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"Just a simple fainting spell."
Harry crouched in front of Fred and George, speaking in a lighthearted tone. "You know, fainting is actually a form of self-protection. When you enter this state, pain and other negative sensations are blocked out. The mind empties itself, purging any information that exceeds human endurance."
"Though magic flows within us as part of who we are as wizards, strangely enough, our bodies strongly resist the intrusion of magic. They operate independently, like two distinct rivers that never merge."
"This conclusion may seem a bit hasty—after all, wizards live much longer than Muggles. Wizards reaching 150 years isn't uncommon, and there's even one over a hundred in Hogwarts, still full of energy. But no matter what, infusing magic directly into the body is a violation of natural order."
"Powerful, magically-enhanced bodies seem to be the domain of magical creatures. Compared to them, we wizards appear to be at a disadvantage in terms of innate abilities."
"If we're going to defy this natural rule, then we must pay an extra price, like enduring extreme pain."
"Without a supersensory potion, the intense pain from merging with magic would hit exactly at the threshold of what you can endure. This unbearable agony can last several minutes, sometimes even tens of minutes. The first time I tried it, I nearly shattered my teeth and bit through my tongue. Even after passing out momentarily, the relentless pain would rouse me, forcing me to endure the aftermath of that torment."
"I thought about it for a long time. Without an iron will, no one could survive this torture and proceed with further training. So I found a shortcut: I amplified the initial pain, pushing it beyond the body's endurance limit in one go, rather than teetering on the edge. This way, the body's protective mechanism would kick in, numbing me against prolonged suffering."
"It's like a quick prick from a needle—the pain only hits you once. After that, you won't feel anything else happening to you."
"What happened after that?" Cho Chang, looking pale, raised her hand timidly. Though she was braver than most girls, she still dreaded pain. "Captain, you mentioned that this method doesn't work after a while, right?"
"After that?" Harry scratched his chin, pausing. "You get used to it. Pain just becomes part of the routine. My last enhancement session used about ten times the magic they're dealing with, but I got through it. I just broke into a sweat. You get used to the pain."
Harry's startling statement left everyone speechless. 'You'll get used to it'—how could he say something so chilling with such a casual tone? Shivers ran down their spines as they thought about it.
"Don't think it's that terrible," Harry continued. "Remember when you first drank my potions? You were retching miserably, but now you're used to them. You just frown a bit, right? Never underestimate human adaptability; it's a legacy from our ancestors, who conquered nature step by step."
"If you can't change the world, then adapt to it. It's a principle that holds true here."
"You might seek strength for glory, survival, or simply for power. Find a reason to push yourselves, an excuse to become stronger."
"Of course, there's no compulsion here. If someone lacks the resolve, they can break their badge, activate the Portkey, and treat this as a team-building trip with a bit of adventure."
"I'm not forcing everyone to take this challenging step forward, because I know how difficult it is. But as for myself, I can only move forward with those who choose this path of hardship."
Harry patted the twins' faces—they had already woken up but were pretending to be unconscious.
"The decision is yours. I'll take a stroll in the forest, maybe bring back some local specialties. Don't worry, no magical creatures will attack the camp tonight. You have plenty of time to decide."
With a shrug, Harry walked towards the forest. Perhaps if he stayed, those wavering might be influenced to choose a path, but that wasn't what he wanted. The battle group he envisioned was destined to be a cadre of elite, not a massive force. The magical world had plenty of talent; Hogwarts was merely a small part of it.
More importantly, such training required an extremely high cost. Even if most weren't as well-prepared as Harry, completing a physical-magic fusion would still demand potions worth at least a million Galleons. Even with the forbidden forest's free resources and Snape's support, the price was exorbitant—enough to drain the entire fortune of a modest pure-blood family.
To secure an investment of this magnitude—a truly astronomical sum—the cost was unwavering loyalty.
The battle group was not a charity. At its core, Harry created the battle group to find a band of warriors who would be absolutely loyal to him. It was a personal ambition and his only true goal.
Watching Harry's figure recede into the distance, those left behind sank into silent contemplation. Youthful enthusiasm was indeed the forte of the young, but the brutal reality was often a sobering force, compelling them to see the future with clarity. This intense suffering was real, with no illusions.
Some, who had entertained the notion of merely "trying it out," gave it a shot. In just a moment, the unbearable pain laid bare their inner frailties, amplifying their wavering and uncertain thoughts.
Several broke their badges, activating the Portkeys that would return them to Hogsmeade.
Not just one.
Since the inception of the battle group, this marked the beginning of its most severe selection process.
Meanwhile, on the other side, unaware of their decisions, Harry had ventured deep into the island. Moving swiftly, with enough raw strength to snap a tree in half with a single kick, he sped through the terrain like a force of nature. Within minutes, he had bulldozed his way to the island's center.
A tangle of vines enshrouded a ruined site, still bearing traces of decay. Faded red remnants lingered on the stones, emanating a chilling aura. The stones beneath were stained, an indelible imprint left by those who had perished here, their blood long ago soaking into the ground.
Decayed bones littered the area, mere shards barely recognizable as human remains. Like gravel, they crunched underfoot with a dry, grating sound.
As Harry wandered through the ruins, he meticulously searched for any lingering traces. He cared little about what dark rituals the cultists had attempted here to open the Abyss. What truly mattered was the immense force that had shattered the gateway—a power that, despite millennia, had left a lasting mark. It was a mysterious might belonging to ancient wizards or perhaps Awakeners.
"Reveal the original form."
Distinctive ripples spread in all directions. Tapping into the power of the Obscurial, the tainted magic surged outward in a wave of black, like an evil eye opening. In the pitch-dark field of vision, it searched for the faintest hint of a different, hidden light.
(End of chapter)