Mind-Calming Art

Seven days passed.

Ian Alvin stood in the center of the laboratory, staring at the corpses strewn across the floor with a deep frown.

Ten werewolves and five dark wizards had all died in the experiments of the past week.

He had tried countless times to revise the Life Code, yet he remained trapped in the same dead end.

The Life Code was far more complex than he had imagined.

Even changing a single tiny symbol could trigger a chain reaction that was impossible to predict.

This was a confrontation with the Law of Existence itself, and he was not yet qualified to win.

Yet he was still making progress.

This week had not been without gains.

During his research, he had discovered something important—the Magic Core.

Every wizard possessed such a core within their body. It stored magic power and served as the source of spellcasting.

Some cores were round, some triangular, and a rare few had cubic structures.

Ordinary wizards usually had round cores, while top-tier wizards like Dumbledore and Grindelwald often possessed cores with complex yet stable forms.

More interestingly, even Squibs possessed cores within their bodies—

Their cores were merely dormant, without light or movement.

Years ago, he had attempted to transplant a wizard's core into another person in order to enhance their magic power.

He had solved dozens of technical problems, yet the attempt had still ended in failure.

First, cores were difficult to extract. They were not physical organs, but forms that existed somewhere between the soul and bloodline.

Even if forcibly stripped away, they would collapse in an instant.

And when he had successfully transplanted one through special means, there were only two possible outcomes:

Either nothing happened, or the recipient suffered a violent rejection, their magic power spiraled out of control, and they ultimately died.

Only after researching the Life Code did he finally understand why.

—Bloodline determined how a core existed, while the soul determined whom it belonged to.

A core carried its holder's Soul Imprint. Once transplanted, that imprint would clash with the recipient's soul.

That was the true Source of rejection.

The experiments came to a temporary halt.

He no longer had any new materials, nor did he have any fresh inspiration for the time being.

Continuing would only add more corpses.

He sighed, extinguished the rune array, and left the laboratory.

"Perhaps I should try a different approach," he murmured.

"If I could observe a wizard's life while it was still developing—from embryo to birth—perhaps I could see how the Life Code naturally takes shape."

The thought had appeared suddenly, yet it made his heart jolt.

His expression turned grave, and his breathing briefly stalled.

He knew that he had always been calm and rational, but he would never lay a hand on a child.

Such a thought should never have appeared in his mind.

He lightly pressed a hand to his forehead.

"Looks like... there's something wrong with my mind."

Ian packed away all his experimental equipment and stepped out of the trunk.

After leaving the manor, he Apparated and vanished into the night.

Moments later, he appeared in a dim alleyway in London.

He changed into ordinary Muggle clothes, raised a hand to summon a gust of wind, and stole several newspapers from a street corner to confirm the location and time.

Then he Apparated once more, appearing at a massive concert venue.

The stage lights were dazzling, the crowd was boiling with excitement, and the music was deafening.

Tens of thousands of Muggles were immersed in celebration, their laughter and singing intertwining into the purest kind of joy.

Ian stood in the shadows of the crowd, raised his wand, and spoke softly.

"Patronus Charm."

A streak of silver light shot into the sky. A gigantic silver eagle spread its wings and soared through the night.

As its wings unfurled, it seemed as though even the starlight had been stirred.

Yet none of the Muggles could see it.

To them, it was only a breeze brushing past and the lights flickering.

The silver eagle flew high, stopped in midair, then opened its beak and made a swallowing motion.

Countless tiny silver motes rose from the crowd and were slowly swallowed by it.

Those were memories of happiness.

This was another of Ian's inventions—

A reverse spell inspired by Dementors.

Unlike Dementors, his Patronus would not devour souls or steal happiness.

It merely awakened the Muggles' beautiful memories, then absorbed the positive energy fluctuations they produced.

A few minutes later, the silver eagle had grown several times larger, gleaming with dazzling radiance.

It dived down and merged back into Ian's body.

In that instant, warm power spread through his entire body, thoroughly dispelling the shadows that had weighed on him.

His thoughts became clear once more, and even the air seemed lighter.

He let out a long breath.

"This is much better."

He knew well that dark magic would erode a caster's mind.

Especially for someone like him, who delved deeply into its essence.

Without safeguards, his mind would sooner or later be consumed by darkness.

So he had improved the Patronus Charm, turning it into a true "guardian of the mind."

He called it—the Mind-Calming Art.

Ian had never considered himself a dark wizard.

He admitted that he was cruel, rational, even cold-blooded, but he had never lost his bottom line.

Just as now, he could still cast the Patronus Charm—and that alone was proof.

To summon a Patronus, a wizard had to possess sufficiently powerful happy memories in their heart.

And Ian had far more than one.

He remembered the laughter from when his parents were still alive.

The pride in his mother's eyes when he received his first wand.

Amid the fear and darkness of wartime, they would still light a lamp for him beside the dinner table.

Later, his parents died in battle, and his aunt Amelia adopted him.

Outsiders thought she was cold and harsh, but Ian knew she was merely accustomed to hiding her warmth beneath a hard exterior.

That silent love had been the last warmth that carried him through his youth.

Even now, remembering it still made him smile faintly.

He had experienced death, and he had been reborn.

The meaning of being alive was clearer to him than it was to anyone else.

He pursued magic not for power, but for understanding—

The passion of exploring the unknown surpassed any glory.

Whenever he unveiled a Truth, he felt a subtle sense of satisfaction.

It was as though the mysterious Goddess of Magic stood before him, and he was slowly lifting her veil, little by little.

Even revealing a single corner was enough to make his heart pound like thunder.

This was why he continued moving forward.

The night deepened, but the beat of the music still pulsed.

Ian looked at that sea of lights, a faint smile appearing at the corner of his lips.

"Not a bad treatment."

He turned around, took out the communication mirror he carried with him, and lightly tapped its surface with his wand, projecting a glow of runes.

"Are you free now?"

A few minutes later, the mirror lit up, and a familiar voice replied—

"I'm free. Want to come over?"

Ian smiled slightly.

"Of course."

With a flash of light, his figure vanished into the night sky.