Shawn pursed his lips, somewhat dissatisfied. Although he had learned most of the first- and second-year White Magic spells, every one was only level 1, barely enough to cast them.
His level 8 Dark Magic talent certainly lived up to its rating. Even the spells he had taught himself had all reached level 3 in a short time, and he could already use them with great proficiency. At level 4, he would be able to perform Nonverbal Spellcasting.
But once spells reached level 5 and talents reached level 8, hard work alone would no longer be enough to improve them. He would need a deeper understanding.
Unless he obtained legendary points.
Moreover, his spells' power was limited by his physical condition and magical reserves. His actual combat ability was probably around that of a fifth- or sixth-year student, though he would have to fight to know for sure.
By now, Shawn had also figured out the differences between spell levels.
Level 1 meant barely being able to cast a spell, level 2 meant casting it proficiently, level 3 meant mastery, level 4 meant Nonverbal Spellcasting, and level 5 meant casting without words or a wand, as well as being able to alter a spell's trajectory.
Spells also grew more powerful with each level, and his control over them became more refined. Once a spell reached level 5, as Avis had, he could change its direction and introduce variations.
He had worked out all these magical principles himself. J. K. Rowling's original books had never explained them in detail.
Shawn casually flicked his wand at the alchemical dummy!
"Avada Kedavra!"
A green beam as thick as his little finger instantly blasted the dummy's head to pieces. Watching the dust scatter, Shawn gave a grudging nod.
"The level 3 Killing Curse is reasonably powerful, but why haven't I felt Dark Magic corrupting my mind? I don't feel like my nature has turned evil, either, and I don't even need malicious intent to use Dark Magic. Strange."
"Hmm. Is it because of my talent? Or because I've practiced Occlumency?"
Still a novice at magic, Shawn could not come up with an answer.
Tomorrow was the first day of school. He could ask the professionals about these things once he reached Hogwarts. He had a whole pile of questions anyway.
He glanced at the system again. Like many others, he had wondered where it came from and whether it harbored some hidden agenda, constantly stoking his ambition. Shawn did not care, though. In fact, he was happy to cooperate. After all, only something valuable was worth exploiting. No matter how one lived, wasn't life still a cage? Rather than worrying needlessly, he might as well live more freely and recklessly.
The 98 points of level 2 faith value in the system were making him uncomfortable, leaving him stuck just short of the mark.
A level 2 draw was bound to hold a huge surprise, and all those Faith Values had come from children.
"If I'd known, I would've held all my previous performances at schools. Looks like I can't keep a low profile at Hogwarts, either."
Shawn put away his spare wand, went upstairs to the study, took out an exquisite notebook, and began making plans for himself again.
His short-term goal, and his main objective, was the "Hogwarts heartthrob" plan: harvest faith value from young witches and wizards to improve his strength.
His medium-term goal was to bring the pure-blood families to heel, infiltrate the Ministry of Magic, and expand his influence and power.
His long-term goal was naturally to take control of the Wizarding World, break the International Statute of Secrecy, and harvest faith value from the entire world.
Then he would reach the pinnacle of life and marry eight or ten wives-ahem...
As for minor goals, such as dealing with the goblins and Voldemort, those were things he could take care of along the way.
If an outsider saw Shawn's notebook, they would probably think he was a mentally impaired child. If Dumbledore saw it, he would probably arrest Shawn as the successor to the third Dark Lord.
Whoosh.
Just then, Kreacher appeared with a pop, holding out a letter in both hands.
"Master, this letter came from abroad. The sender says he's a fan of your magic shows."
Shawn put away his notebook and accepted the envelope, puzzled.
His fans were all ordinary people. How had someone managed to find the address of his ancestral home?
The return address was a wizarding village somewhere in Austria. He tore open the envelope, unfolded the letter, and first glanced at the signature.
"Rudiger Peller? No, it's pioneer loser. Pioneer Loser? Interesting."
Shawn smiled, recognizing it as a pseudonym with a deeper meaning, and began reading the letter.
[Dear Mr. Shawn, hello.
I greatly enjoy your magic shows, so I have taken the liberty of writing to you.
Yes, I am not a Muggle, but a wizard. However, I am deeply interested in Muggle Studies, and I especially admire your bold combination of wizardry and stage magic.
Of course, I am also very interested in your purely nonmagical tricks. Even now, I have been unable to unravel them despite racking my brains, but they have brought a great deal of enjoyment to my dull life.
What I like and admire most, however, is you yourself. Though you are not yet old enough to attend school, you can already instinctively harness your magic to assist your performances. That is a truly remarkable talent.
I consider myself somewhat knowledgeable. If you ever have any questions, my young friend, you are welcome to discuss them with this fan of yours.
Incidentally, I am very curious about your opinion of Muggles, Mr. Shawn, and your original reason for performing stage magic in the Muggle World. It neither improves your strength nor brings you any benefit, which has puzzled me greatly. I sincerely hope you will enlighten me.
Your old fan, Rudiger Peller.]
The corners of Shawn's mouth rose slightly. He had a few suspicions, and he found this genuinely interesting.
The next moment, a system notification arrived.
[Ding, mission issued.] [Inherit Grindelwald's Army: How can the host be without a force of his own? Please thoroughly hoodwink Grindelwald and obtain Grindelwald's Army!] [Mission rewards: 300 level 2 faith value, one point of legendary value.]
After reading the mission, Shawn's heart thumped wildly. His guess had been right. Nor was he particularly surprised that Grindelwald knew of his existence. The man was practically a cheater himself, with the ability to see the future. Could Shawn's arrival have changed that future?
The mission rewards were incredibly tempting, enough to make him rich in one stroke. But this mission would also be very difficult. He would have to prepare for a long campaign.
He hurriedly reread the letter with care, then took out a blank envelope, considered his wording, and began writing a reply.
[Dear Mr. Pailier, hello. Regarding your appreciation...]
Half an hour later, Shawn finished the letter, slipped it into the envelope, and handed it to Kreacher.
"Send this reply. Oh, and go to Diagon Alley later and buy me a strong owl. I should be getting a very regular pen pal from now on. An international mail carrier needs to be sturdy."
Kreacher accepted the envelope, said, "As you command, Master," and left by Apparition.
September 1, nine in the morning.
Shawn had already finished his morning training and was eating breakfast. It consisted of Chinese dishes Kreacher had made after researching the recipes himself.
There were soup dumplings, pan-fried dumplings, fried dough sticks, soy milk, and more.
Although the flavors were not quite authentic yet, they were far better than eating bread and sandwiches for all three meals.
Shawn took a sip of soy milk and addressed Kreacher at the small table.
"Kreacher, look after the house once I go to school. Also, after a while, use Polyjuice Potion to sell off some more nonmagical antiques, then deliver the money to Albert. His funding mustn't dry up."
Upon hearing these instructions, Kreacher forgot about the food in his mouth and spoke through a cough.
"Kreacher can go to Hogwarts with Master. I can handle the other things you've asked whenever I have a spare moment."
"Oh? You can enter and leave Hogwarts freely?"
"Yes. There are many House-elves in the Hogwarts kitchens. I can join them temporarily, as long as I report to the head House-elf. How could Master be without Kreacher to serve him?"
Shawn rubbed his chin and considered it, then raised no objection. Some of his plans did indeed require someone to run errands.
"All right, come along, then. But you don't need to take the train with me. Just teleport straight to Hogwarts tonight."
Kreacher immediately began bouncing with joy.
After breakfast, Shawn began organizing his school supplies, including textbooks, equipment, clothes, and the like.
Among them were a specially made, exquisite deck of playing cards and a potion shimmering with a golden glow.
The backs of the custom playing cards featured a throne floating above a pentagram, gleaming in alternating red and blue. They were captivating.
He had commissioned them from that unscrupulous alchemist, Borgin Burke, the last time he had used Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself as an adult and visited Diagon Alley.
The Burke family was a renowned alchemical family in the Wizarding World.
This time, Shawn had not only paid a hefty sum but also supplied precious alchemy materials and a crafting formula. Finally, he had signed a contract to keep the formula secret.
Apart from being hard enough to use as throwing darts, the custom playing cards' main function was to store a spell.
He had stumbled across this technique in the alchemy section of his family's library, which had inspired him to create a magical move similar to "Ten Thousand Swords Return to the Origin."
He pictured it.
While facing an enemy, he would scatter the cards with an elegant wave of his hand, leaving dozens or even hundreds floating behind him. The next moment, his enemy would be blasted apart by a sky-filling barrage of spells.
Well, the idea was beautiful, but reality was harsh.
Only after receiving the custom cards did Shawn discover how difficult it was to inscribe and store spells within them.
The main problem was that his understanding of magic was still too shallow. Even after half a month of working in his spare time, he had only inscribed five cards, all with the spell he knew best: Avis.
Although his dream of an ultimate attack filling the sky could not be realized just yet, the cards would still be useful in an emergency.
The potion was Felix Felicis, a precious magical brew that granted "good luck."
Kreacher had searched through numerous channels for it, finally obtaining a tiny amount for 700 Galleons.
He had also bought some enhancement potions that temporarily boosted agility, constitution, senses, and the like.
Shawn had money, after all. He kept all of these on hand. Better safe than sorry.
After all, there was a Voldemort at Hogwarts this year, and he was Shawn's prey.
Shawn was no reckless brute. If he could defeat his enemy with the power of money, why wouldn't he?
"Master, it's time. We should leave for King's Cross Station."
Shawn nodded and placed the little gift he had prepared for a certain petty professor into the Ring.
Heh. He had sent Kreacher to find it in the house where Sirius had lived before going to prison.
Finally, Shawn picked up the birdcage.
"Let's go!"