Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 554 What kind of weird name is Glasdick?!

Cohen couldn't fall asleep for most of the night; the corpse of the little snake monster and Sissoko's words kept replaying in his mind.

Death had just made a deal, and that night Cohen had this unusual nightmare. He simply couldn't believe there was no connection between the two.

Was it a trap orchestrated by Death himself? Or was it something hidden inside Cohen's body causing trouble?

Suddenly, Cohen realized a problem.

Along with me came into this world something else surreal—

Cohen always habitually ignored the system that loved to complain, because of its low profile and lack of initiative.

And now there is an unusual problem.

The system, which issues tasks once a year, has remained inactive for over a month since the start of the new school year.

The most recent news came after agreeing to help Neville and adding some goodwill points.

Cohen tried it in his mind, and the system panel could still be opened, with his soul strength steadily at 51.5.

But the store is inaccessible, like an online game that's now reduced to a single-player experience.

Cohen slid off the bed without waking anyone and sneaked out of the dormitory to the common room.

The fireplace in the common room was still burning; unlike other owls, the Earl's residence here was approved by the majority of Gryffindor students.

Not only because it was "Cohen Norton's pet," but also because it had a strong sense of self-management and never pooped in the lounge—Cohen didn't know how it did it, because Cohen always thought that birds would poop whenever they flew away.

“Calm down, Grassdick,” the Earl said to the young Earl. “You can’t stay awake all day and all night…”

The little count has grown lush, dark brown feathers, looking exactly like a miniature count.

But the count didn't seem to intend to call it by a name like "Little Count." He called it "Glasdick," something that sounded off to Cohen.

"I can sleep whenever I want!" Little Dick yelled. "It's none of your business!"

"Glasdick?"

Cohen felt that the nightmare suddenly wasn't so scary anymore—maybe because his brain was so overwhelmed by the word that he didn't have time to think about the horrifying images.

"Glass*? What kind of weird name is that?"

"This little thing just loves this name," the count said viciously. "It won't respond to any other names—why don't you sell it, and we'll split the money fifty-fifty..."

"Are you really going to sell me?" Little Dick looked at the Earl with a pitiful, pleading expression, as if his face had suddenly changed.

"You—" The count's hardened heart softened in less than three seconds after being stared at by Little Dick. "Sigh..."

"Softie," Little Dick pressed his advantage.

"Shut up! You fucking go to sleep!" The Count, furious, gave Little Dick's head a hard bite.

Since Little Dick was no match for the Earl, it had no choice but to cower in its den under duress. But it was clear it wasn't really sleeping; it was eavesdropping on Cohen and the Earl's conversation from under its own feathers.

"Why aren't you asleep in the middle of the night?" the count said. "Did that Grim Reaper you mentioned last night crawl into your bed?"

“Not quite that twisted, but close enough.” Cohen raised an eyebrow and briefly recounted his dream.

“Oh—I knew it.” The Earl clicked his tongue. “I told you back then you’d definitely have violent tendencies, but that old man didn’t believe me. Now look at you, you’ve started fantasizing about killing your own parents…” “It’s not like I wanted to have this dream,” Cohen said, rubbing his forehead. “You’ve lived for hundreds of years, have you ever seen Death? Or any other evil god—”

“I have seen him before,” the count said.

"?!" Cohen stopped rubbing his forehead. "You've seen him?! Why didn't you say so yesterday?"

“You didn’t ask me,” the Earl said. “I know you wizards have always had a haughty prejudice against owls… Ah, that’s just the fate of owls…”

“Because normal owls don’t talk at all—have you seen Death or some other evil god?” Cohen asked.

“Only dead owls can see the Owl of Death,” the Earl said matter-of-factly. “I’ve never seen Death, of course, but I have seen an evil god—the very evil kind.”

“Who?” Cohen asked.

“You,” the count said.

"..."

"..."

Cohen pursed his lips and looked at the Earl with dead fish eyes.

"Is there a problem?" the count asked, tilting his head. "What's the difference between you and an evil god? You kill quickly, your power is evil, you can't be killed, you're covered in curses, and your mental state is very abnormal..."

“What’s wrong with my mental state?” Cohen retorted. “I’ve never killed anyone indiscriminately.”

“Two years ago you were still trying to rediscover your humanity,” the Count said. “A person in a normal mental state doesn’t need to ‘rediscover humanity.’”

“This isn’t the time to talk about this.” Cohen slumped onto the table. “What if there really is some evil god inside me? I can’t even find it, and I don’t know when it will take control of me and destroy all the things I’m afraid of, just like that Grim Reaper said. I finally have such a good life, and I even had a plan to kill Voldemort. If it weren’t for that damn Grim Reaper and that evil god…”

The count seemed to be pondering something, then suddenly asked out of the blue:
Why doesn't it kill your soul when you're young?

"You'd have to ask me when I was a kid."

"Why didn't it destroy your soul before you had built up any emotional bonds with your family?" the count continued.

"..."

"Why did it choose to give you nightmares instead of kicking you out of your body while you sleep?" The Earl flew up to Cohen, his large eyes less than two inches away.

"Because it can't do it?"

“I bet it can’t do anything to you,” the count said. “Just like those vampires that want to break into people’s homes and bite them, it definitely needs your consent, or something similar, to control you, right? That’s why you had such a terrifying nightmare.”

"Damn it," Cohen cursed.

When did I become so slow-witted? Is this what they call intellectual decline?
“I’m willing to believe that Death exists,” the count said, pecking at his wing. “But I don’t believe the one you saw. Death certainly doesn’t make deals with anyone.”

“There must be a way to take him out, or at least get him out of my sight,” Cohen said. “I think I need to look into it…”

“Get a priest; maybe an angel will come to your aid,” the Earl chuckled. “‘Damn devil, get out of Cohen Norton’s body!’”

"Telling too many hellish jokes will send you to hell," Cohen said with a helpless pursed lips.

"I've already been there." The Earl glanced lazily at Little Dick, who was pretending to sleep not far away, and muttered, "Otherwise, why would I have brought up a little brat who looks like a devil..."

(End of this chapter)