Chapter 112: The Assault on Newt

While young wizard Shiven returned to Hogwarts to continue his studies, the ghost of Shiven found himself inexplicably drawn into Dumbledore’s "plan." However, since this plan was essentially "no plan at all," the ghostly Shiven was left quite perplexed.

"Helena, why do you think Dumbledore roped me into his 'plan'? If he wanted to study the Mirror Dimension, he could have just asked me directly!" Shiven complained to Helena in their dungeon chamber.

"Since Dumbledore discovered the fact that you come from another world, he naturally wouldn't let you sit idle in the castle," Helena said with a smile. "You know so many bizarre spells from other realms that it would be easy to catch the wizards here off guard. Perhaps Dumbledore has arranged an important task for you that relies on the element of surprise!"

"But Grindelwald can foresee fragments of the future. I’m not sure if he could have anticipated my abilities in advance," Shiven frowned, his expression solemn.

Shiven had learned from Manto Trelawney that his young wizard body could not be observed by the "Inner Eye," but seers could perceive the location of his soul. Based on Trelawney’s abilities, he inferred that many prophetic powers acted upon the souls of others. Therefore, Shiven was uncertain whether Grindelwald could directly foresee his soul-form.

"You don't need to overthink it!" Helena held Shiven’s hand and said earnestly. "The most important task right now is to improve your own abilities. If you could reach Dumbledore’s level, do you think you would still need to worry about Grindelwald’s threat as you do now?"

"You're right!" Shiven nodded heavily. "It seems I need to enhance the combat power of my soul-form as well."

In truth, as Shiven relied primarily on Kamar-Taj spells for both offense and defense, his combat prowess resided almost entirely within his soul-form. Even though his secondary soul had fully matured, his spiritual power still did not reach one-third of that of his true soul-form. The strength of one's spiritual power was essentially the deciding factor for the proficiency of Kamar-Taj spells; only those with strong spiritual power could borrow strength from more formidable dimensions, and mastering the manipulation of various powerful energies also required immense mental fortitude.

However, the ghostly Shiven had a flaw: as a mere soul, he possessed no magical power of his own. Consequently, he could only cast spells by borrowing external power or manipulating the ambient magic around him. Spells like the combination of magic and incantations he had recently pioneered were difficult for the ghost to cast, as they relied on a wizard’s internal magic.

Shiven deeply felt that his twenty years at Kamar-Taj had been far too short. Aside from his early years learning to speak, most of his previous life had been spent acquiring knowledge—much of which was dedicated to learning various languages to decipher ancient texts or scouring old records to solve the mysteries of the soul. Actual spellcasting had occupied only a small fraction of his time. Furthermore, most of the spells he had learned were foundational; the powerful spells that required inter-dimensional borrowing were few and far between, and most of those he had secretly pilfered from the restricted section of the library.

As the saying goes, "one only regrets not knowing enough when the time comes to use it." Now that Shiven had begun to dig deep into the vast reservoir of powerful magical knowledge in his mind, he deeply understood the meaning of the old adage.

After the term began, the young wizard Shiven was not idle either. Beyond his daytime classes and nighttime research into combined spellcasting, he never abandoned his weekend alchemy studies. The only change was that his teacher had shifted from Dumbledore to Nicolas Flamel.

Every weekend, Shiven would use the Phoenix-relief book to pinpoint coordinates and open a portal to Flamel’s safehouse. Madame Flamel was always delighted by his arrival, often having her alchemical dolls prepare various delicacies to host him. Shiven would frequently bring unique British gifts for the nearly six-hundred-year-old couple. At the same time, the alchemical knowledge Flamel imparted grew increasingly profound and complex, sometimes even sharing other wisdom he had gleaned over his centuries of life. It was clear that, even if Flamel never explicitly said it, he had begun to view Shiven as his successor.

Time flew, and Shiven spent a fulfilling month this way. On a weekend in February, at Flamel’s safehouse, Shiven was carving complex ancient runes onto a small piece of metal. Flamel smiled, admiring Shiven’s work with great satisfaction. Suddenly, Flamel seemed to sense something; his expression darkened, and he hurried into his workshop. Shiven followed, and at Flamel's gesture, produced the leather-bound Phoenix-relief book.

"Someone is contacting me via the two-way mirror, using the emergency frequency!" Flamel frowned, quickly flipping to the glowing page.

"Mr. Scamander!" Shiven exclaimed upon seeing the figure in the frame.

In the frame on the page, Newt was leaning weakly against a rock, his lips pale and his face drained of color.

"Newt, what happened?" Flamel asked anxiously, observing Newt’s dire condition.

Newt struggled to catch his breath before speaking weakly: "It’s good that Shiven is there too. Quickly, bring me back!"

Shiven immediately determined the coordinates through the mirror in Newt’s hand and opened a dimensional portal. As the golden ring of light appeared, two alchemical dolls from Flamel’s house hopped through and worked together to lift Newt into the safehouse. Shiven assisted by using a Summoning Charm to retrieve Newt’s suitcase from the ground.

Once the portal was closed, Shiven finally had a moment to assess Newt’s condition. Newt was covered in mud, his clothes half-soaked, and he leaned powerlessly against the alchemical dolls. Even in such a weakened state, he kept a tight grip on an unknown magical creature in his arms, occasionally patting its back to soothe it.

"What happened?" Madame Flamel, hearing the commotion, came down from the second floor. She was startled by Newt’s mud-caked appearance. "Oh! Newt, you poor boy! What is this all about?" As she spoke, she brought over a glass of water, attempting to bend down to feed him.

Seeing her struggle, Shiven took the glass from her and crouched down, carefully helping Newt drink. After a sip of water, Newt seemed to regain a sliver of energy and spoke in a hoarse voice:

"Grindelwald’s followers killed the mother Qilin and snatched the other baby Qilin!"