The second door was silver, engraved with the following words:
*Enter, stranger, but beware, for greed leads to a grim end.*
*Those who take without toil, who crave without end, shall face the severest of punishments.*
*Therefore, if you seek to take from our vaults a fortune that was never yours,*
*O thief, you have been warned: beware, for you shall find not treasure, but retribution.*
Standing before the open second gate, Nicolas Flamel did not rush inside.
Beyond the threshold, the ugly little creatures were in a state of panic.
The goblin clerks of the London Gringotts had never witnessed a scene like this.
The goblins of the Paris Gringotts, while they had never seen Nicolas Flamel in person, had spent years practicing for such an occasion.
Several gold-transformed goblin general managers served as instructional tools; rehearsing the reception of Nicolas Flamel was a mandatory subject for new employees.
“￥@#…￥%&…@￥”
A few low-voiced goblin curses quickly suppressed the panicked staff.
Led by the goblin supervisors, about a hundred goblins lined up in an orderly fashion.
It was then that Old Nicolas entered, bringing Raven with him.
Looking at the crowd of busy, ugly things before him, a somewhat terrifying smile curled Raven’s lips.
*Old acquaintances.
So familiar, so dear, long overdue…* His hands itched.
He desperately wanted to throw something into the mix.
*But now is not the time.*
Raven suppressed his emotions.
The general managers of London Gringotts breathed a sigh of relief.
They failed to notice that something far more terrifying than Nicolas Flamel had slipped inside; they simply assumed the old man was in a good mood today.
Since Nicolas Flamel had not physically smashed his way in, Gringotts—following their established tacit understanding—would provide professional services to this walking mountain of gold.
Nicolas Flamel walked past the goblin clerks and supervisors, who were dressed in exquisite gold-trimmed uniforms and wore badges made of various metals.
With the help of his alchemy-enhanced magic eyes, the goblin’s expressions were laid bare before him.
First came the lingering traces of panic; the highest level of alert was always backed by the blood and tears of goblin lessons learned.
Then came greed.
In his six hundred years as a wizard, Nicolas had seen too many greedy people; he himself was a greedy seeker of truth.
This frantic pursuit of wealth was incredibly pure.
Emotion is a form of magical power—a fact proven during the goblin rebellions a century ago—and goblins made excellent kindling.
As the goblins instinctively masked their greed, the emotion they presented to Nicolas was joy, which quickly shifted into vigilance.
Nicolas clearly saw several goblin supervisors with gold badges exchange glances, like hungry beasts who had simultaneously spotted prey.
Each wanted to monopolize the service fee for this visit.
At that moment, their colleagues seemed rather an eyesore.
Ignoring the goblin elite, Old Nicolas walked straight toward an old goblin wearing a patched suit.
He wore no badge, and the wrinkles on his face were deep enough to trap flies.
“The new generation of goblins has been too heavily influenced by wizards. They haven’t inherited a bit of the pragmatism of your era,” Nicolas Flamel remarked.
When it came to things of value, Old Nicolas had slightly more patience than he did for Lucius.
This remained true regardless of whether the goblins wanted to be “studied” or not.
“The oldest among these children is not even a hundred. We old goblins have always been pleased to see them break away from the past of our race,” the goblin general manager replied, his clouded eyes meeting Nicolas’s with a steady, dignified gaze.
He was 214 years old.
Few goblins lived that long.
To him, turning into a lump of gold to educate future generations was a fair trade.
The only way the general manager would find it a loss was if the Philosopher’s Stone were handed over to Dumbledore, causing the old man to lose the ability to transmute gold.
“The past, is it? As expected of a goblin—you truly dare to say that to my face.”
Would one care if the liquid in a beaker felt offended?
Nicolas Flamel did not.
He had his own business to attend to.
How these experimental materials were treated after he finished was Raven’s concern; after all, Nicolas was just an old man preparing to die.
“Transfer Vault [555] in the London Gringotts, held under my name, to my disciple, [Raven Nicholas Weasley].”
A piece of parchment and a “Gold Flamel Coin” floated toward the goblin general manager.
“Here are the contract and the proof,” Old Nicolas said.
The general manager nodded to the goblin governor standing by.
The governor, who dressed like a Muggle businessman and had a gaunt, monkey-like face, didn’t hesitate for a second.
He acted as diligently as a house-elf, scurrying off toward the back offices.
A moment later, the errand-running governor scurried back, clutching a jewel-encrusted box. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
Large pieces of turquoise, sapphire, and opal served as mere decorations, haphazardly inlaid into the surface of the black box, which was made of an unknown material.
The goblin governor carefully opened the box and presented the contents, resting on red silk, to the elderly wizard.
Using his long fingernails, the goblin general manager pinched the sole item in the box: another “Gold Flamel Coin.” He casually pushed the contract toward the governor.
The old goblin reached into his suit pocket with his right hand and pulled out a pair of magnificent goggles with gold handles and ruby-polished lenses.
Placing the goggles over his eyes, the general manager compared the two “Gold Flamel Coins” back and forth, searching for any difference.
Unfortunately, there was none.
“Aside from the imprint of your portrait on the surface, these two ‘Gold Flamel Coins’ are identical to Gold Galleons in appearance, metal proportions, and even magical effects. There is not even a difference between the two ‘Gold Flamel Coins’ themselves. Truly terrifying craftsmanship,” the elderly goblin lamented.
“But the cost to produce them is far lower than a single Gold Galleon,” Nicolas added.
Breaking the magical heritage that goblins had used for generations to maintain their social status had been one of the highlights of his six-hundred-year life.
During the years he and the goblins were at odds, the goblins had spent an enormous amount of effort for several decades trying to recall and recast every circulating Gold Flamel Coin on the market.
After several attempts, the goblins gave up on this useless endeavor.
Having spent immense manpower and resources, the goblins bought a precious lesson:
Never oppose a legendary alchemist in the realm of metals.
“Then please follow me. Next, we must go to the underground vault area to complete the actual transfer of ownership.”
Having finished the verification, the old goblin remained professional in providing service to his guest.
He turned and walked toward the mine cart, and the teacher and student followed.
The monkey-faced governor lagged slightly behind, staring intensely at the goblin supervisors still standing in the hall.
“????e?ɑ:u:??e:??№”
Another string of goblin curses.
Under the governor’s lead, the goblin elite quickly returned to their posts—some grabbing scales, others using goggles.
The scene returned to its usual bustle.
Seeing his subordinates back at work, the goblin dressed like a Muggle tycoon swapped his expression for one of flattery.
He trotted forward to catch up with the group.
Then, he instinctively pulled a head-mounted mining lamp from under the driver’s seat and took his place at the controls.
*Pshhh…
Pshhh…*
The sound of two steam valves releasing echoed.
Led by the engine, the mine cart rolled along the tracks, slowly leaving the opulent, brilliant hall and descending into the dim underground world.