Theodore's thought had not appeared out of nowhere.
In the primordial world, refining great merit into a treasure of slaughter was no rare matter. Whenever it succeeded, the result was always a treasure of overwhelming fame.
Take, for example, the ancestor of the Blood Sea.
He possessed the twin natal spirit treasures Yuantu and Abi, both nurtured in the Blood Sea itself and born with innate baleful force. Their killing power had been extraordinary from the very beginning.
Later, in the Blood Sea, that ancestor had tried to imitate Nuwa and sought to attain sainthood through merit by creating the Asura race.
The merit gained had not been enough to make him a Saint—
but when the heavenly merit descended and flowed into the twin swords Yuantu and Abi, they were transformed into treasures of merit. Their power increased dramatically, and more than that, they gained an ability almost impossible to find in all the primordial world:
to kill without incurring karma.
One had to understand—within the primordial world, killing inevitably generated karmic burden.
And if karmic burden piled high, then tribulation aura would wrap itself around you.
During the great tribulations of the primordial age, once beings below sainthood became tainted by such aura, death could come at any moment. In the Investiture War alone, more than one or two quasi-saints had died.
So unless one was truly a Saint, one had to remain careful in slaughter, never daring to massacre living beings without restraint, lest karmic burden damage the path itself.
But if one possessed a treasure that allowed killing without karma?
Then there was nothing to fear.
The ancestor of the Blood Sea had relied upon precisely this quality in Yuantu and Abi as he attempted to walk the path of slaughter and prove the Dao through killing, hoping to imitate the ancient dark progenitor and use the Dao of Slaughter to attain sainthood.
His entire ambition had rested upon those twin blades.
If he had succeeded, then Yuantu and Abi would have become the instruments through which he proved the Dao.
And before the ancestor of the Blood Sea, the truest representative of the Dao of Slaughter had naturally been the dark progenitor himself.
By pure coincidence, the reason he had once run rampant without equal, stirring the Dragon-Han catastrophe and leaving fewer than one in ten living beings alive across the primordial world, was not merely the Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation.
His greatest support had been a treasure known as the God-Slaying Spear.
Legend held that this treasure had been formed from the stem of the Chaos Green Lotus, fused with the fiercest baleful force in all of chaos. It was the greatest innate treasure of pure attack.
And beyond that, it possessed an almost unimaginable ability—
it could kill Saints without incurring karma.
Yes.
It could kill Saints.
And it did not fear the karmic burden that should have come from slaying a Saint beneath the Heavenly Dao—let alone the karma from slaughtering ordinary primordial beings.
The dark progenitor had relied upon that treasure to cultivate the Dao of Slaughter without restraint, his cultivation advancing by the day.
All of this flashed through Theodore's mind, and he drew a deep breath.
Of course, he did not dare hope that by pouring this modest amount of merit into his slaughter sword-light, he could immediately refine a flying sword comparable to Yuantu and Abi—
let alone something at the level of the God-Slaying Spear.
But all of these examples proved one thing clearly:
for the path of slaughter, a treasure of merit was of immense importance.
Without a treasure that allowed killing without karma, it was almost impossible for the Dao of Slaughter to truly achieve anything.
But with such a treasure in hand, one could stir heaven and earth even in the primordial world.
"Today, before those so-called Saints, I am no more than an ant."
"But one day, when the Dao of Slaughter reaches completion, this single strand of sword-light may not truly be unable to butcher gods and exterminate saints."
Theodore's eyes shone brighter and brighter.
His mind was made up.
"First came my understanding of the Sword of Slaughter."
"Now comes merit descending upon me."
"Perhaps this is the guidance of my destiny."
"In that case—then I shall refine the sword!"
"Once that sword is complete, I will have the Purple-Gold Crown of Auspicious Clouds for defense, and this merit-forged flying sword for attack. One defense, one offense—almost no weakness at all."
"Then let me see what horrors still dare jump before me."
"Whatever return of the ancient ones you dream of—I'll cut that fantasy into pieces with one sword."
With a wave of his hand, a blood-red sword-light more than three feet long flew forth and began circling around him.
At the same time, Theodore unleashed one of the methods from the Heavenly Demon Treasure-Refining Art.
At once, purple-gold lotus petals began drifting around him in waves. Merit-light poured from his body and flowed into the blood-red sword-light.
…
At the same time, in Hogsmeade, outside the Hog's Head—
Aberforth looked at his brother, and when he realized that Dumbledore was not, in fact, about to die, his face cooled immediately.
"I thought you were dying."
"So you're not."
"Then what exactly are you doing here?"
Dumbledore's face was full of bitterness.
"Aberforth…"
"I came to apologize."
"For what happened back then."
Aberforth's face twisted into exaggerated mockery.
"Apologize?"
"And what good is that supposed to do?"
"If apologies worked, would they bring Ariana back?"
Dumbledore looked as though he had been struck hard in the chest.
His face went pale.
His tall body trembled so badly he could barely remain standing.
There was actual pleading in his expression.
"Aberforth…"
Aberforth slammed the door of the Hog's Head shut.
Then, as if all his strength had been drained at once, he staggered back against the inside of the door, breathing hard, fists clenched tight.
Nearly a century of fury.
A century of grievance.
All of it churned inside him so violently that it seemed ready to explode.
And outside the door, Dumbledore slowly sank down as well, leaning against the tavern wall.
He buried his head in his knees.
Very few people had ever seen Dumbledore cry. Even Aberforth, his own brother, could not remember when the ever-gifted Albus had last shown weakness.
But now—
Dumbledore truly was sobbing.
"Aberforth… Ariana…"
"I needed you."
"I'm so tired. I can't bear this much alone anymore. I can't do it."
"It's been nearly a hundred years."
"I want to go home…"
Inside the Hog's Head, separated by only a single door, Aberforth's eyes widened.
He could hardly believe what he was hearing.
Albus… crying?
All his life, his brother had seemed like a pillar holding up the heavens, someone who could support anything, someone almost omnipotent.
But for the first time in his life, he was hearing Albus admit his own weakness. His own exhaustion.
Slowly, Aberforth's clenched hands loosened.
The fire and bitterness inside his chest gradually ebbed away, leaving only a long, heavy sigh.
It had been nearly a hundred years.
And it was not as though he had never seen what Dumbledore's life looked like.
Sometimes, he felt as though he could see Albus standing alone on some castle tower, gazing toward this place in silent loneliness. Sometimes, he felt as though the two of them were both looking toward Godric's Hollow—their home once, and the home they could never return to.
At least Aberforth still had Ariana's portrait with him.
But Albus?
Even he had come to feel that the punishment had long since been enough.
Outside the Hog's Head, Dumbledore sat there alone.
Then, suddenly, the door that had already been shut opened once more, just a crack.
Aberforth stared at Dumbledore expressionlessly.
After a long silence, he said:
"It's Halloween today."
"Did you bring sweets for Ariana?"
At once, brilliant light sprang into Dumbledore's deadened eyes.
Tears shimmered there as he nodded helplessly, almost fumbling over himself.
"Ariana always liked Honeydukes best. I brought them. I always bring them."
"Every season, I order the newest sweets. I have them—I've always had them—"
Aberforth let out another sigh and opened the door wider.
"Come in."
"Ariana will be happy to hear that."
Dumbledore drew a deep breath.
For him, this felt less like stepping through a tavern door and more like walking into judgment itself—perhaps a thing even harder to endure than the Killing Curse.
But what had to come had to come.
Head lowered, he followed Aberforth through the front of the tavern and into the room where Ariana's portrait hung.
"Ariana…"
"Do you still remember me?"
He looked up at the portrait humbly, already prepared for coldness from his sister.
But in the next instant, Ariana's eyes widened.
Normally so shy, she looked almost as though she wanted to climb right out of the frame and reach for him.
"Albus?"
"Brother—is it really you?"
"You've grown so much white beard. And your hair's all white now too. Even whiter than Aberforth's. You've become so old."
"Why do you never come for Christmas? Aberforth says you're very busy. Are you truly that busy?"
"No wonder you look so tired."
"I want to hug you, but I don't think I can anymore. Brother… I missed you."
Dumbledore broke at once.
His grief tore through him so violently it seemed his heart might split apart.
"I made a mistake."
"A mistake that can never be undone."
"Ariana… I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"
"I was a fool."
"I actually thought there was something more important than you and Aberforth. I must have been mad. I was the most foolish fool in the whole world…"
Ariana, through the frame, tried to smooth down Dumbledore's white hair, as though he were the child and she the elder one.
"It's alright."
"It's alright, brother. It wasn't your fault."
"No one was wrong."
"I never blamed you."
Then she turned expectant eyes toward Aberforth.
"This year… can we spend Christmas together?"
Aberforth gave a snort.
But he did not refuse.
As for Dumbledore, his eyes suddenly lit with a brilliance brighter than they had held in decades, as though he had rediscovered the meaning of life itself.
At this very moment, the magic of love and protection within him was almost bursting forth.
…
And while the flaw in Dumbledore's heart was beginning to heal, Theodore—still in the midst of refining his treasure of merit—saw yet more chaotic writing appear across the System screen.
This time, the entire screen seemed to tremble.
The chaotic text burst forth in a torrent.
Even through the System, Theodore could feel the towering fury of those nameless beings beyond it.
It was as though Saints themselves were roaring in rage.
[By your intervention, the Southern Pole Elder Immortal's heart—once obscured by tribulation aura—begins to return toward flawlessness.]
[His lifetime of cultivation now surges upward and seems capable of connecting the Ninth Heaven itself. The Saints above the Ninth Heaven take note!]
[If this continues, then within the great tribulation the Southern Pole Elder Immortal may prove the Dao and become a Saint. The primordial world would gain another Saint. Much of the previous arrangement would collapse at once, and even the overall design of the tribulation could be altered!]
[The wrath of the Saints can no longer be measured!]
[Though separated by the Ninth Heaven, though the tribulation has not yet opened, and though the Saints still cannot act directly—at this very moment several of them already long to take your life!]
In the Black Lake at Hogwarts, the madness in the giant squid's eyes suddenly surged more violently than ever before. Ancient and terrifying magic began flowing through it, and it started slowly rising toward the surface.
In the Forbidden Forest, the grey mist swelled thicker than at any time before, as if some ancient and terrible thing was preparing to step out from its depths.
Then, in the next instant, Theodore looked at the trembling System screen—
and let out a cold, disdainful laugh.
Immediately after—
a golden-red radiance, woven from gold light and blood light together, manifested into the world with a ringing cry.
Heavenly flowers fell in profusion.
Golden lotuses burst from the earth.
A three-foot flying sword, wrapped in golden-red radiance, cut through the air, circling in flight, its merciless killing aura shooting straight into the stars.
In an instant, even the constellations of the Ninth Heaven dimmed beneath the force of that killing intent.
Theodore took the sword into his hand and pointed it toward all directions.
"I'll give you a chance."
"Which one of you wants to come die first?"
In the Black Lake, the giant squid's eyes cleared for a single moment. Then, without a word, it sank back down with a series of silent bubbles.
In the Forbidden Forest, the vague silhouette within the grey mist likewise withdrew quietly into the deepest parts of the woods.
On the System screen, the chaotic script that had been boiling like floodwater suddenly dimmed.
In its place came lines of scarlet text.
[Your heart of the path, your sword-heart, and your killing-heart—none of which fear even Saints—have stirred a ringing sword-light within the Blood Sea.]
[Yuantu crosses the sky. Abi appears in the world. And in the primordial world, an even deeper killing intent is faintly stirred—one that makes even Saints feel fear.]
[When Abi falls from the void, neither heaven nor the mortal world can endure it.]
[The whole world shakes. Vast hellscapes unfold at once.]
[The Saints… retreat!]
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