Chapter 10: The Innate Doomed Sacred Body!

“What's wrong, Roger? Why the sighs here?” Tom Elbow approached Roger’s table and handed him a glass of juice.

It wasn’t something Roger had ordered; it was a gift from Tom Elbow at the Broken Kettle Bar.

At first, the bar owner had regarded Roger as a troublesome character and was hesitant to rent him a room. But seeing that Roger was only eleven and homeless, his heart softened.

Over the days of interaction, the owner came to realize that many people misunderstood Roger.

He wasn’t the dangerous person some claimed—someone who was unhappy unless he killed, or who had to kill to be satisfied. He was actually a gentle and helpful child.

As for the battlefield, if you don’t kill others, they will kill you. What’s there to argue about?

Their relationship had improved; at least now there was some friendliness between them.

“Nothing much, just feeling a bit reflective. Becoming a powerful wizard is really difficult,” Roger sighed softly, feeling somewhat lost about which path to take.

Faced with three paths to greatness, Roger’s choices were quite limited.

If he were a prophet like Grindelwald, he would have a good chance of following the Ritual path to immortality. Pursuing the External path through alchemy and potions wouldn’t be impossible either.

But he was not.

Roger’s prophetic ability couldn’t foresee futures unrelated to himself, nor could it see far ahead. The judgments he made about the Middle East’s future situation were based on memories from a past life and intelligence analysis.

His true prophetic gift only allowed him to sense dangers related to himself.

So, the most suitable path for Roger was the path of transformation.

Self-modification, stepping onto the road of evolution—a path with considerable potential.

The main reason wizards in this world haven’t mastered it is that magical experiments are extremely dangerous. Every year, many wizards end up in St. Mungo’s Hospital due to experimental accidents; some don’t even make it to the hospital and turn to ashes immediately.

Take Luna from Ravenclaw, for example—her mother died in an accident during her own spell experiments.

The wizarding world has never lacked innovators, but they either become trapped by their own limited perspectives or lack the talent to overcome the difficulties.

This was especially true in this area.

Much like the progress of modern medicine, which rests on countless sacrifices and selfless contributions, the study of life’s mysteries requires a vast number of experimental subjects.

The wizard population is small and cannot endure brutal trial-and-error.

Use Muggles?

Setting aside legal issues.

Wizards aren’t prepared for an all-out war against Muggle society!

And as for other creatures, magic is highly susceptible to mental interference—modifications that work on lab mice might have unpredictable effects on wizards.

But Roger was different; as a prophet, he could sense dangers related to himself.

In magical experiments, Roger was practically born to court disaster!

Yet…

He could not guarantee that his prophetic ability would always activate.

What if one day he forgot to switch it on? Wouldn’t that be instant self-destruction?

It was a path fraught with enormous risk.

But Roger couldn’t think of a better plan.

In response to Roger’s sigh, Elbow simply smiled and shook his head: “The road to growth is always full of twists and turns. Isn’t that normal? Otherwise, everyone would be as great a wizard as Dumbledore.”

“That’s true,” Roger nodded.

Without much hesitation, Roger had already made his decision.

With his prophetic ability, becoming a prominent figure in the wizarding world wasn’t difficult, but he would never be satisfied with that.

It was like someone who could earn twenty million dollars would never settle for just twenty million.

Since he had a chance to transcend the mundane, even if the path ahead was a sheer cliff, Roger would risk everything to explore that unknown possibility!

As he had said before, he would fight forever, until the moment of his death!

After finishing the juice in one gulp and thanking the owner, Roger turned and headed upstairs.

Terrifying rumors about Roger Virgil continued to spread. Rumors die with the wise, but the wise were always few.

Roger felt that staying downstairs too long might affect the bar’s business, so he hurried upstairs after every meal… If his rented room wasn’t so small—barely enough space for a bed and books, let alone a dining area—Roger might not have chosen to eat downstairs at all.

Since others had helped him, he thought it best not to cause any trouble.

But what Roger considered reasonable wasn’t always seen that way by others.

“Roger,” called Elbow.

“Yes, Uncle Elbow?” Roger replied.

“You’re always reading, reading, reading. It’s been so long—why don’t you go outside for a walk?” Elbow said kindly, worried about Roger’s mental state since he never left the room.

Roger declined: “No, time is precious. School starts soon, and I still have many books to read.”

Although he had decided to pursue the path of transformation,

he hadn’t yet chosen between bloodline transformation, physical transformation, or soul transformation.

This choice couldn’t be made lightly. His lifespan was limited, and he had to achieve immortality before it ended.

He planned to gain enough understanding of all three before selecting the most suitable one.

Some things couldn’t waste time, but others required patience. Roger knew how to weigh priorities.

For this advanced magical knowledge, he planned to consult Professor McGonagall and the exceptional professors at Hogwarts specializing in various fields before making a decision.

This year, Voldemort would quietly take up a professorship at Hogwarts again. Roger wondered if he might glean any knowledge about soul transformation from him…

After declining Elbow, Roger continued upstairs, but after a few steps, he suddenly remembered something.

Shortly after arriving, he had been arrested by the British Ministry of Magic, followed by trials and preparations for a funeral.

After buying his wand and other items, he borrowed books from Professor McGonagall. His schedule was tightly packed.

He almost forgot something fairly important!

Turning back down the stairs, Roger returned to the bar’s main hall and approached Elbow: “Uncle Elbow, I want to ask you about a place.”

“Do you know how to get to St. Mungo’s Hospital?”

“Hm?” Elbow was momentarily taken aback.

“Are you hurt?” He looked Roger up and down.

Doesn’t seem like it.

Roger hesitated before answering: “Sort of—a little trouble. Muggle hospitals are hard to deal with. I think the magical hospital might be better.”

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(A bit under the weather, 38 degrees fever, feeling dizzy while typing. Winter’s coming—everyone, stay warm _(:з」∠)_ )