[Congratulations, host! Your private tutor's recognition level has reached 100%. You've gained 100 Achievement Points and earned one Talent Draw chance.]
[First time obtaining 100% recognition from a private mentor. Beginning ascension reward…]
[Detected: Private tutor possesses mythological attributes. Capturing mythic essence... capture complete.]
[Congratulations! You have acquired: The Twelve Labors (Custom Version for Host)]
A cascade of system messages descended upon Tom just as he was about to speak with Andros, leaving him completely stunned.
Even Andros noticed something was off. "Tom? What's wrong?" he asked curiously.
Tom didn't answer immediately. He stood there dazed for a moment, then broke into a smile that widened rapidly—until he burst into full-blown laughter.
"Haha! Andros, my talent just evolved! You're getting a new colleague soon to keep you company!"
Double happiness—this was truly a case of it raining blessings.
Adding in the 100 Achievement Points he'd just earned, his total had finally crossed 1,000. And the regular talent draw had unexpectedly evolved, giving him a massive reward.
Considering this was tied to the mythological nature of Andros—who was he in myth again?
Hercules. The mighty demigod—Hercules.
Inside the learning space, Andros was so shocked he couldn't speak.
He had always thought Tom's abilities were already absurd: an isolated space immune to outside interference, a legendary mentor from his era, inheriting multiple abilities from said mentor, and the ability to summon Andros' power in times of need.
In terms of potential, growth, combat capability, and safety—everything was covered.
But now this already broken gift could actually evolve?
Would there come a day when an actual legend was born?
Or perhaps—was this the beginning of one?
"Tom, hurry, let him out!" Andros said, visibly excited.
Though he was the strongest in his own era, he was far from the pinnacle of magical history. The legendary figures of the past had always intrigued him—what kind of realms had they truly reached?
"Hold your horses. Let me digest this first."
Andros immediately shut up, afraid of disturbing him.
Tom began reviewing his system rewards.
[Twelve Labors: Destiny may be inescapable, but wisdom and strength can carve new paths. Hercules, in his mortal (demigod) flesh, completed twelve epic challenges. These legendary feats shall now be manifest in magic and serve as fuel for the host's ascension.]
[Effect: Complete a trial to earn its corresponding reward. Completing all twelve will result in total physical ascension, and all existing talents and bloodlines will be upgraded by one tier.]
[First Trial – The Dragon: Slay a fire dragon in direct combat. No external assistance permitted (wand allowed). Bathe in dragon's blood. Embrace death, and be reborn.]
[Reward: Perfect fusion with dragon bloodline. Significant enhancement to life essence and magical power.]
[Note: Trial duration – 12 months. If not completed, a new challenge will randomly replace it. No penalty for failure.]
Tom stared blankly at the information, completely dumbfounded.
Twelve Labors. Each challenge tied to a specific reward. And if all were completed, his entire being would be refined, ascended, elevated to a whole new level.
Even if the rewards were mediocre, that'd still be impressive—but just look at this first trial.
Slay a fire dragon alone—no help, no tricks. Bathe in its blood, and fully integrate its legendary bloodline.
There had always been countless theories about the origin of wizardkind. Though the "magical creature origin" theory wasn't mainstream, it had its believers.
That school of thought claimed that in ancient times, before humans ever existed, magical creatures roamed the world, each with unique powers. When humanity eventually emerged, they interbred with those beings, gaining magical bloodlines—and that's where wizards came from.
More radical versions claimed that goblins, humans, centaurs, and house-elves once shared a common ancestor, diverging along different evolutionary branches.
Naturally, such ideas were seen as heretical and were shunned—after all, they lowered the prestige of wizards as the dominant species of the magical world.
Some suspected the Dumbledore family carried the blood of the phoenix—explaining why a phoenix would occasionally appear in their line.
And Tom? He had long suspected Voldemort's transformation into that snake-like monstrosity wasn't just due to dark magic. The Dark Lord had likely fused with the bloodline of some magical creature.
This first reward—dragon blood—was already insanely powerful. That meant the remaining eleven rewards would likely be just as rare and god-tier.
Tom's blood boiled with excitement.
He wanted to hunt a dragon right now.
But… that wasn't realistic.
One, they were near impossible to locate. Two, even if he found one—he wouldn't win.
Everyone in the magical world knew how deadly fire dragons were: armored scales, scorching breath, razor-sharp claws—any of which could spell death for a wizard.
Even trained Dragon Wranglers needed coordinated teams of ten or more to subdue one safely—and even that was only to capture, not kill. Killing one? That came with a whole new level of risk.
If only poisoning were allowed…
Snape's notes did include some extremely powerful toxins.
Tom inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm down. He re-entered the learning space and immediately asked:
"Andros, have you ever killed a fire dragon?"
Andros looked puzzled—weren't they just talking about talent evolution? Why the sudden dragon talk?
Still, he nodded. "Fire dragons? I've slain two. One black, one horned. Both times I was strapped for cash."
Back in Andros' day, there were no magical creature protection laws. If you wanted to kill a beast, you did it.
Fire dragons were communal creatures, often nesting together on bountiful mountains or remote islands.
Killing one, in Andros' words, involved three simple steps:
Step one: Charge into a dragon nest.
Step two: Withstand the furious assault of a dozen—or dozens—of dragons.
Step three: Slay one of them, then walk out like nothing happened.
Simple. Clear. Direct.
Tom's eyes gleamed. "So… what do you think of me?" he asked with eager anticipation. "Do you think I can slay a fire dragon?"
Andros's expression twisted strangely. "You? Kill a fire dragon?"
Tom hurried to explain, "Not the way you did—charging in fists flying. I mean a proper duel, a one-on-one, head-on battle with a lone fire dragon."
"Oh..." Andros visibly relaxed. For a moment there, he thought Tom had lost his mind.
"Still very difficult," Andros said bluntly, delivering some less-than-encouraging news. "Those big lizards may not be brilliant, but they're ridiculously tough. You've been learning white magic—reliable, methodical. The stronger your magic, the deeper your understanding, the more powerful the spells become. But the downside is... it lacks lethality. Works great against wizards, since we're all just flesh and bone. But dragons? You're still a bit green."
He paused before adding, "And they can fly. If it senses mortal danger and decides to escape, you couldn't even stop it."
Tom almost blurted out, Isn't that what broomsticks are for? I'll just chase it down on one! But he immediately remembered the system's restriction: no external aid except for a wand. Even a broomstick was considered outside help.
His mood soured instantly.
"What about Dark magic?" Tom pressed on, unwilling to let go of the idea.
This time, Andros looked awkward. "Dark magic... isn't really my thing. I never studied the kind of curses you lot use in the future. But maybe? There's a chance?"
As someone whose very existence screamed light and righteousness, someone who'd pushed the Patronus Charm to levels bordering divine, Andros truly had no expertise in the dark arts.
Tom sighed in frustration.
So many spells, so little time. And not nearly enough useful ones for a situation like this.
He regretted playing the goody two-shoes at school just to keep Dumbledore off his back. If he hadn't wasted time with that charade, he'd at least have a few deadly curses in his arsenal by now.
Wait.
A spark lit in Tom's eyes like a thunderbolt across still water.
He'd been so focused on the Twelve Trials, he'd completely forgotten—he could summon another teacher!
If he brought in a Dark Arts master, wouldn't that solve the whole problem?
"Andros, I'm going to summon your colleague now," Tom announced with sudden resolve. "You may not know him, but he's definitely on your level—a powerful wizard from another age."
Andros nodded enthusiastically. Being alone for so long had driven him nearly mad with boredom. Summoning him into the real world cost Tom valuable mental energy (study points), so he mostly just lingered in this inner realm. Though he could sleep through the tedium, what kind of second life would that be?
Finally, someone was coming to keep him company!
Tom inhaled deeply and focused.
"System, spend 1000 achievement points and summon a teacher at the Century King level."
The system immediately responded.
A thousand achievement points vanished from the interface, transforming into a golden light that shot from Tom's body, piercing the endless white mist in the distance.
BOOM—!
The fog burst apart.
The training space—already the size of a Quidditch pitch—expanded again, doubling in size in the blink of an eye.
Tom and Andros stared intently toward the densest swirl of white fog, waiting eagerly for the new arrival.
—
Meanwhile, in Austria. At the very top of Nurmengard Tower.
An old man in a prison uniform, his long white hair disheveled, sat silently.
His eyes widened in shock—then disbelief. But that expression slowly melted into one of deep curiosity.
—
Back in the learning space.
Tom and Andros both furrowed their brows as they studied the 'newcomer'.
That outfit... was that a prison uniform?
A Century King wearing prison clothes?
As someone who stood at that level himself, Andros understood the implications all too well: A wizard of that caliber might be defeated, might even die—but to be imprisoned? Practically impossible.
Without a will of steel, one couldn't possibly control the storm of raw magical power surging within such a body.
Could something have gone wrong with Tom's talent?
A flicker of concern crossed Andros's face. A 100% approval rating meant the summoned teacher had accepted Tom as a beloved protégé. Naturally, Andros hoped for nothing but Tom's success.
"This... esteemed teacher, could you please introduce yourself?"
It was Tom who finally broke the silence.
The man in prison garb hadn't spoken a word since appearing—just stared between Tom and Andros.
Stupid system, he grumbled inwardly. No prompt, no introduction. Now he had to rely on awkward small talk.
The prisoner still didn't speak.
He looked around the entire learning space first, just like Andros had done when he first arrived. Only after finishing his sweep did he finally turn back to Tom—and then cracked a crooked smile.
"Gellert Grindelwald. Your second teacher."
WHAT?!
Tom's jaw dropped.
"You're Grindelwald?!"
Andros searched his memory furiously, recalling everything he'd read since his resurrection. He finally remembered the name.
"You're the Dark wizard who was defeated by Dumbledore? But wait—weren't you imprisoned? Are you... dead?"
At the mention of Dumbledore, Grindelwald's eyes narrowed—but only briefly. He then chuckled to himself with a self-deprecating smile.
"Alas, no. This failure still lives—barely—imprisoned in the top of Nurmengard Tower."
He turned to Andros, his eyes now gleaming with admiration.
"But you, sir... your reputation echoes across millennia. In every corner of the magical world, the moment someone mentions the Patronus Charm, the first name that comes up is yours—Andros."
"Hahahaha! You flatter me!" Andros laughed.
But Tom wasn't laughing. He shot a mental complaint to the system.
"System, what the hell is going on? Why did you summon Grindelwald?!"
The system calmly responded:
[System self-check in progress... Check complete. No error detected in current summoning.]
[Note: The system is not restricted to summoning deceased wizards as private teachers. Gellert Grindelwald meets the required power threshold and fits the summoning criteria.]
"No, no no," Tom said, starting to panic. "What if he leaks my secrets? What if one day you summon Voldemort? How am I supposed to kill him then?"
He had always assumed his teachers would be ancient figures—legends pulled from the mists of history. Maybe even literal myths. He never expected them to be living, breathing people from his own time.
[Please be assured, host. The system is designed with the protection of your interests as its highest priority.]
[Grindelwald has entered into a contract with the learning space. He will obey all space regulations. Upon his soul's return, he will be unable to reveal any information about the host.]
Only then did Tom finally relax.
Once Grindelwald left, he'd be silenced. He couldn't spill a word—not even to Dumbledore. No tattling, no betrayal.
Still, Tom grumbled, "Grindelwald is one thing... but what if Voldemort shows up next?"
Say what you will about the man—his strategy was flawed, and his mind clearly damaged—but there was no denying his raw power. He was undeniably worthy of the Century King rank.
The system responded patiently.
[Host's resistance to living magical figures detected. Once the second teacher reaches 100% approval, system will initiate an update to optimize future summoning criteria.]
Only now did Tom breathe fully, deeply, with relief.
There would be no more living wizards after this.
Not Voldemort. Not even old Dumbledore.
Feeling much more reassured, he turned toward the two wizards—now done exchanging praise—and forced a polite smile.
"Mr. Grindelwald, I'm Tom Riddle. A pleasure to meet you."