Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 318 The High-Dimensional Observer and the Magic Wand

Regulus's soul is also a starry sky, with Betelgeuse being the brightest, but most of the starry sky is dark.

Those dark places are not holes, not defects, not areas that need to be filled or repaired.

They were always there, forming the complete starry sky together with the stars.

What's in those dark places?

He looked at it carefully.

Domination.

He assigned Snape to do what he was supposed to do, Samuel and Lena to gather Muggle knowledge, Avery to be the spokesperson, and Alex to handle external liaison.

Hermes... Hermes doesn't need any arrangements; he's the enforcer, or to put it nicely, the one in charge of the fighting.

He put the right people in the right jobs, assigned roles to everyone, and turned a disorganized mess into a cohesive machine.

He didn't enjoy the process; to be more precise, he took these things for granted. They needed someone to arrange them, and he was the most suitable, so it was him.

But the very judgment that I am the most suitable is itself a kind of underlying tone.

Then there's something else: the desire for control.

Every matter must be thoroughly analyzed, every level must be seen through as much as possible, and the outcome must be firmly in our grasp.

Uncertainty makes him uncomfortable. He can tolerate deviations in the plan, but he must know where the deviation comes from, why it happened, and how to avoid it next time.

This thirst for information and obsession with results are different manifestations of the same thing.

And there is the never-ending thirst for power.

He's moving towards becoming stronger every day, not because anyone is forcing him, nor because he's dealing with any specific threat.

He wanted to become stronger; power itself attracted him, magic itself attracted him, and the things he hadn't yet accomplished attracted him.

And a deeper loneliness.

He stood at a height higher than everyone else, overlooking the past and future of this world.

He knew the fates of all the important figures in the original destiny, who would die, who would live, who would betray, and who would persevere to the end.

He looked at those people, talked to them, interacted with them, and tried to change them, for better or for worse.

He knew perfectly well what their respective endings were in the original story.

He can see things that others cannot, and he knows things that others do not.

The amount of information he uses when making decisions is on a completely different level from that of most adult wizards, and even the very top ones. This difference doesn't bring him a sense of superiority; it's simply an objective reality.

He was a person standing on high ground, where the wind was strong and there was no one else around.

These things—the driving force behind his arrangements, his thorough analysis, his relentless thirst for power, and his isolation from his lofty position—were all his own.

The Dark Awakening brings domination, oppression, and devouring; those are Voldemort's things, they are foreign.

These dark aspects of his soul grew out of him.

I've been with him since the first day I came into this world, always there, but I've never been brought out to see him before.

They are woven into daily life; we use them when analyzing Dumbledore and Voldemort's intentions, when practicing magic every day, and when someone is lying in bed thinking.

They have been used all along, just without being named.

The darkness inspired them to step out from the corner and into the light.

When he unleashed his dominion tonight, he felt the exhilarating feeling of crushing everything, the urge to make her kneel down—those things came from the inspiration of darkness.

But the Dark Inspiration can evoke them because his soul already possesses frequencies that resonate with them.

The appearance of Voldemort took things a step further.

In the instant when the dark was stirred and the light reacted, he saw the full picture of his own soul.

Light and darkness have always been one; together they constitute him as a person.

Betelgeuse is his guardian, and the desire to dominate is also a part of him. His guardian deity is the light reflection of his soul, while the thirst for power is the dark driving force of his soul.

If the guardian deity is a reflection of light, then what is the reflection of darkness?

Could it also be condensed into a power that can be mobilized?

He thought of Voldemort's projection of fear, of the burning of the soul, of the methods of domination and oppression in the Dark Revelation.

Those were Voldemort's powers, borrowed, foreign, which he could use, but he knew in his heart that they did not belong to him.

What he needs is the dark side of power that grows from his own soul.

They share the same origin as light, but their directions are opposite; one is a shining star, and the other is the deepest darkness among the stars.

He doesn't know exactly what it is yet, but he knows it's there.

What happens after you find out?

Develop it, unite it, and transform it into a stable and complementary force that can be invoked.

As for how to develop a star-track meditation, each star needs to correspond to a certain mental state and be in harmony with the symbolic meaning of that star.

Betelgeuse represents inward protection and establishing boundaries, while Rigel represents outward explosion, expansion, and destruction.

The solidification of the dark side may require the same process: finding the core image of that dark side, making it resonate with the dark side deep within one's heart, and then solidifying it.

He didn't know what the core image was, but he wasn't in a hurry. Knowing the direction was enough; all that was left was to get there.

Regulus withdrew from the depths of his consciousness and his gaze returned to the window.

The Muggle walking his dog had already gone far away. The streetlights illuminated the empty street, and his own face was reflected in the glass, blurry and indistinct.

He thought about those few minutes when Voldemort stood in front of him.

If we strip away the labels of Dark Lord, the identity of Death Eater leader, the manipulator of pure-blood politics, the creator of fear, and the usurper of death—all these guises—we'll understand.

What's standing down there?

A person who took magic to places no one had ever been before.

Tearing apart souls—no other wizard has ever accomplished what he has.

To create multiple Horcruxes is to transgress the law of death.

Dehumanization, which involves transforming one's physical body into a form that transcends the human realm, whether actively or passively, represents a breakthrough in the boundaries of life.

Furthermore, he possessed expertise in dark magic; Dark Inspiration was his creation, containing his understanding of magic, his knowledge of the soul, and his philosophy of domination and power.

Ordinary dark wizards cannot create such a thing; it requires a systematic philosophical understanding of dark magic.

And those few seconds of mind control he just experienced—the precision and the sense of oppression far surpassed anything he had ever encountered.

All of these things combined make up a wizard who has reached the limits of human potential in the realm of magic.

His path was crooked; his soul was torn apart; his rule by fear was crooked; and his attitude toward death was morbid.

But the distance he traveled on that crooked path was farther than almost all wizards who followed the right path traveled in their entire lives.

Is this road still crooked?

It may indeed be crooked, but crooked is not the same as wrong.

Being wrong means you can't go the right way; going astray just means you can't go straight.

Regulus did not intend to take that path, but he acknowledged its value; the direction was off, but the distance was real.

Those who walk the right path have no right to laugh at those who walk the wrong path for going further, unless they have also reached that distance.

Voldemort, the person who went the furthest in the realm of dark magic on Earth, a person who expanded the boundaries of magic to heights that others dared not even imagine.

Right in front of him, four or five meters away, they said a few words, glanced at him, and then left.

But he couldn't ask any questions about magic; not daring was one thing, not being able to was another.

Voldemort does not share knowledge; to him, knowledge is a reward for loyalty.

Bella learned the Black Mist and Black Barrier techniques, but the prerequisite for learning them was to surrender herself, kneel down, and give away items.

Since Regulus wasn't going to kneel, there was no way to ask.

A twelve-year-old Black heir, asking Voldemort magical questions, no matter how respectful his wording or how humble his posture, was essentially trying to engage in an academic exchange.

Academic exchange presupposes equality, and Voldemort did not engage in academic exchange with anyone.

So he combined Voldemort's and Dumbledore's perceptions, which was the most proactive thing he could do.

That was a display of his attitude towards magic itself, and hopefully Voldemort would say something after seeing it.

Even if he only starts with a simple statement or a comment about magic, he can smoothly continue the conversation and naturally steer the topic towards magic itself.

But Voldemort didn't. He looked, remained silent, and then left.

Such a waste.

But then I thought, he's only twelve years old.

He kept the secret from Voldemort, completed the performance, performed extreme maneuvers under Legilimency, and even saw the structure of his own soul and found the direction of its dark side.

What else do you want?

Next time, next time he sees Voldemort, he won't just be focused on how to survive.

The thought crossed his mind, and he felt it was a bit presumptuous of him.

That's Voldemort. He used every trick in the book tonight just to barely protect the core area. What makes him think he can be more relaxed next time they meet?

Then a thought popped into his head: he would become stronger, and faster.

next time.

He turned away from the window, walked to the bedside, and as he took off his robe, his hand touched the wand in his pocket—a blackthorn wand with a dragon's heart tendon core, twelve and a quarter inches long.

He pulled out his wand and held it in his hand for a while.

The feel has changed.

This wand had been with him for over a year, ever since the day he bought it from Ollivanders, and it had accompanied him in casting countless spells.

Conventional, precise, and restrained—perfectly in line with his style.

But tonight, he used it to cast Domination Domain, unleash Soul Burn, cast Fear Projection, invoke the grey power of Dark Awakening, and also unleash Fiendfire.

These things are completely different from what I used over the past year. Before, it was about precision, restraint, and holding back; tonight it's about crushing, releasing, and pouring out.

The wand responded.

He could feel the warmth emanating from his fingertips when he held it, as if the wand itself was burning hot.

Blackthorn wood likes this. Ollivander once said that blackthorn wood is the wood of warriors, naturally suited for duels and battles, and the more intense the confrontation, the more its characteristics are brought out.

The previous year or so of regular use must have been a bit frustrating for it. It would pull the millstone, but it wasn't happy about it.

It was pleased tonight, especially the dragon's heart tendon, the strongest core of the staff, capable of casting the most powerful magic.

When the power of dark enlightenment flows through it, it does not resist it, but rather feels a sense of positive cooperation.

Before tonight, this wand was a tool; now it has inclinations, preferences, and memories.

It remembered tonight's battle, remembered those dark, powerful, and overwhelming spells.

It likes those things and wants more.

The soldier's wooden frame—he only truly understood its meaning tonight.

But there's another side to this story: the wand was bought when I was eleven.

He was very far removed from that time and now. Guardian deities, star trail meditation, spatial magic, light source magic, disintegration spells—these things were piled up one by one.

His understanding of magic, his perception of his own power, and his view of the world are all changing.

The wand is also changing; it adapts to him, adjusting its state as he grows.

Tonight's battle was an acceleration, with the extensive use of dark magic tilting its preferences in one direction.

But what if it keeps tilting in that direction?

A wand has inclinations and preferences, which means that it can, in turn, influence the user to some extent.

When casting spells with a wand that loves fighting, its combination makes attack spells smoother and more powerful, and also makes it easier for the caster to go further in the direction of battle.

It is adapting to him, and he is being drawn to it.

What if one day what he wants to do doesn't align with the wand's preferences?

I want to cast an ultimate guardian spell, to use light magic to perform extremely precise operations, and to use spatial magic to touch areas that have nothing to do with combat.

Will this wand, which has fallen in love with dark magic and battle, still cooperate like this?

Who is really in control of the relationship between wizards and wands?

Ollivander said that wands choose wizards, but he always felt that this statement was only half true.

Choices are two-way; wizards and wands shape each other, and tonight's events have made this issue even more acute.

He doesn't plan to replace this wand; it's been with him for over a year, and their understanding is genuine, but he also doesn't intend to use only this one.

He needs more options, or rather, he needs to find a way that doesn't rely on a wand.

I've been practicing wandless spellcasting, but that's just transferring the wand's function to myself; it's essentially the same logic.

What he might want is something more fundamental: to understand what role the wand plays in the spellcasting process, and whether that role can be replaced or surpassed.

This topic is too big to think about right now, so I'll just write it down and work on it later.

He placed the wand on the bedside table; the surface of the blackthorn wood gleamed faintly in the moonlight, as if it were emitting a dim light of its own.

The soldier's wood.

He looked away, washed up, changed into his bathrobe, lay down on the bed, and drew the curtains.

The fire in the fireplace was still burning, and the flames cast flickering spots of light on the ceiling through the gaps in the curtains.

He closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into the depths of his mind.

The stars revolve steadily in the mental space, each tracing its own fixed trajectory.

The little soul figure stood quietly in the core area, its outline clearly defined.

Betelgeuse shines brightly, steadily and eternally. In the places it cannot reach are the dark side of the starry sky, and those dark places now have names.

He glanced at them, then closed his spiritual eyes.

go to bed.

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