BOOM!

In Fleur's awestruck gaze, the massive corpse of the fire dragon crashed to the ground, nearly filling the entire backyard.

Even in death, the beast exuded a faint draconic pressure. To most wizards, this might be imperceptible—but Fleur, being a quarter-Veela with part-magical-creature blood, felt it far more intensely than others.

Drawn by the commotion, Polana hurried over and froze at the sight of the dragon's body sprawled across the earth.

He… actually did it!

In many Western myths, dragon-slayers were hailed as ultimate heroes, draped in the mantle of legend.

Like Siegfried of Germanic lore, Beowulf, St. George, Lancelot, and Saint Martha. Some of them were even real witches or wizards who had truly achieved the impossible feat of slaying a dragon.

But a wizard like Tom, who accomplished this at the age of eleven?

Had there ever been such a figure in the entire history of the wizarding world?

Polana's mind blurred for a moment as she looked at the boy recounting his battle with the dragon to Fleur, gesturing animatedly as though he'd merely gone on an afternoon stroll.

Perhaps… this was the greatest opportunity their Veela tribe had encountered in a hundred years.

If Fleur truly ended up with Tom, they would have the protection of a dragon-slayer—and one who would only grow stronger.

Don't be fooled by the seemingly friendly ties between the French Ministry of Magic and their tribe. It was all mutual exploitation. The Ministry was riddled with factions, and some of them had already set their sights on the tribe's wealth—or even on the Veela themselves. For now, political balance kept things stable, but once that balance broke…

Well, in that case, only raw power could force others to "talk reason."

And with the way Fleur was throwing herself at Tom, Polana thought… this hardly counted as "selling off her granddaughter."

With a sly smile, she quietly left the garden, leaving the space to the two young ones.

The two stood close together, almost shoulder to shoulder. After being bathed in dragon's blood, Tom had grown significantly—he now stood just as tall as Fleur, despite being three years younger. Side by side, they looked like a perfect match.

"I used the same magic I did the day I saved you," Tom was explaining. "But dragons are tough. A wizard gets roasted in seconds, but a fire dragon can burn for minutes and still jump around like it's nothing."

"That was Protego Diabolica?" Fleur asked, her blue eyes wide. "But the books say Protego Diabolica is uncontrollable—only a few counter-curses can even contain it."

"Well, that just means the people who wrote those books weren't as talented as I am—or as the one who taught me," Tom replied smugly. "So of course they think it can't be controlled."

"Hmph, always full of yourself."

"How is that bragging?" Tom laughed. "If I ever wrote a book, I'd write it better than all of them."

"Then write one!" Fleur said brightly, grinning. "When you finish, I'll be your first customer!"

"Nah." Tom shook his head. "I'd be afraid no one could afford it."

After all, even the method of controlling Protego Diabolica would drive countless Dark wizards mad with desire. The knowledge passed down from Grindelwald and Andros was priceless. Tom understood the concept of guarding the secrets of the Dao—true power should not be handed out lightly.

Only those he recognized, or those with something to offer in return, would be worthy of such gifts.

This time, Fleur didn't tease him. After killing the dragon, something about Tom had changed—his very aura was different. He exuded sharpness and command, confidence without arrogance.

Compared to the silly, strutting boys at school who flared their feathers like peacocks, Tom was… on a completely different level.

…

Half an hour later, Fleur gently urged him to rest. After all, he'd just gone through a fierce battle, and she assumed he must be exhausted. She left the cabin, closing the door behind her.

But Tom wasn't tired at all. On the contrary—he felt charged with endless energy. Since fusing with the dragon's bloodline, fatigue seemed a foreign concept.

He closed his eyes, and his mind sank into the depths of his consciousness—into the Twelve Trials.

The draconic rune from before had completely vanished. In its place was a vast cosmic sky, glittering with stars.

Among the stars stood twelve towering palaces. Eleven of them were dim and silent—only the first shone brightly with radiant light.

In Greek mythology, the number twelve symbolized divine perfection. The zodiac signs were projections of those myths onto the stars—like Hercules, who had left his eternal mark among them in the form of the constellation Hercules.

Now, these celestial palaces represented Tom's trial progress.

He cast his spiritual awareness toward the second darkened palace, and soon, a new surge of information flowed into his mind:

Second Trial – Sacred!

Gain the recognition and loyal following of a unicorn.

Reward: Blessing of the Holy Beast – Purify the soul, enhance comprehension.

The first trial had strengthened his body and magical power.

Now, the second trial aimed to elevate his soul and perception.

Another incredible reward.

But… wasn't this a bit too difficult?

In myths, they represented purity and sacredness. In reality, they were still sacred beasts with powerful resistance to dark magic—but the fact that they only allowed pure-hearted maidens to approach?

That put Tom firmly on the "natural enemies" list.

He tried reaching out to the second palace mentally, hoping to negotiate the trial's terms.

Can't we change it to something simpler? Like slaying a few unicorns instead?

Winning a unicorn's recognition? Wasn't that asking for the impossible?

Was he supposed to crossdress?

Maybe he should ask Fleur for some clothes?

With no better ideas in mind, Tom decided to consult his two old mentors in the Learning Space.

But the moment he stepped in, before he could even speak, both Andros and Grindelwald stared at him.

"You fused a bloodline?" Grindelwald's brows furrowed. "Tom… you already found a dragon?"

"Mhm." Tom nodded honestly. "I just killed a Horntail. Took a dragon-blood bath, and boom—fusion complete."

The two masters exchanged a silent glance.

If bloodline fusion were truly as simple as Tom made it sound, there wouldn't be countless dead wizards who tried and failed. Only a handful had ever survived such an ordeal.

But they didn't question him further—it would be pointless.

What mattered was: now they understood why Tom had insisted on slaying a dragon himself. There was tremendous benefit in it, clearly.

Andros turned to Grindelwald with a grin. "Looks like we can crank up the intensity of his training. Dragon bloodline infusion? That's worth at least two extra hours a day."

Grindelwald nodded in agreement. "With these advantages, if you don't train harder, how will you ever defeat Dumbledore?"

"Then let's do eight hours a day," Tom offered enthusiastically. "Four hours with Andros, four with you. I want to master both Light and Dark magic equally—it's the only way to grow in balance."

"Excellent idea."

Oddly enough, Andros and Grindelwald were actually getting along quite well. Tom had originally feared their drastically different philosophies would lead to clashes, but so far… there'd been none.

Andros was a paragon of justice—every inch of him radiated righteousness. But that didn't mean he was naïve.

In the dark era of Greece, any wizard with blind idealism and a soft heart would've died quickly.

Andros had survived. And thrived.

Andros's concept of justice was one of clarity and truth—it wasn't about showing mercy to the weak or fearing the strong. In his worldview, reason was proven with fists and wands, not words.

His Patronus was powerful not because of some soft-hearted kindness, but because of his unshakable will and unparalleled talent.

It fit perfectly with that ancient saying: "My heart and my actions are as clear as a mirror; all I do, I do for justice."

As for Gellert Grindelwald, he wasn't the typical dark wizard either. Sure, he had committed his share of unspeakable acts, but his ultimate goal had always been clear—he believed wizards should rule the world rather than hide like rats from Muggles.

You could call him extreme… but not purely evil.

And to someone like Andros, that mindset wasn't as foreign as it might seem. After all, back in his time, wizards were nobility—welcome at royal courts and seated beside kings. So surprisingly, the two men actually got along.

"Gentlemen," Tom began, "the dragon issue has been dealt with, but now I have a new problem."

He laid out the requirements for the second trial—gaining the approval and companionship of a unicorn—and looked to the two elders, hoping for some solid advice.

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow. "So if you succeed, you'll gain the power of a unicorn's bloodline?"

Tom shook his head, and both old men visibly relaxed.

Dragon bloodline was already enough to make any wizard green with envy, but to stack that with a unicorn's sacred essence? That would be too much, even for the most composed.

"No, I won't absorb its bloodline," Tom clarified, "but I will receive purification of my soul—and an upgrade to my soul's essence."

PFFT—

Andros choked on air. Grindelwald's eye twitched violently.

"Do you even hear yourself right now?!"

Soul essence!

Let's put this into perspective.

If a wizard's life essence was rated at 1, and his soul essence was also 1, then multiplying them gives you a total potential of 1×1 = 1.

That's your average wizard.

Now, not everyone starts with a clean '1'. Some might be blessed with a higher base—say, 1.2. Others might be dragging at 0.8. But the soul essence number? That almost never changes.

When Andros gave Tom that body-enhancing potion earlier, it was a strategic treasure designed to raise life essence. It wasn't even his own invention—it came from a legendary wizard: the prophet Mopsus.

Mopsus lived two centuries before Andros—a titan of his age and a true King of the Century. He wielded extraordinary prophetic abilities and even defeated another seer, Calchas, securing his kingdom's golden era. Unfortunately, he got tangled in a royal succession dispute and was poisoned. A pathetic end for such a man.

But before he died, Mopsus cursed the royal family with venomous words:

"You shall die by your son's hand. Your son will marry his own mother."

Sound familiar? That was the infamous Oedipus Curse from Theban lore—one that haunted generations and sparked the Trojan War.

After one round of potion treatments, Tom's life essence had already jumped to around 1.5—a 50% boost. Now, with the dragon bloodline fully integrated, that number had skyrocketed to at least 3. But up until now, his soul essence remained unchanged.

And yet here he was, about to improve even that.

Even the smallest increase—say from 1.0 to 1.1—would result in a much greater total potential, because of how multiplicative growth works. That was the terrifying power of multiplier effects.

Tom looked at the two mentors eagerly, hoping they'd have a method to help him pass the trial.

Grindelwald was the first to offer a suggestion after some thought:

"What about the Imperius Curse? I've developed some rather… refined techniques for it. You could kill the unicorn, then bring it back with a controlled 'resurrection.' Perfect loyalty."

Tom's face instantly darkened. "Don't mess with me. You think I don't know about your dirty little incident with the qilin? Trying to dupe the International Confederation of Wizards?"

"I need the unicorn's trust and loyalty—not some corpse puppet!"

Grindelwald's face also darkened.

Low blow. Real low.

Not only had Tom hit a sore spot, he'd practically slapped him with it.

Yes, the qilin incident—when Grindelwald tried to use a killed and reanimated magical creature to manipulate the outcome of an election—was infamous. While it hadn't ended his career, the aftermath had been a major pain to manage.

And what stung the most wasn't the fallout.

It was that the person who ruined everything was that nosy, suitcase-slinging, creature-loving nuisance Newt Scamander.

And to make matters worse, he shattered the blood pact at the climax of it all, freeing Dumbledore to move against Grindelwald unhindered.

That blasted Scamander—truly a walking disaster!

Now that Grindelwald had been thoroughly shut down, Tom turned to his last hope: Andros.

Andros, with all the seriousness of a seasoned war general, offered his solution:

"Beat it. Once if it resists, twice if it still does. Three times if needed. You keep going until it gets the message. It'll open its heart eventually."

Tom's soul deflated.

One was a dark lord. The other? A hammer in human form.

How was he supposed to fix the wizarding world surrounded by these lunatics?

...

With no solution in sight, Tom decided to spar with the two of them, alternating rounds to test his new power. After an hour of combat drills and magical exchanges, he returned to his physical body.

The improvement was undeniable.

His spells now packed a punch—each one laced with raw power and innate intimidation. Even before he cast anything, he could feel his opponents faltering under pressure.

This was the mark of true dragon-blood integration.

Among all 5X-class magical creatures, dragons were the most iconic—not just because of their power, but because of their oppressive, throne-like presence. Other dangerous beasts might be deadly, but only dragons came with an aura that commanded subservience.

Any creature remotely "dragon-like" was guaranteed a minimum 4X classification.

Now, Tom had inherited that dragon's might.

Any weak-willed opponent would crumble under his presence before a single spell was cast. Their focus would slip, their aim would falter, and their magic would weaken on impact.

For now, he shelved the unicorn dilemma. He'd head back to the school and dig through every available reference material before making his next move.

Pulling on his gloves, he conjured a set of precise and razor-sharp tools through Transfiguration.

It was time to start harvesting the dragon's remains.