"I don't remember much of what happened next... but I can still feel him, right in my mind."
Nagini took a deep breath and spoke the bone-chilling truth in as calm a voice as she could muster, "Even now." After speaking, the woman subconsciously looked at the two people in front of her with expectant eyes, but clearly, she did not receive the feedback she hoped for.
"Yes, your feeling is correct, you have become Voldemort's second living Soul Artifact."
William nodded, helping to clarify for the woman.
"Living... Soul Artifact? Second? What does it mean..."
Nagini blinked blankly, struggling to spell out the unfamiliar awkward term.
She hadn't gone to school.
"A Soul Artifact, a magical item that allows Voldemort to achieve resurrection, 'and a living Soul Artifact', as the name implies——I suspect that Voldemort might have just tried it at the time. Ah, a person, Little Tom, isolated deep within the jungle, felt insecure; he feared that all his backups would be extinguished by Dumbledore, so he had to leave an insurance——"
William began to "vividly" dramatize the situation, creating a very visual depiction.
"Do you mean, can Voldemort still be reborn?"
Nagini sprang from the chair as if Voldemort had been groping her from beneath, her voice couldn't help but shake.
Though her snake form left her memory somewhat fragmented and confused, she still had some recollection of Voldemort's actions.
"No."
"But am I not that living Soul... uh, Soul Tomb?"
"It's Soul Artifact, but the situation is more complicated——in short, Voldemort's resurrection was initially restricted by a special method I used, that was the case originally."
William scratched his chin, continuing to provide a basic education for a snake, "But now there's a problem——some people have found Voldemort's external Soul Artifact and seem intent on destroying the... uh, tool I used to block the position, so, I have a new plan——"
"Related to me, right?… So what is it?" Nagini seemed a bit nervous.
"Hijacking——"
"?"
...
...
"...Cough cough!"
Northwest London, Claremont Square, beneath a rusted overpass.
A man in a jacket with holes couldn't stop coughing, his face pale, beard scraggy, every crack in his skin seemed full of nauseating grime—yes, he was just such a stereotypical homeless character, only his body seemed even more frail, every breath accompanied by the sound of a rickety bellows being pulled.
He leaned weakly, seemingly destined not to last long——
Great Britain's weather always seemed gloomy, with frigid rain that seemed to soak into one's bones, the man began to shiver uncontrollably, and he instinctively tightened his worn out jacket.
Accompanying his movements, a rusty gold chain spilled out from his chest, and at the chain's end, hung a similarly rusty gold pendant box.
"You're going to die."
A young man dressed in a neat suit, covered by a black cloak, appeared by the side of the homeless man, and he said softly, his voice full of pity.
"..."
The homeless man did not react, only half-laying against a pillar, staring emptily at the ground before him.
"...What are you holding on to?"
The young man continued, his voice gradually tinged with impatience.
"Don't... know."
This time, he was greeted not by silence but by a series of indistinct syllables from the man's damaged throat.
"Even if you die here, no one will remember you—your persistence is meaningless!"
The young man crouched down, anger showing on his face, and he unceremoniously pinched the homeless man's cheeks, saying fiercely.
"No, no..."
The homeless man did not struggle, only continuing to use broken syllables to piece together words.
"What?"
Tom furrowed his brows, seemingly not understanding the other's point of denial.
"There's also you, you will remember me—you will definitely hate me, Demon... cough cough cough!!"
The man began to cough violently, as if trying to cough his lungs out of his chest cavity, but his face showed a sneer full of irony. He raised his head, blue eyes bloodshot staring fixedly at the man in front of him, his tone taunting, "I think... your lungs should be more uncomfortable than mine, right? Demon?"
"You—you damned, dirty, despicable Muggle!!"
Tom was completely enraged, he couldn't tolerate a Muggle showing him such a mocking expression, but—just like this person said, he could do nothing, even if his lungs were about to burst—unlike his mind-controlling diary, he could only use the pendant box Soul Artifact's power to affect this one person's health...
Just speeding up his encounter with the God of Death by a hundred times.
Beyond that, he could do nothing——
But why, someone tell him—why is this Muggle persisting to such a degree?! He's clearly just a thief, this kind of person should be without principles, self-destructive, shameless roles right? How is it, at this moment you don't fit the mold?
"Dirty? Haha, compared to what's in your head, I think I'm as pure as an angel——"
The homeless man seemed to have found strength from somewhere, he staggered up from the ground, the smile on his face fading, expressionless as he said, "You shouldn't have let me see that evil mind of yours, dear Demon Wizard sir, if you disguised yourself as 'the grandfather from the ring'... cough cough, then maybe I would have thought I was the protagonist——"
"You——"
Tom took a deep breath, seemingly mentally preparing for something, "Of course you can become the protagonist, Muggle sir——we can make a deal, you can have everything you want, I can assure you of that..."
"Shut up, asshole, you don't even know my name."
The man curled his lips, no longer paying attention to Tom who was defensively impacted by his words, and began to dig a pit with his bare hands in the hard, cold soil——
"You——"
"How pathetic."
From the other side of the overpass, a new voice entered this scene that seemed like a mad homeless man's monologue.
So, the man who was digging the pit turned his head, looking at the new face standing not far away holding an umbrella, and he first hesitated——
"Who the hell are you now?"