Chapter 29: Spawn Point Exploration Plan

I hope the Earl manages to make the most of his chance to survive.

Following this, Cohen began to flip through several books he had borrowed from the library. The first was on alchemy, and inside, he spotted a very familiar term: "Albus" (whiteness).

"Albus..." Cohen's mouth twitched. So, Dumbledore's name was actually an alchemical term!

The roots of alchemy lay in Egypt, where a wizard named Hermes condensed the craft into thirteen sentences and engraved them onto an Emerald Tablet. The alchemical texts in the wizarding world were almost entirely analyses and expansions of those thirteen lines, and the ultimate goal of alchemy—the Philosopher's Stone...

Ha, it was just sitting there in the school waiting to be stolen; learning these things now seemed rather useless. "If I really wanted to study this, why not just go steal one?" Cohen sighed.

Alchemy revolved solely around one ultimate goal—the Philosopher's Stone. All other alchemical products were merely byproducts, much like how the practice of alchemy in the East could accidentally produce gunpowder. Nicolas Flamel was practically the chief culprit in the destruction of ancient alchemy; because he had actually created the Philosopher's Stone, almost all the alchemists of the time who had set "creating the Stone" as their ultimate goal simply gave up. After all, if someone had already made one, why not just go steal it?

This led to Nicolas Flamel being frequently targeted after he created the Stone in 1383, though the attackers would always inexplicably wake up in foreign countries, only to discover that one of their fingers had turned into gold. Once no one succeeded, people gradually stopped trying to rob Flamel—which allowed him to enjoy several hundred years of peaceful retirement.

Subsequently, alchemy began to branch out into other fields, with some elements merging into Potions, and others into Runes and Semiotics. Contemporary alchemy also featured more topics, among which Cohen noticed an alchemical term called "Homunculus" (the man in the bottle).

"Homunculus... why does that sound so familiar?" Cohen felt a persistent sense of recognition, as if he had heard it back when he was "young." Considering he was a failed experimental byproduct from a Dark Arts laboratory, it seemed very much like the creation of a homunculus. Had someone in that lab muttered the word while the infant Cohen was nearby?

[A homunculus possesses various forms of knowledge from the moment of its birth. It originates from the substance within the bottle, yet transcends it; it is the most secretive and complex field of study in contemporary alchemy. However, the synthesis of life is a forbidden subject, and this book will not provide introductions or answers.]

"Earl, do I look like an idiot to you?" Cohen asked the dozing Earl with a stiff expression.

"This is the second time you've asked me that, so my answer is—why are you asking?" The Earl glanced at Cohen, maintaining a side-sleeping posture that was rather unrefined for a bird.

"Dumbledore doesn't actually think that by tearing out the chapter in this book and writing his own ending, I'd believe the book was originally like this, does he?" Cohen grumbled. "He could have at least used printed text! Put a little effort into fooling me! He’s the only person in the entire school who writes in that spindly, artistic cursive!"

The brief introduction to "Homunculus" in this *Detailed Guide to Alchemy* was written on a page that was almost entirely blank, and the handwriting was Dumbledore’s signature, looping, spindly script—it was practically telling Cohen to his face, "I don't want you to see this, go learn something else."

"Perhaps he’s afraid you’ll go astray—after all, you’re a naturally wicked little Dementor," the half-asleep Earl muttered vaguely. "Though I agree with you, he really doesn't need to meddle so much... in fact, you’re already sprinting down a crooked path."

"I just want to figure out what kind of thing I am..." Cohen slumped back into his armchair, feeling drained.

"Just like a child always wanting to know who their real mother is," the Earl summarized. "I never concern myself with such things. Ever since I hatched from my egg, the first thing I saw was a Basilisk—everyone knows it certainly wasn't my mother, and it's quite possible it ate my mother, but it doesn't matter. You know, the one who raises you is the only one you need to care about—"

"Liar!" Cohen said, mimicking Voldemort's tone. "Last time, you said John brought you into the lighthouse and hatched you in a stove!"

"Did I? Was that the version I told you last time?" the Earl asked, tilting his head.

This bird was a pathological liar; Cohen didn't intend to place any trust in him—the last time he had trusted the bird and allowed it into his wardrobe, it had been filled with vole bones.

Now, Cohen held no expectations for the next book. They were all books Dumbledore had snatched up first, and they would surely be edited whenever they encountered something "little Cohen shouldn't see." Cohen felt Dumbledore should have been the Director of the Broadcasting Authority, not the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

*Souls in the Urn*

The book introduced a theory that souls and magic share the same origin. It dedicated significant space to detailing every experiment regarding the soul—slightly cruel, but since it was a manuscript from the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic, it glossed over the selection of experimental subjects and species to maintain a facade of official righteousness.

This theory was acknowledged by the Ministry, and the researchers were awarded the Order of Merlin, Third Class. To this day, the Department of Mysteries still kept the "Brain Room" and the "Archway of the Afterlife" used for soul research.

Souls and magic share the same origin... that actually seemed to explain Cohen's current situation; the strengthening of the soul also symbolized the strengthening of magic.

If that were the case, was Edward the floor-level baseline for the wizarding population? If so, how did he normally manage to cast high-difficulty spells like non-verbal incantations? Or perhaps the two were only relatively connected—for instance, an increase in soul strength would bring an increase in magical level, but a decrease in soul strength would not necessarily lead to a reduction in magical level...

That seemed more reasonable, because even with Voldemort's soul shattered into forty-point fragments, he could still suppress a host of high-level wizards. If soul strength and magic level were equal in real-time, any random professor at Hogwarts should have been able to crush him easily.

"Wait... you're really desperate to find out about your origins, aren't you?" The Earl, unable to sleep because of Cohen's restless pacing, sat up from his owl perch. "Why don't you just go look at the ruins of that laboratory?"

"Guess why I haven't left..." Cohen pouted. "I've shredded every back-issue newspaper in the library, and the Ministry of Magic never reported on the matter."

"Besides, Rose and Edward definitely won't tell me, and the professors at school certainly wouldn't—"

"I know," the Earl said abruptly.

"?" Cohen stared at the Earl.

"I know what you want to say, 'Why didn't you say so earlier?'" The Earl continued leisurely. "Well, let me ask you, you never actually asked me—who would ask an owl for its opinion, even if it is an owl old enough to be your damn ancestor..."