Spider Logic

Saturday in early March, at noon.

Regulus emerged from the Castle, his body enveloped in Disillusionment Charm and propelled by Levitation Charm, skimming close to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Upon landing, he instantly Apparition, finding himself standing on the open ground outside Aragog's lair.

The forests haven't recovered from the seasonal lockdown yet.

The tree canopy closed overhead, blocking out even a sliver of light. The forest was half-withered and half-green; the withered half was still covered with leaves that hadn't all fallen last year, while the green half had just sprouted new buds, all obscured by the thick fog.

The ground is covered with a layer of decaying leaves, which are soft and damp underfoot. Moisture rises from the ground, releasing a damp, earthy smell.

Spiderwebs clung to the branches, glistening with water droplets, appearing as a grayish-white mass through the mist.

He goes twice a day, once after lunch and once after dinner, more often than he goes to the Library.

He goes to the Library three or four times a week, and to the Forbidden Forest twice a day.

Even Voldemort couldn't interfere with his studies, but a spider could. So, if that's the case, Baruk is more powerful than Voldemort.

Regulus never did anything serious when he came back; he just watched Baruk frolic around him.

Once, Baruk wanted to eat Dragon Meat, so he fed him a piece. The thing was too small for a spider that was over two meters long. It was gone in a flash, and he didn't even get a taste of it.

From then on, Baruk kept thinking about it, and every time he did, he would tilt his head and peek into that little bag with one eye.

Of course, you can't tell anything from it.

It looked at it for a while, then tapped its chelipeds twice, and probably figured it out. One piece wasn't even enough to fill a gap between its teeth, so it concluded that it wouldn't eat it and would save it.

It mentioned it once before, asking Regulus to shrink it.

It's good that it's small; it can come back to the Castle with us, and one piece of Dragon Meat is enough to eat.

Regulus disagreed. He was still growing; the new module had just been connected, and he was growing bigger. What did it matter if he was small?

The Forbidden Forest is so vast, isn't that enough for you to eat?

Regulus stood under the tree for a short while when the spider web in front of him began to tremble, the rhythm rapid and dense, sounding like eight legs taking turns stepping on the web.

Baruk emerged from the depression, his dark red bristles gleaming like scales in the mist, his eight amber eyes staring at him, his chelicerae clicking and clacking in a long string.

Its attack was exactly the same as before, its two-meter-long body accelerating to its maximum speed, but it still had some sense of proportion, knowing that it was now a large creature. At the last moment, all eight of its legs plunged into the decaying leaves, bringing it to a sudden stop in front of him. The spider lowered its head and moved forward.

The white spots around the eight eyes are much brighter and denser than when it was first grafted, shining through from under the carapace with a steady, pure white halo that no longer flickers on and off.

"... I heard it..." Baruk's voice was rough, and he reported impatiently: Muraki... speaks... Baruk... he can hear me clearly..."Regulus reached out and placed his hand on the carapace on its head and chest, probing inward with his Magic Perception.

The Bowtruckle Module has completely healed, with the tendrils and visual branches around the grafting point intertwined and indistinguishable from each other. The bridge built by Natural Magic Power in the middle is still there, allowing for smooth communication between the two sides.

The Magic Power flowed smoothly, with no signs of rejection.

Regulus raised an eyebrow slightly. "What did you say?"

Baruk's chelicerae were halfway extended when he stopped, his eight legs stomped on the spot, and his spider head lowered.

"...Say it...I don't like...spiders." Its voice trailed off:

Regulus's lips twitched upwards slightly.

Baruk felt wronged for a moment, but not for long.

It has come up with a new trick.

"Baruk... think of something."

Regulus patted its big head and made it talk.

"These trees... I recognize Baruk." It stretched out a front leg and pointed around. "... that... the tree in the distance... I don't recognize it." Regulus understood its silly idea.

Since the nearby trees dislike it, it will go further away and find a tree it has never met before. Maybe the tree there won't recognize it and won't dislike it. It said that it has run to distant places several times in the past few days, specifically choosing unfamiliar trees. It has gone further and further away, bypassing depressions and several ditches, to find a forest it has never been to before, and eagerly approach it to start a conversation.

"And then?" Regulus asked.

Baruk's chelicerae drooped down again.

"I don't like the new tree either."

Those unfamiliar trees still didn't welcome it; asking each one one by one, it received almost the same response.

That's for sure.

The Acromantula has been nesting and hunting in the Forbidden Forest for more than a year or two. Aragog has led his clan to reproduce here for decades. Countless branches have been broken by their webs, and countless tree roots have been corroded by their venom.

The trees remember these things, each tree remembers, their roots connected underground, the whole forest remembers.

Baruk didn't give up. When changing the tree didn't work, he came up with an even better idea.

It raised its head, its eyes darting around, and its voice rose again, carrying a mysterious air.

"... Baruk discovered... the Centaur... the tree likes it."

Regulus looked at it, and a slow smile crept onto his lips.

It became smug, its chelipeds opening and closing, and all eight legs standing up slightly. "Baruk... learning from the Centaur... Muraki... likes Baruk..." Baruk described it with great enthusiasm.

It crouched far away behind a tree, spying on the Centaur.

It was clever and knew how to hide, so the Centaur didn't find it.

It saw that the Centaur always looked up at the stars in the sky, sometimes for most of the day, talking to himself in a mysterious way.

It figured this must be a skill that would please the tree.

So it went back and learned on its own.

Regulus already had a picture in his mind.

A large spider, about two meters long, with all eight eyes raised, sat motionless in a pile of decaying leaves, staring at the sliver of sky peeking through the gaps in the tree canopy, feigning solemnity.

Perhaps they even divided their eight eyes among themselves, some watching this part of the sky, some watching that part, afraid of missing anything.

Since it has no neck to tilt back, it arches its entire head and chest backward, forcing all eight legs to brace themselves to prevent it from tipping over.

It just stood there, facing the sliver of night sky, squatting there for most of the night.

It didn't understand stars and couldn't see anything, so the tree ignored it.

When stargazing failed, it tried imitating the way Centaur walked.

With eight legs, it walked steadily and slowly, trying to maintain the calm rhythm that only four-legged animals have.

The arthropod joints of a spider and the hooves of a centaur are completely different sets of movement logics; trying to learn them by rote would be about as ineffective as a crab trying to learn a horse stance. The tree, of course, continued to ignore it.

Regulus couldn't help but twitch his lips again.

Stargazing and pacing were all in vain; Baruk discovered Unicorn.

Wherever the Unicorn stands, the trees rejoice; a silvery-blue light ripples through the forest, and even the bushes unfurl their leaves. Baruk's spider logic is simple: if the trees like where the Unicorn has been, then if the unicorn goes to rub against that spot and soaks up some of its light, won't the trees like it too?

It then moved closer.

As a result, the Unicorn caught a whiff of its scent from afar, flicked its silver mane, stomped its hooves twice, and turned to leave.

The more it tries to curry favor, the more thoroughly it is avoided.

"Why?" Baruk's voice was extremely aggrieved, and the white light around his eight eyes dimmed.

"Centaur... the tree likes... Unicorn... the tree is happy... Baruk learns... the tree doesn't like... Baruk goes... the Unicorn runs... why?" Baruk didn't understand what was wrong with him. He only knew that everything in the Forbidden Forest disliked him, except for Regulus.

It rubbed its big head against Regulus.

Regulus listened to its report and found its self-righteous but foolish tricks amusing.

Baruk's idea was actually correct; Unicorn were indeed effective, even more so than Centaur.

But you can't just rub against it. Unicorn are the cleanest creatures in the Forbidden Forest, so pure that even touching them requires care.

Even he himself wouldn't touch it unless it was truly useful.

Baruk made a terrible mistake, ending up with exactly the kind of person he disliked the most.

It is a creature of pure darkness; according to the rules of Magic, the Unicorn is its opposite.

Baruk tried to force his way in, but failing was actually a good thing.

Of course, you can't say that to it.

With Baruk's spider-like mind, his words were encouragement, and encouragement easily leads to trouble.

If we really launch a surprise Attacks on the Unicorn, then it won't just be a matter of missing out.

He didn't intend to lecture it; it would be Great Dao anyway.

The tree welcomes the Centaur and Unicorn, because they were always there.

Centaur have lived in this forest for generations, even before Hogwarts was founded, and the Unicorn were raised by this forest itself. They have long held their place in the Forbidden Forest's established order, which has existed for countless years, their roots so deep that no one can move them.

The Acromantula is different. It has only been in the Forbidden Forest for a few decades at most, which is nothing compared to the memory of the trees. As soon as they arrive, they spin webs to occupy territory, hunt and build nests, and wrap the tree trunks with their silk. The trees remember it clearly.

In the Magic world, everything has its place; it takes time for things to grow and time to move.

The Unicorn 'Centaur position was earned over thousands of years; for the Acromantula to squeeze in, a few decades is far from enough.

Perhaps in a few hundred years, after the trees in this forest have been replaced one generation after another, and the things that the old trees remember have been slowly forgotten by the new trees, the Forbidden Forest will naturally accept them.

But centuries is common for trees, but too long for a spider.

Regulus's thoughts took a turn at this point.

Centaur ' ability to observe the stars is genuine, and in some ways, it's more effective than the Prophecy and Divination of wizards.

Few wizards can truly Prophecy, but Centaur are different; almost all of them can read the stars, and each one can glean something from the constellations. What does a bright Mars signify? What do the movements of the planets signify?

But the Centaur ' Prophecy are never stated directly; they are indirect, making them seem inaccurate, only to be discovered in retrospect that they were right.

He was curious about something else.

Is the Centaur's ability to observe the stars something they figured out and passed down through generations, or is it something they are born with?

One is acquired later. Over a long period of time, this race has looked at the same Starry sky generation after generation, accumulating the patterns little by little, and then teaching them from generation to generation, which has become a discipline.

One is innate, something that Centaur are born with, ingrained in their blood, just like Baruk was born knowing how to spin silk, without needing to learn it.

Regulus was always thinking about these things.

If it's acquired later in life, that's fine. But if it's congenital, something you carry in your bloodline, then that's interesting.

This may indicate that the centaur form itself possesses a Magic quality that binds it to nature, allowing it to extract information from the trajectories of stars from birth—a natural talent.

Thinking further, if we break down the ability to observe stars into Magic Power structures...

The photosensitive visual branch, the sensing module for celestial trajectories, and the interpretive loop that translates physical laws into fuzzy Prophecy can theoretically be extracted.

That ability to sense the stars may have some connection to the underlying logic of his Star Orbit Meditation.

If that's the case, then he wants to give himself a good thrashing.

But that's a story for later; we don't have any samples at hand, and Centaur aren't as easy to catch as Bowtruckle.

Furthermore, whether stargazing is compatible with his Star Orbit system remains to be seen.

As for Unicorn, forget about them. There are too many theories about them, so let's not think about them for now.

Regulus snapped out of his reverie and looked at Baruk, who was still eagerly waiting for him to say something.

We need to comfort it.

"You could sit there all night stargazing," he softened his voice, but his words weren't much gentler. "The trees wouldn't even glance at you."

Baruk's eight eyes were all fixed on him, looking aggrieved.

"... Why?" Its voice was full of confusion. "The Centaur like... trees."

Regulus found the question amusing.

"The Centaur have lived here for a long time," he said, pushing the timeline back. "They've lived here longer than the trees. You've only been here a few days!"

Baruk's chelicerae slowly closed and pressed against his lower jaw. The spider lowered his head, and his eight legs rummaged around in the decaying leaves, making a low thud.

Finally, he came to his own conclusion. "Baruk... is not old enough."

Regulus didn't correct it, so it's not wrong to say that.

Changing the tree didn't work, and neither did imitating the Centaur; both approaches failed, and Baruk was completely at a loss.

It lay listlessly on the decaying leaves, the white light around its eight eyes dimming slightly; it had run itself ragged and was unwanted everywhere it went.

"... Baruk, the good spider..." it protested stubbornly, "The tree... doesn't know."

Regulus reached out and patted its big head. "Take it slow. Trees have long memories, they learn slowly, and they forget slowly too. You can't rush it." Baruk quieted down, its eight legs tucked in, its spider head resting on its front legs, and the white light around its eight eyes no longer protruded outwards, but condensed into a thin layer, sticking to its carapace.

Regulus stayed with it for a while longer, watching it slowly recover.

It died quickly, but recovered just as quickly, and soon began playing with the beetles under the decaying leaves using its front legs.

He told Baruk to stay put, then got up, Apparition, and left the Forbidden Forest.