Deep within the Forbidden Forest, the moonlight fell like shredded silver foil, slipping through layers of twisted branches that clawed like ghostly hands. It illuminated a devastated clearing.
Hearing Malfoy's blood-curdling scream, Lucian rushed over from another direction.
Then he saw it.
The tall figure in a black cloak slowly rose from the corpse of the unicorn, whose life had long since faded.
He—Professor Quirrell in disguise—had just finished drinking enough unicorn blood to slightly ease the burning weakness in his body.
He noticed the figure standing quietly in the distance.
Unlike Malfoy, who had screamed and fled, this one had not moved.
Just a reckless first-year student.
From beneath Quirrell's cloak came a hoarse, unpleasant laugh, like the cry of a night owl.
Deliberately, he released the foul aura surrounding him—the mixture of unicorn blood and pure evil.
He let it pour out freely, forming a suffocating wave of spiritual pressure that slammed toward the slender boy.
His intention was simple.
To awaken the terror buried deep within the soul and frighten the boy into running away like that blond child earlier.
Yet what surprised him—
The boy did not move at all.
Lucian's eyes were calm.
So calm that the shadow before him—radiating an aura capable of terrifying even adult wizards—seemed no more remarkable than a motionless stone.
To ordinary perception, the figure ahead was merely a dark silhouette cloaked in evil.
But Lucian understood that things were far more complicated.
This timid Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who always smelled of garlic…
There was something far more terrifying attached to him.
Let me see…
What your pathetic secret really looks like.
His heaven-defying comprehension activated.
Research Topic: How to pierce both physical and magical disguises and directly observe the soul signal of a living being.
Solution: Use the analytical structure of the Eye of Shattered Illusion as a foundation. Combine it with an understanding of the essence of the soul to create a perception spell capable of converting abstract "life signals" into visible light.
Spell Constructed.
Name: Life Perception.
A faint golden gleam flickered once again deep within Lucian's dark eyes.
This time he activated a brand-new spell—one born moments ago within his mind.
Life Perception.
In an instant, the entire world before him was overturned and reconstructed.
The ground, dead trees, corpses—every physical object faded into gray silhouettes, stripped of color.
Only life remained radiant within this gray world.
He could see Hagrid in the distance and Harry on the opposite side.
Their bodies burned with bright, warm flames that represented the vitality of life.
But the tall figure before him…
Lucian raised an eyebrow slightly.
What he saw was something grotesque.
A bizarre image that would drive any necromancer mad with fascination.
A dual-soul coexistence.
Inside that body flickered a weak gray flame—dim and fragile, like a candle about to be extinguished by the wind.
That flame radiated weakness, fear, and pain.
Clearly it belonged to the body's original owner—
Professor Quirrell.
But above that pitiful gray flame, near the back of the head, there clung another presence.
Like a parasite attached to bone.
A mass of pitch-black energy.
It was made purely of hatred, decay, resentment, and endless malice—thick and viscous like living ink.
That black mass stretched out countless thin tendrils.
They pierced deeply into Quirrell's fading gray life-flame, greedily draining the last fragments of his vitality to sustain themselves.
The remnant soul of Voldemort.
At the moment Lucian saw this, a tiny ripple passed through his otherwise tranquil mind.
Not fear.
But understanding.
So that was it.
This was the pitiful form of the Dark Lord who once shook the entire wizarding world.
Lucian immediately grasped the truth.
Quirrell's tightly wrapped turban.
The heavy smell of garlic used to mask the stench of decay.
His weak body that always seemed on the verge of collapse.
Everything suddenly made perfect sense.
Once Lucian understood the truth, his gaze toward Quirrell subtly changed.
No longer merely calm.
Instead, it carried the look of someone who had uncovered every secret.
There was even a hint of sympathy—for Quirrell.
And a faint trace of disdain toward Voldemort's miserable state.
Beneath the cloak, the crimson eyes that belonged to Voldemort flashed with shock.
And unease.
He sensed something immediately.
The boy's gaze had changed.
It carried a feeling—
As if every secret, every disguise, every struggle he possessed had been completely exposed.
As if he stood naked before the boy's eyes.
He… saw through me?
Impossible.
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