Chapter 511: Seeds of the Dream World

Boom!

Like a nuclear explosion, a dark green mushroom cloud suddenly rose into the air.

The dazzling green light surged forward, causing a sharp, stinging pain in their eyes. Instinctively, they shut them tight, their faces frozen in pure horror.

For pure-blood wizards like Lucius Malfoy—who had witnessed betrayal firsthand—their fear ran deeper than simple dread.

With such overwhelming power on display, their involvement in the battle at Gringotts had tied them irreversibly to the Dark Lord.

Escape was no longer an option.

After all, they had played a part in the Gringotts heist. Even if most of the casualties were goblins, the financial devastation rippling across the wizarding world would be pinned on them.

They were in too deep now.

Bitter regret twisted within them, but intertwined with the fear was an undeniable glimmer of hope.

They had followed the Dark Lord out of necessity, but also because he represented a new possibility—an alternative to their dwindling future.

Boom!

The shockwave faded, and the brilliant green light gradually dimmed.

Before their eyes, the battlefield—once littered with the remnants of war—had completely vanished. As if vaporized, nothing remained except for smooth, yellow sand stretching endlessly in every direction.

It was impossibly uniform, silk-like in its smoothness. In a twisted way, it possessed an eerie beauty.

But to the surrounding Death Eaters, it was nothing short of terrifying.

Such frightening precision.

The fierce battle had ended so seamlessly—so effortlessly.

Yes, it was disturbingly smooth.

If he wanted to fight, he fought. If he wanted to retreat, he did so without hesitation.

This was the power of a true master.

They watched in silent envy.

Then—

"Restore!"

With a flick of his wand, Tom Riddle commanded the scene to rewind.

The grains of sand on the ground began to swirl and gather, reversing time itself. In mere moments, black bricks reassembled, gray stone pillars reformed, and brown wooden shelves emerged from the nothingness.

White books, yellow parchment, and all the scattered relics of destruction returned to their original places.

Above them, homes and studies materialized one by one, covering the two figures at the heart of the battlefield.

Watching this, the onlookers slowly withdrew, realizing it was best to step back.

Some, more perceptive than others, immediately turned and retreated to their quarters.

The battle between these two forces had escalated to a dangerous level.

To linger here would be courting death.

"Tom, tell me—when did you start dealing with them? And what exactly did you gain?"

Voldemort's voice was as cold as ice, his tone sharp with accusation.

The battle had drained away his frustration, rage, and murderous intent—at least for now.

Or rather, the battle had shown him something else.

They had fought to a standstill. And, if he were being honest with himself, he had been vaguely at a disadvantage.

It forced him to reconsider.

After all, they both had a common enemy.

Fighting amongst themselves, splitting their forces, or—worst of all—pushing the other into their enemy's arms would be the height of foolishness.

This was true for him.

And it was true for Tom as well.

A mutual understanding had ended the battle before either side suffered irreparable damage.

"I told you before," Tom replied evenly, "the current situation in Britain isn't sustainable for us."

"And I have no interest in being Dumbledore and Lockhart's eternal adversary."

"Naturally, some form of understanding was bound to be reached."

He spoke in a measured tone, as if explaining something obvious.

"If I want to establish myself in Europe and achieve my goals in a short time, I need resources—plentiful resources."

"And for me, this kind of trade is nothing but a gain. Why would I refuse?"

As he uttered the word refuse, Tom deliberately flicked his hand, as if to say, Wouldn't you do the same?

Voldemort considered it.

And indeed, he would.

If the benefits were great enough, he would not hesitate.

"As for you," Tom continued, "I didn't ask how much you profited from this operation, but I assume you're more than satisfied."

Voldemort remained expressionless, unmoved.

But Tom didn't need a response to continue.

"Besides, I believe the results of this mission have been… quite beneficial."

"We need people to move to Europe. We need fighters for the dark wizards. And with the pure-blood families' treacherous nature and intricate networks, they are indispensable."

"After this operation, I believe those pure-bloods will reconsider their positions."

A knowing smirk crossed Tom's face.

The pure-blood families—always outsiders.

Without pressure, they would never be truly loyal.

"Now, tell me—what exactly did you get from Kamar-Taj?" Voldemort pressed, his voice laced with suspicion.

He understood the rest. He even agreed with it.

But they were the same person—two halves of the same mind.

And he knew himself well enough to be certain—there was no way he would help Kamar-Taj for free.

No, Tom must have received something substantial.

A dark green orb of light materialized in Tom's hand.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, sensing the immense spiritual energy and ethereal aura emanating from it.

"This," Tom said, "is a Dream World Seed."

"Did Lockhart give this to you?"

The skepticism in Voldemort's voice was thick.

He had heard of the Dream World. Though he wasn't sure of its full potential, one thing was certain—

The entire wizarding wealth card system revolved around it.

That alone proved its immense value.

Something so critical… would they really hand it over so easily?

It defied logic.

"Don't be too alarmed," Tom reassured him. "The Dream World Seeds aren't as rare as you might think."

"What truly matters is what comes next—gathering enough high-quality spiritual energy to cultivate the Dream World properly."

As he spoke, Tom flicked his fingers, sending another jade-like seed floating toward Voldemort.

"This is a second Dream World Seed."

"If you're interested, study it. Use it."

Tom's voice was calm, almost indifferent.

Voldemort said nothing.

Silently, he reached out, taking the seed into his palm.

He pushed his mental energy into it, attempting to peer into its mysteries.

Instantly, he encountered resistance.

Voldemort was not surprised.

Instead, he increased his focus, injecting more spiritual power and magic into the seed.

At that moment—

Tom spoke again, his words like honey-coated poison.

"Lockhart and I have reached an agreement."

"The wizarding wealth card system will soon expand into Europe—under our control."

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