At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

In a corner of the library's restricted book section,

Lucian closed his book, *The Heresy of the New World*.

It appeared exceptionally thin among the surrounding magical tomes that were often as thick as bricks.

"I see."

He picked up his iced coffee and took a sip. The bitterness spread across his tongue, a taste that kept him alert.

In 1620, the Mayflower set sail. The world only knew it as a Puritan pilgrimage, unaware that it also carried a group of madmen expelled from the orthodox magical world of the Old World.

His ancestors were among them.

Gideon Ashford.

"Gideon... a warrior of the Old Testament, yet he does the works of the devil."

Lucian's finger traced the blurry annotation on the page:

"They scorned Merlin's glory and instead believed in the sacramentation of the human body. They considered the mortal body to be a prison for the spirit, and that only through cruel alchemical transformation could it bear the magical power of a 'god' level."

This is the theoretical basis for Cassius Ashford's insane experiments.

The ritual that turned his own son into an Obscurant was a replica of the delusion of creating a god three hundred years ago, albeit a clumsy failure.

Lucian closed the book, and with a flick of his wrist, the book flew back to its original position.

"A group of fanatics guided by obscurantist theology."

……

At 3:30 p.m., on the lawn west of the castle.

The four colleges' flying brooms were neatly arranged on the ground.

Lucien stood beside his weapon and gave his assessment:

"The center of gravity is extremely uneven, the tail section lacks any aerodynamic design, and even the most basic shock-absorbing magic patterns are mostly worn away." Lucian looked at the bare wooden handle. "Relying on the brutal friction between the femur and hardwood to stabilize the body? Is this a flying machine, or some kind of medieval torture device?"

"Extend your right hand and place it above the broom handle," Mrs. Hodge scanned the room, "and say, 'Get up!'"

"stand up!"

As soon as Harry finished speaking, the broom jumped into his hand.

Hermione's broom just rolled lazily.

It's Lucian's turn.

He didn't shout. In his view, shouting was merely a way to guide the mind, and his level of magical control naturally didn't require such a method.

Moreover, this "Sweeping Seven Stars" is old and has a very high failure rate; he has no interest in flight lessons and only needs to complete the mission.

So he stretched out his palm and pressed it down slightly.

Gray magic power surged from his dantian.

The broom, which had been lifeless, was suddenly lifted up by a strong force.

"Very interesting technique, Mr. Ashford." Mrs. Hodge walked over and glanced at him again. "It lacks a bit of passion, but the control is impeccable. Now, get on."

Lucian sighed.

He really didn't want to have that dirty wooden stick between his legs.

He turned to the side, gripping the front of the broom handle with one hand, as if he were holding a broadsword.

"Mr. Ashford! Get on!" Mrs. Hodge shouted, "unless you want to slide down and break your neck in mid-air!"

"The straddle position doesn't offer much greater lateral stability during high-speed maneuvers than a side-mounted position, madam," Lucien explained politely. "Besides, the surface finish on this stick is too rough; I don't want to ruin my robe."

Suddenly, Neville Longbottom was launched.

Lucian noticed a sudden surge of magical energy emanating from Neville's broom.

"ah--!"

Neville screamed and shot into the sky. He lurched violently twelve feet in the air, his face pale, and slid off the broom.

Harry cried out and tried to rush forward, but it was too far away.

It can be saved.

Lucian stood still and took out his magic wand.

"Arresto Momentum (Shock Absorption and Speed ​​Stop)".

An invisible yet dense aura instantly formed directly below Nave, like an invisible net stretched to its limit, attempting to counteract the potential energy of free fall.

But just as the aura was taking shape, he sensed something was wrong.

His grey magic did indeed manage to slow Neville from a fatal impact to near zero speed within a short distance.

However, the trade-off is that the local air is violently compressed, creating high-intensity turbulence.

The airflow felt as if it had been slapped hard by an invisible hand, instantly exploding in all directions.

Simo Finigan, who was closest to the center of the disturbance, was hit hard by the sudden lateral turbulence.

"Get out of the way! My broom's gone mad too!"

Seamus screamed in terror, his voice thick with Irish accent. His broom, as if whipped by an invisible lash, tumbled sideways, carrying him erratically toward Lucien.

Its trajectory completely deviated from normal aerodynamics, yet it strangely "just happened" to crash into the edge of the deceleration field that Lucian had just set up.

boom!

Magic surges.

Lucian grunted and once again forcefully mobilized the magic power within his body, attempting to stabilize his collapsing aura.

At this moment, a sudden change occurred.

A loud bang suddenly echoed from the depths of the forbidden forest, startling the flock of birds into scattering in all directions.

As if by coincidence, a large flock of birds flew straight towards the two people who were slowly landing under Lucian's control.

Neville, who had just begun to land, screamed again in fright. The sweat on his hands made him lose his grip on the memory ball, which fell onto the grass.

The crowd below gasped in surprise.

The flock of birds ignored his spell and crashed into the two men.

The aura was shattered. Seamus's broom tail slammed into Neville, who was falling.

"Damn it."

This is not an accident. This is the world saying no to him, this "variable".

boom.

Neville crashed heavily onto the grass with a sickeningly loud thud.

Mrs. Hooch, pale-faced, rushed over and picked up the weeping Neville. Fortunately, because Seamus's impact had changed the angle, although his wrist was broken, his neck was not.

The plot has returned to normal.

Lucian slowly lowered his wand, his body trembling slightly from the backlash he had just experienced from the "rules".

As he watched Neville being taken away, his disgust for this world deepened. "What an inflexible and lousy system."

However, there are always people looking for fun.

Draco Malfoy picked up the Memory Orb that Neville had dropped.

"Look, that big oaf's grandma gave him this treasure." Malfoy picked up the memory orb, his face full of undisguised schadenfreude. He mounted his broom and flew into the air. "I'm going to put it on top of this tree."

"Give it to me!" Harry grabbed the broom and was about to take off.

"Don't go, Harry!" Hermione shouted. "Madame Hooch said—"

But Harry had already flown away.

The momentum of the plot was so strong that Harry, like an angry eagle, made an extremely beautiful sharp turn in the air and blocked Malfoy's path.

Lucien remained standing on the ground, looking up at the scene.

"Extremely high dynamic vision, excellent balance." He observed Harry's movements and gave an objective assessment, "but he completely disregarded the wind's interference with the broom. He was gambling with his life."

Malfoy, suspended in mid-air, was clearly intimidated by Harry's imposing presence.

"What, Potter, you want this?" Malfoy raised the ball, as if to throw it.

This time, he didn't use magic. Since physical interference could be corrected, he would try using pure logic and language.

"If I were you, Malfoy, I wouldn't throw it that way."

The sound wasn't loud, but with the amplification spell, it clearly penetrated the wind and entered everyone's ears.

Malfoy looked down and saw Lucian standing in the shade of a tree, holding the notebook in his hand.

"Based on the current southwest wind speed and the angle of your arm swing..."

"There's a very high chance your parabolic trajectory will smash right through Professor McGonagall's office window on the third floor. If you want to be expelled this afternoon, go ahead."

Malfoy's hand froze.

He subconsciously looked in that direction, and there it was indeed directly opposite the main tower of the castle.

Fear overcame arrogance.

"You're talking nonsense!" Malfoy shouted, trying to sound tough, but his hand visibly trembled as he threw the ball, turning his intended long-range shot into a panicked vertical throw.

The memory ball was released from my hand, tossed high into the air, and then fell back down.

"Now."

Harry lowered his broom and swooped down like a red meteor, catching the glass ball steadily less than a foot from the ground.

A perfect landing.

The Gryffindors erupted in cheers.

"Harry Potter!"

Professor McGonagall's surprised and angry voice arrived as expected.

The outcome remained the same. Harry was still taken away.

Malfoy landed, passing by Lucien with a look of jealousy and schadenfreude.

"Looks like that idiot's going to get fired," he said smugly. "And you, Ashford, don't think your little bit of cleverness can scare me."

Lucian looked at him as if he were watching a poorly written play with a predetermined ending.

"Not only did you fail physics, but you also got a zero in facial expression analysis," he said calmly. "Judging from Professor McGonagall's expression when she ran over just now, she was more excited than angry. Potter won't be expelled."

After saying that, he turned and left, leaving Malfoy bewildered in the wind.

……

Dinner time, in the Great Hall.

Lucian gracefully sliced ​​the lamb chops on his plate. He wasn't at all surprised that Harry hadn't been expelled, but instead had become the youngest Seeker in a century.

"This isn't fair!" Malfoy complained to Crabbe and Goyle at another table. "I'm going to get my dad to kick that Potter out!"

Just then, the sound of flapping wings came from above the auditorium.

A huge, tattered eagle owl stumbled in. It was soaking wet, as if it had just come through a storm. It went straight to the Ravenclaw table and threw a letter stained with dark red ink next to Lucien's plate, nearly spilling his pumpkin juice.

The owl didn't linger; it let out a hoarse, mournful cry and hurriedly flew into the night.

Several Ravenclaw students nearby avoided the letter with disgust.

Lucian put down his knife and fork and picked up the letter.

The envelope was unsigned. But in the realm of mental perception, the dark red stain exuded a nauseating stench of blood, and a trace of... dark magic.

He pulled out the letter.

The handwriting was messy and chaotic; it was Cassius's handwriting.

"They know."

"The experiment was a success, and you survived. The ghosts of the Mayflower... they want to reclaim that 'perfect container'."

"Keep your secrets hidden. Don't let them see your soul. Hogwarts isn't safe either."

"——C"

Lucian stared blankly at the lines of text.

Then, he pressed it gently, and the letter turned into dust and disappeared with the wind.

He raised his head, his gaze passing over the noisy crowd in the Great Hall, over Snape talking to Quirrell in the teachers' section, and onto the dark night sky outside the window.

So-called fate is real.

If there were no such variable as him.

Now, in addition to fighting against the inertia of this world, he also has to face a group of savage madmen who want to dissect and study him.

"It seems that simply repairing the house is not enough."

Lucien picked up his glass and downed the pumpkin juice in one gulp. The cloyingly sweet taste now carried a hint of rust.

……

Lucian did not linger in the auditorium.

Back in the Ravenclaw Tower, I went straight to the corner of the lounge and stood by the window.

The waves of Black Lake shimmered with a cold light under the moonlight.

Lucian opened the black-covered notebook.

Everything that happened this afternoon, including the conflict on the Hogwarts Express.

It was inevitable that the main characters would clash with Malfoy.

Neville Longbottom's downfall was inevitable.

Harry Potter's inclusion was inevitable.

When he tried to forcefully block this inevitability, the world responded with fury.

That toad, that strange torrent, that flock of birds that appeared out of nowhere.

"So-called destiny is not a predetermined script, but a river with the ability to heal itself."

The pen tip touched the paper, making a scratching sound.

[Observational Report on the World Will]

1. Forced intervention at key plot points will trigger "unexpected events." The purpose is to forcibly smooth out deviations and bring the outcome to a conclusion.

2. The world's will does not care about the details of the process; it only cares about achieving the result.

Lucian paused for a moment, looking out the window at the pale moon.

Cassius's warning still echoed in my ears.

The madmen of the Old World wanted his body because it was the perfect "vessel." The world wanted his obedience because he was a restless "variable."

Both want to erase the real Lucian Ashford.

He continued writing his final summary:

3. Conclusions and Strategies:

To survive in this world full of inertia, it's foolish to confront things head-on.

If you can't stop the flood, then dig a channel in the river.

If you can't tear up the script, then rewrite the lines.

Since the outcome is inevitable, what I need to do is not to prevent the outcome, but to control the path leading to it.

Before those critical junctures arrive, the river's course is gradually deflected through countless tiny, non-triggering butterfly effects. Until the damage becomes irreversible, until new potential energy forms, at which point even the will of the world will be unable to forcibly correct it.

Lucien wrote the final line, his pen sharp and precise:

"On this grand stage, I am neither an actor nor an audience member."

"Just following my heart."

Snapped.

The sound of the laptop closing was particularly crisp in the quiet lounge.

Lucian stood up and straightened the collar of his robe.

Since those ghouls on the Mayflower want to play, since this rigid world rule wants to play.

Come on.

However, this time, he will be the one to set the rules of the game.