The moment Mason tore open the envelope, time ground to a halt.
[Have a pleasant journey, my priest.]
Rose-pink luminescence flowed like liquid, rising from the fading words on the stationery.
It gently wrapped around Mason’s forehead like a cool sea breeze blowing into his mind.
The echoing voice from beyond the heavens lingered for a brief moment before quietly fading away.
“Mastery of All Magic?
Unlock the corresponding spell knowledge from the nine schools of Iron Magic based on the number of charms I’ve mastered…
Wait, I still have to learn them myself?”
*Scared me to death.
I thought the King of Hell sent an execution notice, but it’s just a cheat.
But…
why a priest!
Didn’t you see all those save files where I ascended to godhood?
Hey!
Uncle…
Apollyon?
Are you still there?
Can’t you just hand over a divine spark directly?*
Time resumed its normal flow.
The letter in Mason’s hand had already turned to ashes.
Fortunately, his nearby classmates were too busy eating and drinking to notice this bizarre scene.
Mason lost his appetite after scarfing down two chicken legs.
His mind was entirely consumed with thoughts on how to unlock the new spells.
The original Iron Magic system boasted a total of 107 spells.
If mastering a single charm from the wizarding world granted him the knowledge of one Iron Magic spell, unlocking them all meant he would have to spend the next seven years buried in the library.
He would have to learn common charms, obscure ones, light magic, dark magic—without a single moment of rest.
And don’t ask why it had to be seven years.
Outside Hogwarts, where could anyone find such a grand library for self-study?
His progress in learning charms would only slow down after graduation.
*No way.
I am not experiencing the life of an overworked corporate drone all over again after transmigrating!*
*Hmm, don’t wizards invent their own magic, too?
If I copy…
er, reference spells created by predecessors and innovate on them, would that count as mastering a new charm?*
*Like the famous Magic Pill Reversal Charm?*
*If I open up my mindset, my style can open up too.
If the front door is blocked, the back door shouldn’t stay shut either.
A wizard’s potential is limitlessly vast!*
*What?
Human Transfiguration is too dangerous?
Then I just won’t experiment on myself.*
Perhaps Mason’s expression had turned a bit too ecstatic, giving the nearby Gryffindors a slight chill.
Sitting beside him, a fellow first-year wizard decided to strike up a conversation to interrupt his deep thought.
“Hi, I’m Seamus.
Seamus Finnigan.” The light-brown-haired Seamus leaned over.
He reached out for a handshake, only to realize his hand was still slick with grease.
He hurriedly pulled it back, wiped it on his wizarding robes, and extended his other hand—which hadn’t been wiped yet.
Mason let out a helpless sigh.
He could tell the boy was a bit nervous, but at least he was the first to come over and chat.
In his past life, two guys meeting like this might end up being brothers till the grave.
Oh well.
Who doesn’t treat a good brother like a son?
Just bear with it.
“Scourgify.” Before Mason could reach out, a very familiar incantation sounded from behind his ear.
“While household magic isn’t in the required First-Year curriculum, I don’t think learning more spells ever hurts.”
At some point, Hermione had swapped seats with the wizard to Mason’s left.
Seeing this, Seamus awkwardly gave a brief squeeze of Mason’s hand before pulling back, reflexively wiping it again on his newly greased robes.
*Hopeless,* both of them thought.
“Speaking of which, what was that spell you used earlier?
I don’t recall seeing it in *The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1*.
Did your parents teach you?
Is your whole family made up of wizards?”
“Uh, *Protego*?” Seamus threw out his guess.
He had only come over to talk out of boredom.
“My dad’s a Muggle.
He didn’t find out Mum was a witch until after they got married.
Scared the life out of him.”
“‘Muggle’ isn’t a very nice word to use,” Hermione warned him sternly.
Seamus choked on his words—psychologically speaking.
“A shield spell.
Strictly speaking, it’s a family inheritance.
Also, my parents aren’t wizards.
My uncle might be?
A really formidable one.”
“I’m a bit confused…” Seamus scratched his head.
“Are you your uncle’s apprentice?” Hermione rested her left hand on the table, her gaze searching.
“You could say that.” *Though his training sessions were a bit too brutal.
He always shot me full of arrows like a hedgehog.
If I couldn’t beat him, I’d die, and even if I won, I had to endure his explosive tail-whip finish.*
Hermione actually wanted to ask where Mason had transferred from, but seeing his lowered gaze, she thought she had brought up a sensitive topic.
In truth, Mason was inspecting the [Mastery of All Magic Manual] in his mind.
Among the countless grayed-out charms, *Scourgify* had suddenly lit up, though the glow only filled a third of its slot.
He probably needed to learn the wand gesture, master it, and use it proficiently to fully unlock it.
Correspondingly, several spells in the Iron Magic section emitted faint glimmers of light, though their brightness was quite dim.
Mason gained a very basic understanding of “Abnormal Status Affliction.” This knowledge detailed how mages recognized bodily discomforts and environmental impacts in daily life—such as muscle soreness, cramps, numbness, hypothermia, and overheating—and summarized a method of using magic to transfer these “abnormal statuses.” The transfer targets were individuals with low resistance, such as summoned creatures or followers.
It was worth noting that this method could not prevent original physical injuries; it was merely a path mages explored between enhancement and curses.
“Seamus, I wish I had an appetite as good as yours,” Mason lamented, quietly resting his right hand on Seamus’s shoulder.
Seamus’s plate was piled high with food.
He usually didn’t eat this much, but since it was his first time at a boarding school with no one at the table to restrict him, he couldn’t control himself.
He wiped his mouth and said, “I actually wish I could eat less like you.
My mum was nagging me this morning, worried her son would enter Hogwarts and return home looking like a pig—”
*Burp—*
*Can satiety be transferred too?*
Mason was a bit surprised.
The aroma in the air reignited his appetite.
On the other hand, Seamus looked like a eunuch visiting a brothel—suddenly struck by enlightened detachment, stripped of all worldly desires.
So Mason pulled back his right hand, pondered for a moment, and turned to stare at Miss Beaver.
“To formally introduce myself: Mason Jones, eleven years old, Chinese-American.
I know a tiny bit of family magic, but I don’t have any relatives named Indiana.”
Mason extended his wicked right hand, laced with three parts indifference, three parts enthusiasm, three parts nonchalance, and ninety-one parts anti-study sentiment.
“Hermione Granger, eleven, British,” Hermione said, her voice slightly muffled.
Several nearby tables were looking over, but out of politeness, she felt obliged to respond.
“I can feel your passion for learning.
If only you could share half of it with me.” Even while eating, Miss Beaver was clutching an exceptionally thick textbook, which appeared to be *One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi*.
“Of course!
Both my parents are ordinary people.
I need to gain a deeper, more comprehensive, and timely understanding of the wizarding world!”
*What just flashed through my mind?*
*Was it Socrates?
Plato?
Zhang Heng?
Gauss?
Turing?
Freud?
Oh, my Muse is dancing inside that pitiful, empty brain, and what knowledge do I have to adorn her?
What does seven years of hard study matter?
I am a man destined to write ‘One Thousand Spells and How to Unlock Them’!
How could I waste time lingering here just for the sake of gluttony?*
*No, something is very, very wrong.*
Mason followed his instinct and cut off the magic flow of Abnormal Status Affliction, narrowly escaping the study-obsessed state.
In front of him, Miss Beaver was still talking endlessly about her understanding of the wizarding world, showing no sign of being affected by the ninety-nine percent anti-study sentiment Mason had sent her way.
*This girl is terrifying.
She must be put to good use.*