Ravenclaw's Thirst for Knowledge

"How did I do it?"

Dumbledore spoke unhurriedly, his silver hair gleaming faintly in the candlelight.

"Very simply—through practice."

"Practice?" Lin An raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, practice." Dumbledore cut himself a piece of honey cake and smiled as he put it into his mouth.

"The Magic Core is like a muscle in the human body. Train it continuously, and it will grow stronger. It may even break through the first limitation."

"That sounds like it would take a long time," Lin An said gravely.

"Not necessarily," the old wizard said calmly. "With the right method, the time can be greatly reduced."

Lin An asked no further questions.

He knew perfectly well that Dumbledore was deliberately guiding him into seeking instruction—wanting him to abandon Bloodline Modification and accept his guidance instead.

But Lin An would not fall for it.

As a transmigrator, he had long seen through this world's "protagonist mentor"—this white wizard might have been great, but he was by no means selfless.

Newt Scamander, Harry Potter... anyone who grew too close to Dumbledore eventually became trapped in Fate's vortex.

Take Snape—

That pitiful man who had spent his entire life protecting someone else's child.

Under Dumbledore's arrangements, he had been both a pawn in saving the world and a sacrifice burdened with infamy.

He protected the child of the woman he loved, yet had to face every day the surname he loathed beyond measure.

Even Dumbledore himself had ultimately met his end in a death he had planned himself.

I don't want to repeat their mistakes, Lin An thought coldly.

Then there were Nicolas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle.

By all rights, they should have enjoyed Eternity in peace, yet they had ultimately given up the Philosopher's Stone so easily—

How could Dumbledore's "gentle persuasion" not have played a part?

Lin An sighed softly and set down his teacup.

He understood that no matter how the professor hinted at it, he would not ask for that "method of practice."

He already owed the other man too much—the introduction to Alchemy, support for his experimental grounds, and special access to the Restricted Section.

Any more, and it would become shackles.

--

Although he had refused Dumbledore's proposal, Lin An still thirsted for his knowledge.

Not only the techniques for breaking through "limitations," but every magical system Dumbledore had accumulated over his lifetime.

He had even considered this—if given the chance, he would have Dumbledore sign the same knowledge contract as Voldemort.

And not only him; he wanted Grindelwald to sign as well.

That would be the ultimate Fusion of two ideologies—the Incursion of "light" and "belief."

If he could master all the knowledge of both men, he would truly stand at the pinnacle of magic.

Of course, he knew that was almost impossible.

Dumbledore's will was like steel. He would never submit to a contract.

If he sensed Lin An's ambition, he would only become immediately vigilant and see him as the "third Dark Lord."

Even offering to resurrect his sister in exchange would not shake that old wizard's convictions.

He would sacrifice himself before compromising with anyone else.

So—Lin An was in no hurry.

He still had time. He still had plans.

Before completely finishing his bodily modification and reaching the same level of magic as Dumbledore and Grindelwald, he would not act rashly.

He had to first gain equality in strength before he could negotiate an equal deal.

--

"Professor, what did you want to see me about?" Lin An abruptly changed the subject.

A trace of regret flickered in Dumbledore's eyes—he could tell that Lin An had no intention of taking the bait.

But he quickly resumed his smile.

"Harry told me that you borrowed the Invisibility Cloak during the Christmas holidays." His tone was calm. "He asked me to remind you to return it when you're finished with it."

"Ah, thank you for the reminder. I really would have forgotten otherwise." Lin An smiled and took the imitation cloak from his bag.

It was a fake he had made from Thestral mane hair and soul runes, nearly indistinguishable from the original.

Dumbledore accepted the cloak. His fingers brushed against it, and a glimmer of realization flashed through his eyes.

The mysterious aura hidden within seemed to have weakened—but he said nothing, only asking softly:

"Have you discovered its true nature?"

"Of course." Lin An answered calmly. "In the eyes of an Alchemy master like myself, this is no ordinary Invisibility Cloak. It is—the 'Deathly Hallows.'"

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Then what do you think of 'death'?"

Lin An pondered for a moment.

"An existence too powerful to imagine," he said steadily. "If one day it decided to interfere with the world, then even if Merlin were resurrected, he would likely be powerless. We would all be like helpless children."

"There is no need to worry," Dumbledore said gently. "Death is merely a part of the world. Like ancient magic, it is part of the natural order."

Lin An nodded, but he did not agree.

In his eyes, death was by no means an indifferent law, but an existence with thoughts of its own.

He had sensed it during their last transaction—the fluctuations of emotion had been anything but mechanical.

As long as there are emotions, there will be desires, he thought.

If one day death grows tired of its own rules and seeks a way out—who could stop it?

The answer was: no one.

Therefore, he had to find a way to guard against it.

Even if that plan was never needed, he had to prepare in advance.

He would design a contingency for "death"—a mechanism capable of countering a god when necessary.

--

A few minutes later, Lin An rose to take his leave.

"Thank you for the tea, Professor."

"You are welcome anytime, Lin An." Dumbledore watched him leave, his gaze deepening slightly.

Once the sound of footsteps had faded, he lowered his head and looked again at the cloak.

His fingertips passed over the fabric, faintly sensing that the flow of energy within differed from before.

"What is he doing..." Dumbledore murmured softly to himself.

He was not sure, nor did he intend to pursue the matter now.

After all, that young wizard's thoughts were always like Ravenclaw's emblem—that wise eagle—lofty, mysterious, and filled with dangerous curiosity.

--

Lin An left the office and entered the corridor.

The night was tranquil, and the wind murmured softly.

He lightly rubbed his fingertips, where the warmth of Phoenix blood still lingered.

"Dumbledore... Grindelwald... and death."

He murmured, the corners of his lips lifting faintly.

"One day, I will uncover the secrets behind all of you."

He raised his head toward the night sky. Starlight reflected in his eyes, gleaming like blade edges.