220- The “Ancient” Letter Written Recently
"Yes, gods don't exist. But that doesn't mean there haven't been wizards so powerful that they were mistaken for gods," Rhys explained smoothly.
The grand and legendary Ragnarok, as told in mythology, was reinterpreted by him as a war between wizards from Britain and the Norse regions. While this stripped away much of the mystique surrounding that era, it also made his claims significantly more believable.
Now, Gemma was beginning to believe Rhys' account.
"Alright then, let me take a look at the letters between the four founders. Once I've read them, I'll tell you the exact location where I obtained the dust," she decided, agreeing to the exchange of information.
"I don't carry something like that around with me," Rhys said matter-of-factly. "These letters are too valuable to just keep on hand. Give me some time—I'll have my family send you copies."
Gemma didn't find this suspicious. On the contrary, it made the authenticity of the letters seem even more credible. Still, out of concern for her younger schoolmate, she added, "If possible, I'd prefer for you to come with me to Egypt. Places like that are far too dangerous."
She had no ulterior motive—just genuine concern for Rhys' safety.
Exploring ancient ruins was high-risk work. If he recklessly ventured in alone, he might not make it out alive.
Rhys nodded. He, too, wanted a reliable "guide"—someone who could help them navigate efficiently and save time.
With that, the two of them had made their agreement.
Once Rhys handed over the letters between the Founders, Gemma Farley would share what she knew in return—mutually beneficial for both parties.
After parting ways with Gemma, Rhys hurried back to the Slytherin common room and spent ten minutes crafting three "letters from Slytherin to Rowena Ravenclaw."
His choice of words and sentence structure were flawless—there wasn't a single flaw to be found.
The only issue?
The parchment was brand new, and the ink hadn't even dried yet.
But since he was presenting them as "copies," all he had to do was duplicate these three "originals." If the copies looked brand new, what was the problem?
Between the lines of these three letters, Rhys carefully and subtly hinted at the location of a palace.
[Frigg certainly knew how to pick a location—her palace is nestled in a valley, with the Klar River flowing right beside it. The river is full of plump salmon, which I've sent along with this letter for Helga. They can be eaten raw without heating; the flesh is rich, tender, and delicious.
The climate here is eternally springlike, even better than the site we chose for Hogwarts. Honestly, if the school weren't already built, I'd have considered moving it here…]
[As per your suggestion, I've concealed the palace with magic. It cannot be marked on any map, nor can Muggles find their way here. We cannot allow their faith to rekindle.]
[I won't return just yet—I want to search the land further for any remaining traces of the false gods. I departed from Frigg's bedchamber and traveled southwest for three days and three nights before reaching a small town called 'Örlfrum.' It's well-connected by roads, and the Muggles here make an excellent smoked salmon. But that's about the only good thing they make.]
[...]
Not gonna lie, trying to craft a convincing conversation while "casually" mentioning the location of Frigg's palace was enough to make Rhys feel like he was going bald.
So when he finally finished writing the three letters, he let out a long sigh of relief.
Back in the day, they had been far too busy to have the luxury of writing letters! Rhys couldn't help but grumble—letter-writing was such an inefficient means of communication!
The method they had used in the past was something called "twin parchment," a magical technique that had since been lost to time. The process involved soaking a single sheet of parchment in a specially brewed potion, then carefully splitting it into two thinner sheets. These two sheets would then be enchanted to form an inseparable connection—whatever was written on one would instantly appear on the other, allowing for seamless communication over vast distances.
Yet, since Rhys had awakened, he hadn't seen a single wizard using this method to stay in touch. Modern wizards seemed to prefer owl post—when in doubt, just send a letter via owl.
Satisfied with his work, Rhys carefully put the letters away. The only thing left to do was make copies. With his task completed, he was in a good mood. He casually grabbed a book, spread it open on the table, and started reading with great interest.
Before long, Daphne appeared, reminding him that it was time to fulfill his promise.
"Oh, right!" Rhys suddenly remembered—he was supposed to teach Daphne how to control the land.
To be honest, after witnessing Gemma's bottle of dust, Rhys felt that Helga's soil manipulation spell was almost obsolete.
Months or even years of painstaking research, yet it couldn't compare to the convenience of a single bottle…
The moment this thought crossed Rhys's mind, he was startled by himself.
How could he have such an absurd idea?!
He quickly shook his head, forcing the terrifying thought out of his mind.
Indeed, using magic-infused dust could significantly reduce the difficulty of manipulating soil, but it was merely a shortcut—offering no real benefit to the user.
If casting a spell was like applying a formula, then using this dust was like copying the answer without understanding the problem. It was even worse than blindly following a formula! Someone who graduated without understanding the principles behind magic could hardly be called an excellent wizard. "Magic craftsman" would be a more fitting title.
It was true that years of effort from a wizarding apprentice might not match the effects of a single bottle. But for students like Daphne—if she dedicated more time and effort to mastering soil magic—she would eventually be able to crush those who relied solely on tossing bottles.
Yet, even he had momentarily entertained such thoughts. No wonder the magical world had ultimately abandoned true magic education…
They had eradicated the Nordic false gods so thoroughly that wizards had lost their sense of crisis. Without the pressure of life and death, why would anyone push themselves to study magic?
Rhys couldn't help but recall the conversation he had with Helga when she entrusted him with her insights on soil manipulation magic.
"These potions, when mixed into pig feed, can effectively prevent swine fever and enhance nutrient absorption. This way, your pigs can eat the least amount of feed while growing the most meat."
When Salazar handed over a large jar of prepared potion to Helga, his expression was incredibly complicated.
He—one of the world's top Potions Masters—was now developing anti-diarrhea and weight-gain potions for pigs, just to learn a spell. The way his life had turned out… truly…
Helga Hufflepuff saw right through Salazar's thoughts and rolled her eyes. "Don't underestimate the craft of pig farming! If you're so high and mighty, then don't eat any of the pork raised at Hogwarts from now on. Go hunt wild boars with your little apprentices instead!"
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