "Herbology Master" who had been bested by his own plants.
His career was in ruins. Journals stopped publishing his work. Colleagues mocked him. And Robert — brilliant, talented Robert — was now hailed as a prodigy, his future as a Herbology Master virtually assured.
The thought was intolerable.
"I want him dead," Chalman hissed, gripping an ancient, rune-etched piccolo. "What use is a bright future if he's rotting in the ground?"
He had once tried to put a bounty on Robert's head in Knockturn Alley, but Snape's threats had scared every Dark wizard away. Now, though, he had a new plan.
"News from Hogwarts says Robert has been sailing often," he sneered. "Exploring islands, perhaps? Perfect."
The piccolo he clutched was no ordinary instrument — it was an artifact capable of summoning the legendary North Sea Kraken.
On the open sea, nothing could stand against the Kraken. Not even a dragon.
"Robert Sprout," Chalman whispered, eyes gleaming with murderous glee, "I'll see you dragged beneath the waves… torn apart in the darkness."
He downed a potion for pain relief and stamina, then climbed onto a flying carpet and shot into the night sky, heading straight for Hogwarts.
Meanwhile, Robert sealed the test tube containing his latest creation. The blood had changed beyond recognition — the poison it held was unlike anything he had encountered before.
This new toxin could absorb vitality to grow. The stronger the life force of the victim, the faster and more devastating the poison's eruption.
An ordinary person would experience little more than nausea. Their weak vitality would starve the poison before it could take root. But a giant beast — an elephant, a whale, or worse — would become fuel for its catastrophic bloom.
Even Robert's own blood, once he released his control, blackened within seconds.
"Black Magic Transformation… combined with my blood… created this?" he breathed, a chill creeping down his spine.
The Dark Arts were dangerous — more dangerous than he had ever imagined. A single misstep could doom even the mightiest wizard.
And yet… a fierce smile crept across his lips.
This was precisely the weapon he needed. A poison that preyed upon vitality itself — even the North Sea Kraken would fall before it. Its massive size was its greatest strength… and its fatal weakness.
"If this poison overwhelms even my Legendary Life, the Kraken won't stand a chance," Robert murmured. "This is the perfect weapon."
He would name it Giant Killer.
With this trump card secured, Robert's resolve hardened. The sky outside had turned crimson with the setting sun — it was time.
"I've delayed long enough," he said. "Tonight, I set out. I'll explore the North Sea and search for clues to Dereria Island. And if I can harvest fresh blood from a 5X-class magical creature… all the better."
After checking his gear — especially his trusty Nimbus 2000 — Robert leapt onto his broom and soared into the fiery evening sky.
Unbeknownst to him, Tonks followed from a distance.
For three days, Robert had stayed grounded, giving her time to rest and refocus. But the mystery of Umbridge's death still haunted her — and the professors' cold reception had yielded no leads. Even Professor Sprout, furious over Tonks' repeated questioning of Robert, had begun to avoid her.
So Tonks had decided to keep watch.
Robert's sudden flight toward the sea — and in a direction he'd never taken before — reignited her hope. Perhaps tonight would bring answers.
But in her haste, Tonks failed to notice a third figure tailing them — Porgie Chalman, riding silently on his flying carpet.
"The North Sea…" Chalman breathed. "At night. Perfect."
With manic glee, he clutched the piccolo tighter.
"As soon as I blow this, the Kraken will come. A first-year wizard, escaping the Kraken? Impossible. Even a young Dumbledore or Voldemort wouldn't survive."
He grinned viciously. "And once Robert's corpse sinks beneath the waves, Pomona Sprout will surely come looking for him. I'll kill her too. All of them."
Robert, oblivious to the danger closing in, pushed his broom faster. He had already passed the familiar coastal waters, flying deeper and deeper toward the unknown.
Then, suddenly —
An island appeared on the horizon.
Robert's eyes widened in astonishment.
"Is that…?" he whispered, heart pounding with anticipation.
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