Since things have come to this, let's just accept Level 2.
It sounds better than Level 3, no matter how you look at it.
Thinking about it this way, Vincent actually began to feel some resistance to the green ribbon of the Order of the First Class.
He even thought that the level three white sash was the best, at least it wasn't as flashy as the level two purple sash.
Dumbledore had no idea what he was thinking.
But judging from those Winky, sparkling eyes, even if they had ideas, they wouldn't be good ones.
"You continue, I'll go find Nicolas Flamel and the others."
"Oh." Vincent grinned mischievously, thinking of something amusing, and reached for the fifth Orichalcum Bullet.
Top floor.
Nicolas Flamel and Perenelle were having a pleasant conversation when Dumbledore walked over, looking sullen.
"What's wrong, Albus Dumbledore?"
"Were you upset by that child?"
"No, I initially thought he would be very disappointed."
Successfully protecting the Sorcerer's Stone is something that neither Gringotts nor the Ministry of Magic could accomplish.
Perenelle covered his mouth and chuckled, "This child has many imaginative ideas, perhaps he really doesn't care about the rank of the Order of Merlin."
She really liked the layout of the 13th floor and the exterior of the Big White.
Nicolas Flamel nodded in agreement, "Albus Dumbledore, you would never guess what he made out of Mithril."
"Gun?"
"No."
"Sword?"
No, not exactly.
Dumbledore shook his head in surprise. "He put those two things together?"
"Yes, a weapon that looks flashy but is impractical."
Nicolas Flamel snapped his fingers, and soon a Magical Automaton equipped with a Big White armor brought over a Gunblade.
Its gun body lacks the "?" Magical Runes, but other than that, it is no different from other guns in terms of its immense power.
"A very interesting design." Dumbledore Gunblade and examined it closely.
"Not only that," Nicolas Flamel said with admiration, "But also quite clever."
Gunblade, weapons that exist only in fantasy, are not subject to the restrictions of the Muggle Artefacts Office.
Vincent can carry it with him without needing any permits.
The entire process was legal and compliant; even if Fudge came, there was nothing he could do.
"I'm really looking forward to the surprises he'll bring me next year."
Dumbledore chuckled. "It's a good thing you can't make wands."
Nicolas Flamel looked at his wife Perenelle, with a mysterious expression.
She smiled and nodded with great demureness. "Before I met Nicolas Flamel, Mr. Merovingian had pursued me."
"Oh, Merlin —this is quite surprising." Dumbledore's mouth gaped open, a rare occurrence for him.
There are three major stick-making figures in Europe:
Ollivander of Britain
Gregorovitch of Germany,
Merovingian in France.
More than 600 years ago in France, Beauxbatons did not yet exist.
Among the young rod-wielders of that time, the most outstanding was Ansgar Merovingian.
Like Ollivander's ancestors, he passed on his superb staff-making skills to his descendants.
Today, his descendants are still Beauxbatons' designated wand makers.
It's surprising that such a pioneering master had such an interesting story.
Even more interestingly, Beauxbatons, funded by Nicolas Flamel, chose the Merovingian to provide wands for the students.
"Albus Dumbledore, Nicolas Flamel is talking nonsense," Perenelle quickly shook his head in denial.
"Ansgar did teach me how to make wands, but I've forgotten most of it."
Dumbledore smiled but remained silent.
The Pensieve is such a precious object, it's specifically designed for this purpose.
"Teacher, I did it!" Vincent strode in and found the atmosphere here quite strange.
Nicolas Flamel first looked at Perenelle as if pleading for mercy.
"Albus Dumbledore, would you be interested in seeing the power of a bullet engraved with Magical Circuit?"
Dumbledore winked at him mischievously. "Of course I'm interested."
Perenelle stood up. "It's time for me to prepare lunch."
Before she left, she gave Nicolas Flamel a meaningful look.
Vincent forced a smile and turned around.
Judging from the situation, his teacher must have said something wrong.
Upon arriving on the third floor Dumbledore immediately exclaimed, "When I came here last year, the flooring had just been laid."
"It's all thanks to the Magical Automaton." Nicolas Flamel's gaze fell on Vincent, who was loading bullets onto the Gunblade. "They're perfect for this kind of work."
"How many bodies will be provided to Hogwarts free of charge?"
"Can."
Vincent, who was aiming, suddenly turned around. "Professor, I'm at the age where I'm still growing."
Dumbledore shook his head and smiled wryly, "The Magical Automaton are only responsible for the defense of the campus."
Vincent smirked as he looked toward the bullseye.
The Orichalcum Bullet, which had failed thirteen times before finally succeeding, was firmly embedded in the center of the circular target.
The orange-red patterns surrounding it are gradually brightening.
Nicolas Flamel looked at Dumbledore as if showing off, "Albus Dumbledore, what do you think?"
The target core has already started to burn due to the high temperature.
"This is a perfect work."
A gun barrel made using traditional Alchemy, bullets engraved with Magical Circuit.
The creation of this immense power also carries a very special meaning.
Recasting Muggle items using Alchemy and then imbuing them with various magical powers seems to be just the beginning.
Hogwarts Castle at the same time.
The Black Swan Club executives, who hadn't gone home for the holidays, all gathered in the Slytherin Common Room.
Alger Bull, a seventh-grader, extinguished the flames beneath the crucible in front of him.
The bubbling, viscous slurry inside is the Polyjuice Potion that took a full 46 days to prepare.
He divided it into five small bottles, saying, "It takes a while, but I can guarantee its effectiveness."
Draco curiously leaned closer to smell it, then immediately covered his nose and leaned back.
"This damn medicine smells awful!"
Boole hurriedly explained, "It needs one more thing to be considered complete."
Higgs took out the small alchemy box that he had kept for more than a month.
Marcus smacked his lips and opened it. "Wayne, I wonder what you'll taste like?"
"It's definitely worse than this," Blaise Zabini said with disdain. "I'm not drinking it, so who wants to?"
He pulled out two large handfuls of Gold Galleons from his pocket.
"Let me do it!" Higgs carefully picked up the gray-gold hair and placed it on the edge of a bottle.
With a snip of the small scissors, the color of the Polyjuice Potion began to gradually lighten.
The smell isn't unpleasant; it has a very refreshing minty scent.
Its color is a light white.
"Tch—" Blaise Zabini's expression was extremely unpleasant.
"Let's begin the test." Draco's expression wasn't much better.
Higgs opened his mouth and first smelled the fried pork cutlet.
Next comes the aroma of lamb and beef, mixed with a very unique flavor.
After finishing his drink, he smacked his lips and said, "Hmm—it must be dried anchovies."
Everyone twitched their lips.
Only Boer picked up the empty bottle and sniffed it, looking completely puzzled.
Beneath the minty flavor, there seems to be a faint other scent.