Utilizing the newly established Mana Link, Maurise siphoned the magical energy housed within Tin and successfully summoned exactly five and a half skeletal foot soldiers.
As he attempted to materialize the sixth construct, he distinctly sensed the incoming flow of magical energy beginning to rapidly dwindle.
He halted the spell immediately and looked down at Tin. "How do you feel?"
"Meow..."
Tin let out a weak, feeble cry. It was glaringly obvious the construct was exhausted, its physical framework feeling hollowed out.
"You have worked hard," Maurise patted Tin's head gently. "Go and rest."
Tin nudged affectionately against his leg. Its form rapidly distorted, and with a brief flash of dark light, it dissolved back into its portable containment matrix.
'Satisfactory.'
Maurise offered a faint, pleased smile.
During the empirical test just now, he had utilized slightly more than half of Tin's total magical reserves.
This was not the upper limit.
If he genuinely desired to, he possessed the capability to completely drain the undead cat dry. However, if he extracted a massive volume of magical energy in a single instance, even though Tin was an undead construct, its physical and mental framework would struggle immensely to withstand the strain.
It was analogous to his own biological limitations; if he dumped his entire magical reserve in one sudden burst, he would suffer a severe migraine, and in extreme cases, it could induce a coma.
Maurise casually flicked his robes. In the very next second, the Skeletal Dog materialized on the floorboards before him.
'Further rigorous experimentation is required.'
'Let us proceed methodically, one construct at a time.'
Two hours later.
Excluding his messenger owl, Cinder, and Champion, who was actively stationed as a physical guard inside the Ship in a Bottle, Maurise had successfully established a permanent Mana Link with every single one of his remaining undead constructs.
The entire procedure was smooth, presenting zero complications.
This verified that as long as he kept his undead legion within his immediate vicinity, he would never need to worry about magical depletion again.
Unless, of course, he found himself engaged in twenty-four hours of non-stop, intense combat.
Maurise was profoundly satisfied with this tactical upgrade.
Furthermore, as the total volume of his undead constructs increased, his collective magical reserves would grow exponentially more abundant.
'It is a universal truth that possessing a massive magical reserve is always superior. It pays to be prepared.'
However, it appeared his previously established "elite-only" necromantic strategy required a minor tactical adjustment.
'Where exactly am I supposed to acquire a massive horde of high-quality undead constructs?'
If he relied entirely on personally hunting and transforming them, raw material acquisition would become a massive logistical bottleneck.
'Am I genuinely expected to wander aimlessly into the Forbidden Forest and rely on sheer luck?'
In all honesty, the operational efficiency of that method was pitifully low.
Even if he successfully managed to harvest enough raw materials, subsequently upgrading their ranks would require a massive expenditure of volatile Void energy crystals.
He would vastly prefer dedicating that valuable time to researching entirely new magical disciplines.
His mind was constantly overflowing with complex theoretical concepts waiting to be physically realized.
---
February was rapidly approaching. Overcast, gloomy days and heavy clouds gradually dominated the weather. The ambient air was perpetually damp and bitterly cold, feeling exactly as if one were tightly wrapped in a semi-damp, freezing rag.
However, the interior of Maurise's Ship in a Bottle remained warm and comfortable.
Recently, he had significantly overhauled the vessel's internal climate-control matrix.
The main parlor could now instantaneously shift its environmental parameters according to his exact will.
If he desired arid air, it became arid. If he desired heavy humidity, it became humid. If he felt inclined, he possessed the capability to literally convert the entire room into a functioning sauna.
Currently, all four members of the Explorers Club were gathered in the comfortable parlor.
Neville was frowning deeply, staring intensely at a complex Potions essay. The two Weasley twins were busy tinkering with a peculiar brass tube that periodically shot out puffs of colorful smoke—likely a prototype for their latest invention.
Meanwhile, Maurise was humming a cheerful tune as he meticulously polished the bones of his Skeletal Unicorn.
While the Bone Dragon was undeniably magnificent, he still occasionally enjoyed taking the Skeletal Unicorn out for a midnight ride under the cover of darkness. Both mounts offered their own unique, entertaining experiences.
Although they were all gathered together, today was not actually an officially scheduled Explorers club meeting.
Fred and George were primarily utilizing the vessel to hide from Oliver Wood. With the Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw Quidditch match officially scheduled for next week, Wood had essentially lost his mind, demanding borderline-sadistic extra practice sessions. The twins were physically exhausted and had sought secure refuge in the ship to lay low.
As a side note, in the anticipated Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw match a few weeks prior, Slytherin had narrowly secured a victory, which was quite a pity.
As for Neville, he had randomly bumped into the twins on his way to the library and had simply been dragged along. There was no specific reason for his presence.
Currently, everyone was occupied with their own academic or extracurricular tasks, occasionally exchanging casual banter.
The atmosphere was relaxed and pleasant.
At the very least, Maurise enjoyed it.
"How exactly is the optimization of your Portable Swamp progressing?" Maurise asked casually, smoothly storing the polished Skeletal Unicorn back into its portable spatial matrix.
Fred and George simultaneously snapped their heads up.
"You are genuinely anticipating our invention?!" Fred asked, looking pleasantly surprised.
"Thanks entirely to your constructive feedback," George immediately replied. "The concept of integrating Dungbombs directly into the core payload matrix was absolutely brilliant! The resulting area-of-effect and destructive potency have been magnified by a factor of over two! Would you care to experience a practical demonstration?"
As he spoke, he eagerly reached into his robes and produced a small, suspicious pouch.
Fred looked horrified. "You actually brought a live prototype in here?!"
It was glaringly obvious that the destructive potential of the item was not to be underestimated.
Maurise offered a brilliant, terrifying smile. "If you dare detonate that biological hazard inside my ship, I will physically hurl you out the porthole to feed the Merpeople."
George let out an awkward chuckle and silently withdrew his hand.
'You are the absolute boss; what you say goes.'
At that exact moment, the undead cat, Tin, casually strolled out from the interior corridor. It leaped gracefully onto the sofa beside Neville, curled into a ball, and closed its eye sockets.
Neville cast a brief glance at the undead feline before returning his intense focus to his parchment.
Exactly two seconds later, he snapped his head back up, staring intently at the construct for a long moment.
"Is your cat... sleeping?" Neville turned to Maurise, looking perplexed.
Maurise looked at Tin and gave a slight shake of his head.
"No," he corrected smoothly. "It is meditating."
Indeed, meditating.
A short while ago, under Maurise's rigorous instruction, Tin had successfully mastered the art of magical meditation.
Empirical evidence clearly demonstrated that this was not an exclusively humanoid skill.
Curiously, however, out of his entire undead legion, Tin was the only construct capable of entering a meditative state. Even the intelligent owl, Cinder, was completely incapable of replicating the feat.
Maurise suspected this biological anomaly was a direct consequence of the chaotic magical surge Tin had experienced during its previous rank advancement.
Hearing Maurise's casual confirmation, Neville completely froze.
A short distance away, Fred and George also shot him curious, bewildered looks.
"A literal cat can successfully learn how to meditate?!" Fred asked in disbelief.
Maurise nodded calmly. "It only required exactly two days to grasp the fundamental mechanics. Its innate talent is outstanding."
The three boys fell into absolute, profound silence. Their expressions became complex.
'Why on earth is the disparity in innate magical talent between a human wizard and a literal cat so massive?!'
"Speaking of which," Maurise turned to address them. "What exact results have your own meditation regimens yielded? Have you observed any significant, quantifiable improvements?"
He clearly recalled that when the three of them had initially mastered the technique, they had unanimously complained that it felt completely useless.
Fred and George exchanged a calculated look, adopting a rare, serious expression.
"There might actually be some noticeable changes," Fred began slowly. "When executing spells recently, the magical flow feels distinctly smoother and significantly more fluid than before."
"We weren't entirely certain if it was merely a psychological placebo effect," George added.
Maurise offered an approving nod. "The foundational benefits of meditation are already beginning to physically manifest. As long as you maintain a rigorous, disciplined schedule, a profound, qualitative breakthrough is inevitable."
Fred and George simultaneously offered embarrassed, sheepish smiles.
Due to their demanding academic and extra-curricular schedules recently, they had essentially skipped their meditation exercises for several consecutive days.
Meanwhile, Neville suddenly raised his hand, looking as though he desperately wanted to speak but was hesitant.
Maurise glanced at him. "You are not required to formally raise your hand to speak in this environment."
Neville blushed bright red and quickly lowered his hand, but his expression grew excited.
...
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