I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 379 Breaking the Curse is Like Solving a Math Problem

In August in Egypt, the sun, like a sharp knife, relentlessly slices through the air, baking the earth in scorching heat. The sky is cloudless, a pale blue. It's as if the entire world has been cast beneath its blazing rays.

Outside the small window of the ward, a few palm trees drooped listlessly, their leaves covered in dust.

However, despite being separated by a glass partition, the ward was not hot at all; the temperature was as comfortable as Hogwarts in early summer.

Bill was standing by the window, sunlight streaming in and falling on him.

Owen saw that he drew his wand, waved it, and the injured wrist of the patient on the hospital bed slowly floated up.

Hmm—be careful when breaking curses in ancient ruins. Remember, if you can cast a spell, don't touch things directly with your hands, because you don't know if there are curses, traps, or poisons hidden there.

Irving only noticed after the patient raised his hand.

He was on the other side of the hospital bed, but now he was too short to reach the bed, so he couldn't see what was happening on the other side.

Thinking of this, Owen couldn't help but raise his head and glare at the silver-pink hair conman.

Then I turned my attention to the injured arm.

The unfortunate man in the hospital bed appeared to have been grazed on the forearm by the sharp corners of the ominous creatures, leaving a wound about an inch long.

The wound now appears a nauseating silvery-gray, the festering skin resembling cracked earth oozing a disgusting yellow viscous substance. Furthermore, about an inch from the wound, silvery-black granulation tissue has sprouted on both sides, resembling teeth, tumors, or the budding of hard horns. This uneven growth spreads from the wound to other parts of the arm.

It is likely that once the fleshy buds cover his entire body, this wizard will be transformed into a new son of evil.

However, the person in front of us is probably still in the early stages of the disease; all the signs of decay are on the arms, while the rest of the body is still normal.

However, he himself had fallen into a coma and was running a high fever.

Just now, Irving touched the hospital bed with his hand; it was bone-chillingly cold.

The witch doctor in the hospital is using physical cooling methods to save his life.

It seems they've already tried the fever-reducing potion, but it clearly didn't work.

I never imagined that a wizard would one day use such primitive methods to cool down a person's body.

This man's body temperature must be over 40 degrees Celsius.

Irving thought to himself.

Unseen by him, the immune system is wreaking havoc. The body itself, already littered with corpses, is certainly not going to hold up. This high-level situation will collapse soon, and then the mutated power will sweep in unimpeded, as if it were an empty field.

"It sounds a bit like inflammation."

Before anyone knew it, Irving had pulled out several sheets of parchment and a quill pen from his pocket and begun recording everything that was happening to the patient's body.

Fever occurs when the body is exposed to external stimuli and infection. The immune system releases a large number of white blood cells to fight the infection, causing the body temperature to rise.

Redness and swelling; noticeable tissue swelling in the man's arm, especially around the joints.

Despite being unconscious, the patient's face was constantly contorted in pain, likely due to swelling of local tissues compressing nerves.

Limited mobility is indicated by abnormal bending of the fingers and arm joints in infected individuals, likely due to joint stiffness or muscle swelling, suggesting that their mobility is definitely limited.

It is a very obvious manifestation of systemic inflammation.

What was written on Owen's parchment? If that's the case, this mutation should be affecting the physical body, rather than some mysterious soul, unlike the sacrificial rituals he had witnessed in the squares of Ionia.

That sacrificial ritual was clearly about offering one's soul to an outer god, who then fed back to the body, transforming it into an ominous sign.

It does not affect the soul.

Hmm—that's good, it's good news. Compared to the ethereal soul, the research on physical wizards is still quite profound.

"What would happen if we cut off his whole arm?" he suddenly asked. In the Muggle world, with widespread infection, amputation was the only option, which was the right choice, since saving his life was the priority.

"It's no use." Although the one who asked the question was a cute-looking four or five-year-old child, and although this was not a place for a young wizard of this age, it was clear that the female healer, who had been staying up all night for countless days, had no energy left to care about anything else. "The curse spread throughout his body from the moment he was infected, but it was particularly noticeable at the wound. Even if we cut off his arm, it won't be long before the granulation tissue grows back from the cut."

She wasn't saying this to Irving.

It was given to Bill.

"I see!" Although Owen had already guessed that this would be the outcome, he figured it wouldn't kill him to ask, just in case.

Meanwhile, Bill has begun attempting to break the curse.

He hovered the tip of his wand above the wound on his arm and chanted a spell.

It must be said that Bill truly deserves to be called an outstanding graduate of Hogwarts.

In terms of breaking curses, in addition to what he learned at school, his work over the years has also allowed him to accumulate a wealth of experience. It is likely that his knowledge of breaking curses has surpassed that of some professors.

And it's not just a curse.

Just now, Owen saw him pull some magical gadgets out of his pocket, a cursed doll.

Honestly, this was the first time Owen had ever seen such a thing before—the voodoo doll, the most common evil artifact used by wizards in Muggle fantasy novels.

An evil tool that can be used to control and harm other people.

Here, however, Bill used it to break the curse.

He seems to be trying to use the doll in his hand to replace the human body and transfer the curse onto the doll.

It must be said that Owen had never witnessed such magic before.

This should be one of the indigenous magic techniques originating from Africa; such a prop is unprecedented in Europe.

However, when the doll suddenly burst into flames of an earthy yellow color and caught fire, he was completely defeated.

However, he did not give up, but instead began to try other methods that dazzled Irving.

It was then that Owen realized that the job of a curse remover was not what he had imagined, constantly trying to cast all sorts of spells to remove curses.

Instead, they use arithmetic divination, calculating little by little based on the characteristics of the curse, and incorporating their own runic magic. The whole process is more like making a key for a complex lock.

It is full of wonderful pleasures that are meticulous, rigorous, and academic.

It seems that this job is a good fit for Miss Granger.

Because she was quite skilled in arithmetic and divination.

As for Irving—he didn't even take that course.

Irving watched for a while, then lost interest; it was too tedious, just constant calculations and revising his model.

To make it as close to perfect as possible.

He already has enough tedious work to do.

I have to help Professor Sprout research her magical herbs.

I still need to organize the potion recipes in my head.

Finally, he will continue to follow up on alchemy.

These were all extremely tedious tasks, and he simply couldn't spare the energy to study anything else.

"Hey!" Owen tugged at Merlin's sleeve and said, "That black-haired female doctor just said that a medical book from five hundred years ago recorded a strange curse. What's going on?"

"What were you doing five hundred years ago?"

Merlin lowered his head, feigning innocence, and said, "How can you be sure that was me?"

"Heh—" Owen chuckled mockingly, then said, "I think I've figured it out. If we're talking about who's everywhere in the world, and who's always involved in something, it's definitely England. And if we're defining wizards, it's you!"

"Five hundred years ago! Outer gods! Anomalies! Ominous signs! Listen to these words together, isn't it just like a dung beetle encountering dry feces, coming at the perfect time? How could you not smell it?"

"Ha—you little rascal, you're quite amusing!" Master Mei rubbed his hair, then said with a normal expression, "All I did was take a look from afar."

Do you think I believe that?

"Ah—by the way, I sent the giant queen to the Great Whirlpool. It was on the eve of my journey to the Sea of ​​Stars. She started causing trouble again. In order to let her wait peacefully until you were born, I could only give her a little treat."

"."

"Alas—there aren't many creatures that can fully accept her power, so I had no choice. However, I gave the Giant King a crown, which can resist the invasion of external magic, thus delaying the time when he finally takes control."

"."

Upon hearing this, Irving was utterly speechless. So, everything was orchestrated by you.

"How ruthless! Grand Mage Mei, you shattered the ordinary wizards' illusions about you with a single punch."

"These are all prejudices people have against me," Merlin said with a grin, his expression still as irritating as ever.

"Fine—tell me now, do you have a way to eliminate this mutation? I mean, the kind that doesn't involve harming yourself!"

"Of course—" he said gently, "It's very simple, you can learn it after watching it once."

Hearing what Editor Mei said, Irving knew that this game was already in the bag. Ah—although this guy in front of him exuded an unreliable aura from head to toe, after all, he was the renowned Editor Mei, a guy who could manipulate the Outer Gods with ease, so he must be pretty strong, right?

Time passed slowly, and soon, fine beads of sweat appeared on Bill's forehead.

Within just a few tens of minutes, his CPU was clearly overclocked and overloaded.

Although water cooling is extremely effective and the surrounding environment is chilly, it still can't keep up with his overclocked CPU!

Finally, just when he felt he was about to faint, Bill put down his wand.

"How is it?" the female doctor who led them into the ward asked.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Wilma Lawton—there's nothing I can do." Bill shook his head and stepped aside.

"It's alright, it's good that you came." Although the witch couldn't hide her disappointment, she didn't blame her. After all, Bill wasn't the only one helpless in this matter. As professional wizards, weren't they also powerless?

Despite saying that, everyone around, including the witch doctors, looked disappointed.

The Ministry of Magic has been putting a lot of pressure on them for the past month.

The Aurors lying here represent almost half of the Ministry of Magic's core strength. They could not possibly withstand such a loss. Not to mention the Ministry of Magic—the entire Egyptian wizarding world, and even the whole of Europe, could not afford it. In decades, there had never been such a large-scale event where so many wizards had been lost in a single battle. Even Voldemort had not accomplished this.

Besides, among the female doctors in the area, some have boyfriends, husbands, or children hospitalized. The fact that they even bothered to bring Bill over was already a desperate measure.

"Mr. Weasley, thank you for your trouble. You can go to the first-floor lounge to rest for a while. As we agreed before, the hospital will pay you regardless of whether it is successful or not." The female doctor named Wilma Lawton forced a smile.

"Thank you," Bill said, and then prepared to leave.

As he walked to the other side of the hospital bed, he glanced down at Irving.

It seems we won't need him this time.

Originally, he estimated that he might encounter some tricky ancient Rune inlay problems during the process of breaking the curse, at which point Owen might be able to help.

It's like solving a problem; the two people can discuss which formula to use.

The problem now is that he didn't even understand the question, he just wrote down a bunch of principles in a daze, hoping to stumble upon the answer by sheer luck.

Just like how you can figure out which formula to use for a math problem you don't know how to solve—you can't actually write out a solution.

At least listing the formula will earn you a few points.

Unfortunately, the examiner was quite strict this time, and he was destined to get a zero on the exam.

"Editor Mei," Owen kicked the person next to him, "what are you waiting for? Get up there!"

"Relax, relax." Merlin, leaning on his cane, walked step by step to the other side of the hospital bed.

"Who are you?" His action naturally attracted the attention of the witch doctors present. This was a strictly closed area, and outsiders were originally prohibited from entering. However, when Wilma Lawton saw Weasley coming with them, he was anxious and did not stop them. But that did not mean that they could offend the patient like this.

"Anyway, you guys don't really have any ideas." Because of his height, Owen could only use magic to transform the vase on the bedside table into a stool, then he picked it up and stood on it, wobbling precariously, his eyes fixed on Merlin. "He's already doomed, so what's wrong with letting that guy try?"

Upon hearing Owen's words, Wilma Lawton, the witch doctor, clearly hesitated.

Perhaps she still harbored a sliver of hope, for after Owen finished speaking, she did not intervene to stop Merlin. Instead, she remained standing to the side.

At this moment, Merlin's withered branch cane was already hovering above the patient's injured arm.

"Your understanding of ancient magic is too superficial, Owen," Merlin said. "A thorough understanding of fundamental principles holds an inexhaustible treasure."

As he spoke, a strange magical power flowed from the cane, penetrating deep into the wound.

That wasn't purification or expulsion, but more like guidance.

In Owen's eyes, the threads of ancient magic shimmered, and Merlin was using his magic to manipulate the mutated energy within the patient's body.

"This is the principle of regression!" Owen immediately understood the principle behind this technique. The so-called regression means bringing everything back to the unchanging and guiding it toward the ultimate cause.

The principle of causality—the so-called cause and effect—means that everything is interconnected, and countless effects can be derived from causes.

"The mutated energy is also within all things, and it will naturally gravitate towards ancient magic and towards the great cause. This is determined by the principle of regression." Owen suddenly understood everything as if he had been enlightened.

Merlin, however, smiled and continued, "Guiding is not enough; you also need to unleash this magic."

As he spoke, a pink flower bud emerged from the man's wound. Then, like popcorn, the bud burst forth from his hand, and soon the petals covered the ground.

"The energy of mutation is also a kind of life energy. Since it is life energy, we can simply transform it into something harmless."

Merlin withdrew his hand, and the crowd finally shifted their attention away from the shock of the pink petals scattered on the ground.

Their gaze fell on the wound on the patient's arm.

"Oh my God!"

"Merlin's beard!"

"Incredible!" the onlookers, the witch doctors, exclaimed in amazement.

The enormous surprise hit them, making them feel dizzy.

Because the wound on that injured arm had disappeared, the granulation tissue had disappeared, and all the alien life had disappeared.

"It will take him a while to come to his senses; dealing with the invading magic has drained too much of his own energy."

"What kind of magic is this?" Wilma Lawton murmured, her eyes wide.

"This—well—is probably a magic you'll never learn!" Merlin said ruthlessly, but his face was still full of smiles, and his eyes had a lightness that could easily be interpreted as a provocation.

"You don't have the prerequisites to learn this kind of magic," he continued. "Of course. If you're willing to dedicate yourself to studying it for decades, you could certainly do it using some external tools."

"I," Wilma Lawton, the witch doctor, suddenly fell silent.

Decades later—by the time she learned it, all the patients in the ward had turned to bones.

Merlin's focus was not on these witch doctors.

As he said, he doesn't particularly like individual humans. In fact, because he has lived for so long, he is very clear about the inherent flaws of humanity. This experience makes it even more difficult for him to have any special attitude towards ordinary people. Perhaps in the eyes of this great master, individual humans are not much different from the flowers and plants by the roadside. They are all life, with periods of flourishing and withering, and joys and sorrows.

"So, have you learned it?" he asked, gazing at Irving.

"I understand the principle, but—" Wen stood on a small stool, a worried look on her rosy face.

After all, it is inside the human body, and if an accident occurs, it may directly cause injury or death.

"Then go practice—there are forty or fifty people here, I think you can save about three-quarters of them—you should be able to master the technique once you kill the third or fourth one," Merlin said after resting his chin on his hand and thinking for a moment.

"Three or four?" Wilma Lawton, the witch doctor, was taken aback. She suddenly looked at Editor Mei.

Does he mean to send that four or five-year-old child to save people?

What a joke!

It's a bit too big!

On the other side, Irving narrowed his eyes, his face full of disdain. "Who do you think you are! No one will die because of me!"

He jumped off the stool, then reached out and lifted it up before dashing off to other wards. "If they're going to die—it's their own fault for not being able to hold on. What does it have to do with me?"

"Wait—" Wilma Lawton snapped, but didn't stop Owen. She then looked at Merlin beside her.

"You're letting a four or five-year-old child try to save someone?" Wilma Lawton glared at the incredibly handsome young man. "Don't you think that's ridiculous?"

“I don’t find it laughable, Ms. Wilma Lawton.” Merlin leaned on his cane and slowly walked toward the bedside. “He is the only wizard who has the ‘prerequisites’ and he is very intelligent. What you see is just an illusion. Whether from the perspective of training successors or the actual condition of patients in the hospital, death is inevitable.”

"I know that treatment will result in injuries and fatalities," Wilma Lawton roared, "but that can't be because of the doctor's arrogance and stupidity. If you're so capable, why didn't you come yourself?"

"Because the magic of this illusionary body is no longer sufficient," Merlin said.

"What do you mean?" Wilma Lawton, the witch doctor, froze for a moment. She frowned, anger still brewing in her eyes. She didn't understand the man's sudden, incoherent words.

What do "illusionary body" and "magic power" mean?

Isn't he standing right here, alive and well?

Right there in the sunlight, where did this illusion come from?

"Hehe—instead of talking about these things, let's go to the next ward!" Merlin smiled and walked out of the ward.

Meanwhile, Irving went straight to the innermost part of the isolation area. From the markings on the doors, he understood that the further inside the room, the more serious the patient's condition.

And that day, after breaking through the innermost door.

The patient in front of me—perhaps can no longer be called a patient.

The man's body underwent a severe mutation, with ominous horns and tumors growing all over his body. Hard horns covered his entire body, and Owen couldn't even tell if he was male or female.

They're about to become part of the Ominous Legion.

He immediately decided to start with this person.

He put down the stool and stretched out his hand.

Owen, mimicking Merlin, released a slight ancient magic that seeped into the patient's skin, guiding the mutated magic to transform into something else—like plants.

The next second—"Boom!"

"Holy crap!"

With a stumble, Irving fell off the bench, then rolled over and hid under the bed.

His magic had just seeped in, and he was still guiding the mutated magic back from other parts of the body to the wound, then using the principle of causality to deduce and transform it into a plant.

But just as the plant sprouted, things suddenly went out of control. The magical transformation did indeed materialize into a plant, an English white oak tree—the transformation was just a bit too fast.

The entire room is filled with plants.

He quickly hid under the bed, but the sprouting roots actually broke through the bed frame and rushed straight towards him.

With quick reflexes, Irving dodged the roots. Luckily, his body size was small enough, otherwise it would have been quite difficult.

"Next, next!"

Two seconds later, Irving crawled out from under the bed, picked up a stool, and headed straight for the next ward.

(End of this chapter)