Intermediate Savior Training Mission: Moon

An hour had passed since the banquet ended.

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There was no so-called invisible prefect challenge, nor any blind-eyed student picking a fight.

Most Slytherins did their best to keep their heads down like ostriches, pretending Harry didn't exist.

Even when Harry fired off another Cleaning Fist, turning the entire common room's dark green into a pale green, it was the same.

They almost seemed to regret that their own Head of House wasn't here, or else they could have seen Snape with clean, fresh hair and a face that wasn't sallow.

And so, Harry smoothly took in the Slytherin common room, which felt like an aquarium, and reached the single dormitory Dumbledore had promised him.

The decor inside, like the common room, was a mix of silver and green.

The lighting was green, and furniture like the four-poster bed, wardrobe, and carpet were all covered in snake motifs, looking expensive and exquisitely carved with fine detail.

There was even an independent fireplace and washroom.

One wall was transparent, showing the Black Lake.

But fortunately, there were curtains to block it out, since the Black Lake also housed intelligent races, cold-water merpeople with green faces and fangs, a completely different style from the warm-water fairy tales of mermaids.

"Interesting. The Bloody Baron's name isn't 'Baron'—it's 'Bloody Baron.'"

"The Grey Lady's 'Grey' is just that—grey, Lady Grey."

Harry muttered to himself, not letting Percy and Hermione's stubbornness affect his mood.

It was just a task; no need to take it too seriously.

The night was still long for him, who didn't need sleep.

The Dogskin Book was also urging him to formulate the [Intermediate Savior Training Mission].

Harry, who had been calm just a moment ago, instantly got fired up. That stain, which should have been his blood, was extremely irritating in his eyes.

He forced his gaze away, then skimmed past the densely packed mission bar, finally focusing on the schedule.

"So easy, the coursework in the magical world."

"I just need to fill up my free time."

"21:00-0:00—read books."

"0:00-4:50—infuse magic into the wand."

"4:50-5:00—sleep."

"5:00-8:00—exercise."

"8:10-8:30—eat."

In the frozen time, Harry skimmed past the time slots marked for Hogwarts' class schedule and set a rough outline for his tasks.

The Dogskin Book would fill in the rest on its own.

He just had to complete them.

He just had to ensure every time slot had a task, so the Dogskin Book wouldn't go too far.

This was the slacking-off experience he'd summed up over four years of blood and tears.

Experience never...

"Deadly Fist~!"

In the frozen world.

Harry's fist turned into a blazing sun flickering with deathly green light, slamming fiercely into the [Savior Training Manual].

[...[Deadly Fist] proficiency +1, merged into [Potter Combat] proficiency +0.1...]

[To allow the Savior Lord to greet the courses of this new world with a better spirit, skills should be trained in a more efficient form...]

Only a voice responded to Harry, along with a brand-new schedule.

"21:00-0:00—read books upside down on the ceiling, keep running, practice [Potter Combat]."

"0:00-3:50—maintain the Universal Counter-Curse on the body's surface, let the [Horcrux] study nearby, attempt [Diplomacy] with the life in the Black Lake (Grindylows, merpeople, Color Ball Fish, Squid...)."

"3:50-4:50—train [Dursley Housework Encyclopedia] (scrubbing floors, waxing...)."

"4:50-5:00—close eyes and comprehend the Love Charm."

"5:00-8:00—train [Literature and Sports Both Bloom] (math, Chinese... running, high jump...)."

"8:10-8:30—eat."

The four years of summed-up experience had been wrong.

Training skills was no longer about simple running or weeding, but directly training long, complex combination techniques.

The sleep task, already shortened to 10 minutes, was completely deleted.

--On the bright side, at least class is easy, and break time belongs to me.

An iron will of Ah Q spirit instantly lifted Harry back up.

"How wonderful. Waking up in the morning to see Quidditch practice."

Professor McGonagall, still in her nightgown with a hairnet, pushed open the window.

She lived in her office, and from this window she could not only watch first-years taking flying lessons but also see the Quidditch pitch.

For a Quidditch fanatic whose greatest wish in life was to see the Slytherin Quidditch team lose to Gryffindor, this was the perfect spot.

That was also why her Transfiguration classes never overlapped with Gryffindor's flying lessons—it gave her a chance to scout new flying talent.

"How wonderful, seeing someone running on the lake surface first thing in the morning."

"Wait... running! The lake surface!"

The lingering drowsiness was completely wiped away. She quickly put on her glasses.

These glasses weren't just for nearsightedness; they also had slow-motion replay and telescopic functions, allowing her to fully enjoy Quidditch.

Soon, even in slow motion, a face with blurry afterimages appeared before her.

"Harry Potter!"

Harry wasn't just running; he was simultaneously calculating his latitude and longitude in real time, composing a passage in his mind with flowery language to describe his running posture.

[...[Literature and Sports Both Bloom] proficiency +1...]

With a farewell from his new friend from last night, the Giant Squid's tentacles, Harry jumped onto the dock.

For a moment, he even began to understand the Dogskin Book's pressure on him.

Because even after training all night without eating, he was still full of energy—his stamina, spirit, and magic all at their peak.

The moisture-laden magic of the Black Lake soaked into his body.

--What was this called? Gods live on breath without food?

Though he hadn't grown gills yet, the troll magic, adapting to the change, had already evolved underwater breathing capabilities like a river troll's.

As expected of Gold Grade—even its adaptability was superior.

And now, having completed the [Vindicated Dog Godfather] quest, he had one chance to draw a Gold Talent and two chances at Silver Magic Knowledge.

"Harry Potter! How dare you—"

Flying in on a broomstick, dressed like a fairy-tale witch, Professor McGonagall silently raised her altitude.

To maintain a position where she could look down on Harry.

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall." Harry's smile, honed over four years, was incredibly infectious.

Professor McGonagall almost gave up on the idea of reprimanding him. "No, it's not good. Not good at all. I don't want to wake up and see the great Savior's corpse floating in the Black Lake."

--Damn, why do I sound so much like Snape.

She realized it belatedly.

"That won't happen. I've already evolved my breathing—one inhalation gives me enough oxygen for twenty-four hours." Harry smiled, elegant and gentle.

--What does 'evolved' mean?

Coming from a Muggle family and familiar with Darwin's theory of evolution, Professor McGonagall momentarily wondered if her ears were playing tricks on her, or if she'd been away from the Muggle World so long she'd fallen behind the times.

"So I shouldn't punish you."

"You can deduct points. I don't care about house points."

"Keep your voice down. Say that to me, but don't let Snape hear it."

Harry's smile was so sincere that it instantly dispelled any thought of punishment from Professor McGonagall.

--Maybe, this year, Gryffindor could win the House Cup.

For the first time, Professor McGonagall felt that confidence.