After realising his uniquely advantageous position for cultivating Ember Fern, Ciel's eyes brightened. He immediately summoned Troll Priest Siris, asking whether pure gems could be refined from ore.
Siris looked confused. "Of course, my King. Refining gems to obtain wealth is a mandatory course for alchemists. Nicolas Flamel mentioned in his notes that when he was young, he found an unknown mine pit and refined an entire chest of gems inside. This skill flows through the bloodline of us Fire God descendants. After all, back in Olympus, what the gods most frequently requested from our great ancestor wasn't those alchemical items with astonishing magic power but brilliantly shining gems to decorate their palaces, temples, and statues."
Ciel looked at Siris somewhat surprised, "Isn't turning stone to gold only achievable with Philosopher's Stone-level alchemy?"
Siris explained, "The Philosopher's Stone's transmutation refers to turning stones containing no gold into gold—equivalent to creating something from nothing, the highest level of alchemical transformation. But most of the time, alchemists merely refine pure gold from ore already rich in gold content or, at higher difficulty, concentrate and refine pure gems from ore containing dilute gem components. This is an entirely different difficulty from true transmutation."
Ciel nodded in understanding. Then Siris brought a large basket of various coloured stones, placing them in an alchemical array. As his wand tapped, the array's patterns lit up, strange magic power invading the stones. Soon, blue or green gem crystals of pure colour began growing on their surfaces, while the remaining stone portions dispersed as smoke.
When the alchemical array's radiance faded, several bean-sized gems appeared before him—mostly sapphires with some emeralds. Siris shook his head regretfully, "My alchemical mastery is worlds apart from Nicolas Flamel's. If he arranged the alchemical array, he could perhaps smelt an entire small mountain, producing unimaginable substances. In my bloodline memories, I've seen our great ancestor using furnaces larger than mountains, smelting everything in the world to forge weapons for the gods. I wonder when I'll reach that level."
Looking at the rather melancholic Siris, his mouth twitched—rather like watching academic overachievers humble-bragging in his previous life. How long had Siris been studying alchemy? Yet he'd already reached this level, while Ciel himself couldn't even understand what alchemy texts said.
But he harboured no strange emotions. He had self-awareness—even Dumbledore's talent didn't reach all-around genius levels, let alone his own. Concentrating limited time and energy on one field while seeking cooperation in others was the reasonable solution.
He then picked up a gem, applying slight finger pressure to grind the sapphire into powder, casually burying the powder evenly near the Ember Fern spore's rooted soil. The next moment, the reward orb hovering above the spore visibly accelerated its expansion rate.
This brought joy to his eyes. Using gems to accelerate Ember Fern spore growth was indeed effective. Though increasing gem concentration would face diminishing returns, extreme conditions could compress the spore's maturation time to within one year. Moreover, he observed something even more surprising—the reward information's lustre on the Ember Fern spore had deepened slightly, meaning its reward tier was slowly increasing.
"Following this path, if gem usage reaches sufficient levels, perhaps this Ember Fern's reward tier could elevate to Diamond level. That would cause qualitative reward changes."
He took a deep breath, spirits lifting. Diamond-level plants were rare in his experience—each acquisition process was quite difficult. This Ember Fern reaching Diamond level would require an alchemist constantly refining gems for its care. Throughout magical history, probably no Ember Fern had received such treatment.
"Siris, this Ember Fern needs continuous large-scale gem cultivation. The gem-refining matter troubles you."
Siris looked alarmed, "My King, serving you is Siris's honour—how could it be trouble? But..." He showed difficulty, "Near Sprout Island, ore resources rich in gem components aren't abundant. Though seawater contains almost all resources, using seawater for alchemical refinement drastically reduces efficiency—a full day's work might not produce rice-grain-sized gems. My King, for large-scale gem refinement, it's best using corresponding ore, the alchemists' traditional method."
This made him ponder. This was indeed a problem. Just accelerating Ember Fern growth required hundreds of gems, not to mention attempting to elevate its reward tier—potentially requiring thousands. Purchasing with currency would be astronomical, whether in the non-magical or magical worlds. Using money to purchase minerals and then refining gems in cycles could support such consumption.
But this raised the question: where to obtain these ores? Few magical world wizards were interested in minerals, and the magical world basically operated small-workshop production models—no channels for stable large-scale ore output. However, in the non-magical world, for mining companies, this wasn't difficult. He could find a mining company providing regular large-scale ore supplies.
This plan had considerable feasibility and didn't violate the International Statute of Secrecy—which only prohibited trading with non-magical folk using magical coins or transfigured currency. But he would trade with refined gems, which the Statute couldn't control.
Thinking this, his eyes brightened, immediately finding a directory, searching for mining-related company contacts. He directly excluded large companies and complicated cooperation processes, and his small orders probably weren't worth their attention. It's best to find a small mining-related company: though irregular, there are fewer tedious procedures, and small companies valued every order. Perhaps just providing funds, ore supplies could begin within two weeks.
Under these standards, he rapidly flipped through the directory, finally settling on a company located in Surrey specialising in drill sales and ore excavation. Grunnings Company. Alright, that would do.
That morning at nine o'clock, in Grunnings Drill and Mining Limited's office, Mr. Grunning was worriedly drinking coffee, eyes locked on industry news in the newspaper, muttering, "Damn Germans. They're coming to steal the drill business. No chance—absolutely no chance."
When he repeated this for the thirteenth time, someone suddenly knocked on the office door. He stood up abruptly, face flushing red, "What is it?!"
This was a small company with longtime employees—whether drill sales manager Mason or drill manufacturing manager Dursley, all had worked here their entire lives. Even the receptionist who made coffee and handled accounting was the same.
He could tell from her knocking that something unusual was happening. Then the accounting lady's trembling voice came, "Boss, a customer has arrived. He says he has an order to discuss with you."
Hearing this, he immediately beamed. At this critical juncture, orders were his favourite thing. Whatever the order, for companies like theirs, as long as work continued, they could sustain themselves.
"What are we waiting for?! Quick, come in!"
He impatiently opened the office door, but the figure before him made him pause. Besides the familiar accounting lady stood—a child?
Moments later, he reacted, "Wait, you said customer—"
Ciel glanced at him, "That's me. Mr Grunning, let's quickly discuss cooperation details. I came all this way and have other matters to handle. Of course, if you're not interested in orders, I can find another company soon enough."
When Ciel's gaze met his, Grunning's heart nearly stopped. This gaze seemed to contain some compelling power. He'd spent his life in business, where reading expressions was instinctive, but even when smiling obsequiously at business giants, he'd never felt such anxious unease.
This child was definitely no ordinary person—must have unimaginable origins. Obviously, his previous words had already displeased him. Cold sweat beaded his forehead as he immediately remedied, "No, no, no. Please forgive this fool. Grunnings Company welcomes every order, especially from someone young and promising like yourself—this will invigorate our entire stagnant company. Please enter; let's discuss cooperation."
He presented his business card with both hands. As Ciel casually received it while handing one over, Grunning's heart jumped at the touch—silver inlaid with gold material, and if he wasn't mistaken, corners embedded with gem fragments? Just this single card was quite valuable.
As for authenticity—having dealt with drills and minerals his entire life, if he misjudged this, Grunnings Company should just close down. Instantly, he glanced at the card's name and said enthusiastically, "Mr Sprout, how can Grunnings Company assist you? Not to boast, though nationally and worldwide our company's fame isn't great, our super-sized drill quality is well-reputed. If your family wants to drill for oil in the Middle East or elsewhere, Grunnings Company is absolutely your excellent cooperation partner."
Seeing Grunning's attitude change, Ciel inwardly smiled. Having Siris craft a stack of these luxurious cards proved quite effective—directly being treated as some wealthy family heir planning Middle Eastern oil drilling.
He waved his hand, "No, I'm not interested in drills or oil. I haven't reached the age to inherit such businesses. I need large quantities of gem minerals with stable supply capability. For certain reasons, I don't wish to cooperate with mining giants, so I chose Grunnings Company. You understand?"
Grunning showed an all-knowing expression—probably some great family letting their heir practise. Gem luxury goods industry? Well, quite suitable. For these great families, hiring celebrity endorsements was simple, and gems sold best through celebrity endorsements.
He nodded repeatedly, though his face showed difficulty. Though Grunnings Company's business scope included mineral excavation, its main profit point remained drill manufacturing and sales. Mineral excavation was relatively small-scale, and Ciel's needed quantity far exceeded their annual output.
"Which means we must contract several larger mines and configure drills and excavation equipment. Though we can manufacture these ourselves, our production capacity is limited. Orders are tight now, involving scheduling and such. So regarding price..."
The next moment, Ciel produced a small pouch. Opening it revealed crystalline gems inside, with ancient gold coins gleaming beneath. He spread these gems on the table, "Is this enough as first deposit? I don't want bank transfers." He muttered, "Banks can always trace everything. I don't want people knowing what I'm doing."
Grunning took a deep breath, suppressing his nearly leaping heart, looking at Ciel increasingly like viewing a patron deity, "Respected Mr Sprout, our sales manager and drill manufacturing manager will arrive immediately. They'll explain subsequent plans on-site, including when we can deliver the first batch, approximate quantities, and transportation methods."
Ciel nodded indifferently—he didn't care about specific implementation details, only needing to know delivery timing and quantities.
But next, Grunning's phone call brought somewhat surprised attention. He picked up the receiver, dialling several numbers, "Mason. Dursley. Three minutes. Get to my office immediately!"
Ciel's previously uninterested expression suddenly changed upon hearing one name. Dursley? This surname wasn't particularly common. In Harry Potter, the most famous Dursley was naturally Harry's uncle.
This was Surrey—if he remembered correctly, Number 4 Privet Drive was in Surrey's Little Whinging district. Additionally, Vernon Dursley did indeed work as a manager at a drill company.
Moments later, when a figure so fat his neck disappeared came gasping into the office, he became more certain. Vernon Dursley—indeed him.
The panting Vernon Dursley currently looked utterly confused, obviously still unclear what was happening. Before he'd caught his breath, another suited fellow gratefully slipped a bill into the outside accounting lady's hand before entering, enthusiastically presenting his card to Ciel, "Respected Mr Sprout, I'm Grunnings Company's sales manager, Mason. I can't wait to introduce our mineral excavation plans—believe me, we have rich experience in this area—"
Vernon Dursley looked at this scene blankly. Ciel inwardly shook his head—no wonder in the original story, during the summer before second year, Vernon had to so obsequiously please this Mr Mason. Though both were same-level managers, Vernon had to specifically invite them home for dinner, bringing out his treasured wine and even having his beloved son Dudley act likeable.
The capability gap was indeed quite large. But he then recalled how miserable Harry's summer was in the original story—initially having all correspondence intercepted by the Malfoy family's house-elf Dobby, cutting off contact with friends and making him feel forgotten. Later, because Dobby deliberately knocked over cake at Vernon Dursley's dinner hosting Manager Mason, turning the invitation into utter disaster, Harry was directly locked in his room, not allowed out.
Thinking this, he truly felt moved—this child indeed had it rough. He still owed Harry several favours. Harry's Invisibility Cloak had helped him considerably. Forget it—this time, consider it repaying one favour.
Just then, a voice interrupted his thoughts, "Mr Sprout? What do you think of the plan just now?"
Manager Mason showed a hopeful expression. If this order succeeded, he'd live quite comfortably—maybe even accumulate enough retirement money. Beside him, Vernon Dursley showed a disappointed expression.
Then Ciel nodded, "The plan? Quite good." He pointed at Vernon Dursley, "Then leave this cooperation project to this gentleman. He arrived first—I think he has excellent punctuality concepts. Entrusting this to him gives me confidence."
These words instantly turned Manager Mason's face green, while Vernon Dursley first looked stunned, then showed an ecstatic expression, "Mr Sprout—I, I simply don't know how to thank you. I'll definitely manufacture drills well, complete mineral excavation on time—I guarantee it; I'm most time-conscious."
As Manager Mason's face darkened with regret and Grunning sighed with relief at securing this critical order, Vernon Dursley, as if to express his gratitude, inexplicably added, "Mr Sprout, I also have a child about your age. His birthday is coming soon. I sincerely invite you to attend his birthday party. I've treasured a bottle of wine, 1962 vintage. And not to boast, my wife Petunia's pineapple-glazed ham and lemon pie are absolutely amazing. My Dudley is also a polite little gentleman, just like you—you'll definitely have common topics..."
Before Dursley finished speaking, he noticed Grunning looking at him like he wanted to kill him, while Manager Mason's eyes flashed with schadenfreude. He finally realised he'd said something wrong.
Visibly, Vernon Dursley's expression became panicked and pale. But the next moment, what no one expected was Ciel, after pondering briefly, actually nodded and accepted Vernon Dursley's invitation. "Alright, I'll look forward to that day's banquet."
Vernon Dursley's expression instantly flushed. But Ciel's next words made him even more nervous than before, "By the way, Mr Dursley, does your family have only one child? I mean, will there be any distant relatives' children or something? To be honest, I really enjoy seeing relatives' children gathering together for birthdays; that harmonious feeling—it feels like such families are very reliable."
Dursley wiped forehead sweat, hesitating briefly before gritting his teeth, "Yes, yes, Mr Sprout. My family adopted a distant relative's child. We raised him, supported his education, and guided him not to go astray."
Ciel said meaningfully, "That's good. Then the birthday banquet will be much livelier."
Then he turned, leaving Grunnings Company, "Well then, everyone, pleasant cooperation."
After this meeting ended, Vernon Dursley was directly given over half a month's paid leave by Grunning, who said, "This order is extremely important now. How important that birthday banquet at your home is—I think I needn't say more. Hurry home and prepare well! Especially that distant relative's child you mentioned—during our cooperation with Mr Sprout, treat him well and keep him happy."
This made Vernon Dursley's joy over the upcoming promotion fade considerably upon leaving the company. Treat that troublemaker Harry Potter well and keep him happy? He'd been thinking about grounding the boy for the rest of summer after that stunt with the pudding.
But thinking of this lucrative order, Vernon Dursley still decided to suppress his dissatisfaction with Harry Potter. After all, Mr Sprout was paying handsomely.
Returning to the Dursley home, Vernon immediately went upstairs, calling out Harry. Harry's face looked grim, heart sinking with a bad premonition—had Vernon Dursley finally snapped?
But the next moment, rather than the expected explosion, Vernon actually told his wife Petunia through gritted teeth, "Go buy this—buy Harry Potter—two sets of fitting, proper clothes. Get new glasses. In short, make him look decent. Dudley, don't bully him anymore during this time!"
Soon, amid Aunt Petunia's incredulous shrieking and Dudley's crying and fussing, Harry heard Vernon Dursley explain today's events. His lips suddenly curved into a smile.
The recent disappointment and resentment from writing letters to friends that all went unanswered instantly evaporated. Charles Sprout? The one Vernon mentioned must be Ciel! Merlin above—Ciel hasn't forgotten me!
Meanwhile, Ciel had already returned to Hogwarts, his face showing some smile. Believing this time, Harry's summer could finally be comfortable—consider it repaying one favour for borrowing the Invisibility Cloak.
But just then, he noticed a letter in his small greenhouse's mailbox, just recently delivered. Picking it up, his heart suddenly felt a bad premonition—it was written by Hermione.
After he opened this envelope thick as a book, the contents indeed matched his expectations. Dear Ciel, how's your summer vacation? Interesting?
He skipped the initial pleasantries, going straight to the point. Sure enough, just a few lines later, Hermione couldn't help but begin discussing various magical linguistics questions with him—one question after another like exam papers, making his scalp tingle.
At the end, Hermione left a warm invitation: "Are you free tomorrow? I'm going to London—how about we find a place to discuss these academic questions? I have an amazing discovery I can't wait to tell you face-to-face. You'll never guess what marvellous idea this is. This will definitely be a breakthrough in magical linguistics."
Seeing this, he felt a headache. But remembering Hermione staying up late before departure collecting magical linguistics papers for him, his face showed a bitter smile—he just said he'd repaid some of Harry's favours; now he had to repay Hermione's.
But simultaneously, he grew curious about Hermione's mentioned breakthrough. Generally, Hermione wouldn't use such exaggerated vocabulary. He squinted—perhaps tomorrow's meeting with Hermione could genuinely yield gains? Magical linguistics related to whether he could understand Demeter's oracles—quite important to him.
Thinking this, he turned back, carefully examining these magical linguistics questions. Must say, Hermione had truly earnestly read those papers, probably not slacking since summer vacation began, earning his genuine admiration.
Just as he studied these dry magical linguistics questions preparing for tomorrow's meeting, the small greenhouse suddenly rang with urgent calls—like a thousand wind chimes blown by gale winds producing cacophonous sounds.
He startled, turning to look, discovering the sound's source was the Demeter chalice. Without him using ritual magic, the chalice sounded on its own? Moreover, this sound completely differed from ritual magic's pleasant resonance—more like an alarm.
He frowned, momentarily unable to understand what this alarm indicated. But next, his brow's mental eye transmitted stinging pain. Sixth sense made his mind subconsciously recall a dim, gloomy alley. That's—Knockturn Alley?
Instantly, he realised—anything that makes the Demeter chalice alarm should relate to the fertility goddess Demeter. Currently in the magical world, perhaps only the Robinson family, claiming descent from the fertility goddess, had such possibility.
Combined with the sixth sense warning, he immediately thought of that black-robed figure who'd "rescued" him in Knockturn Alley. Ed Robinson—she's in trouble?
His gaze instantly became cold. If someone else does, even with the chalice warning, so what—not his concern. But Ed Robinson was different. Setting aside her previous assistance, just the critically important knowledge she possessed meant he couldn't let her come to harm.
Moreover, with his current strength, handling ordinary dangers posed no problem. If using Grønir's Blade, throughout the magical world, except for ancient beings, few could threaten him. Even if outmatched, he had the Invisibility Cloak and could escape through shadow magic. Not to mention his super-strong vitality and recovery ability—truly difficult to encounter real trouble.
After instantly weighing pros and cons, he made a decisive decision, immediately scattering Floo powder in the fireplace, "Borgin and Burkes!"
As he spoke the destination, through dizzying spinning, he appeared in Borgin and Burkes' fireplace. Just then, he felt something wrong—the air floated with a strange smell, somewhat like blood yet sweet. Just one breath made intoxicating emotions accompanied by bloodthirsty impulses begin churning from his heart.
One breath made him want another. Fortunately, Occlumency operated, immediately suppressing this impulse. He held his breath, casting a Bubble-Head Charm on himself. With the charm's isolation, he temporarily needn't worry about smelling this strange odour.
Under night vision enhancement, he finally discovered this smell's source—minute powder particles floating through the air like pollen.
He looked outside the window—all of Knockturn Alley was shrouded in this crimson mist. Individual dark wizards walked out from rooms like zombies, wandering the alley, seemingly searching for something. Gradually, they all walked toward the vicinity where he had previously encountered Ed Robinson.
Seeing this, his heart grew wary—this was targeting Ed Robinson? Such a huge operation?
Simultaneously, he felt a familiar sensation—he seemed to have seen this pollen and scene somewhere before. Until moments later, he remembered from his mind: ancient herbology records several of the most dangerous magical herbs from ancient times—Blood Soul Thorns. An extremely aggressive, virulently poisonous, terrible plant capable of confusing and even devouring minds. After flowering, its pollen possesses effects making people intoxicated, bloodthirsty, and controlled. If controlled too deeply by the pollen, those controlled never wake—their minds and knowledge become Blood Soul Thorns' nutrients. Once in ancient times, a terrible island was occupied by Blood Soul Thorns, where several renowned heroes died beneath them. One of them even had a concentrated Titan giant bloodline flowing through him!
Recalling this information, his heart shook with horror—why would such an ancient plant vicious enough to be famous still exist in the modern magical world, even appearing in Knockturn Alley?
His gaze swept over Knockturn Alley's airspace, seeing a scene that made him suddenly clench his fists. A reward orb emanating dense Legendary radiance floated somewhere:
[You discovered Blood Soul Thorns branches surviving from ancient times to the present.]
[Cultivate it to maturity to obtain rewards: Soul Devourer (Legendary Level Secondary Sublimation)]
[Blood Plague Control (Legendary Level Primary Sublimation)]
[Blood Poison (Legendary Level Primary Sublimation)]
[...]