The empty, dark underground world seemed boundless.
Only the screech of the minecart’s wheels rubbing against the steel tracks echoed through the cavern.
The cart carried four passengers, hurtling deeper and deeper into the abyss.
Raven’s gaze followed the tracks, clearly spotting small rooms carved out where the rails met the cliffside in the distance.
Those were the upper vaults.
They had lower security but offered the advantage of easy access.
Wizards with decent, respectable jobs—like employees of the Ministry of Magic—usually kept their family savings here.
There were also members of old wizarding families who rented individual vaults here in their own names for daily expenses.
Accessing the family vaults in the lower levels was not only tedious but also carried the risk of losing the key or token.
Suddenly, the sound of rushing water echoed through the cavern, sounding remarkably out of place in this vast, empty underground rail system.
As the minecart sped forward, the roar of the water grew more distinct.
“Ahead is the Thief’s Downfall. It washes away any magical effects on passengers. Abnormal behavior will trigger the alarms, so please do not resist,” the Goblin Manager warned, turning back.
*Whoosh…*
The minecart rapidly plunged through the cascading water.
Alchemical water completely drenched the two goblins.
As for the passenger area…
Old Nicolas turned to Raven and commented, “A decent enough concept.”
Seeing no trace of moisture on either of the two wizards, the slightly disheveled Goblin Manager slowed the cart down.
He cast an inquiring glance at the elderly goblin, seemingly waiting for his instructions.
The aged Goblin General Manager merely shook his head.
These two clearly had magical effects on them, yet the waterfall had neither washed them away nor triggered the alarm system.
Only Nicolas Flamel himself could pull off such a feat.
And so, the minecart continued its journey into the depths.
As if feeling that the silence on this trip was stretching too long, and having a few things he wanted to discuss with Raven, old Nicolas spoke up first.
“To be honest, the goblins today surprised me a bit. They aren’t as afraid of me as they were three hundred years ago. Right now, they might still be a little wary of an old, dying man like me, fearing I might leave them with a massive ‘parting gift’ before I go. But I’m afraid that once I die, they will target you. They fear the rise of another Nicolas Flamel—especially a young one.”
The elderly General Manager seemed half-asleep, pretending not to hear a single word of the conversation.
It was a display of sheer professional service etiquette.
Raven glanced at the two goblins, then fixed his eyes on the side of the Goblin Manager’s face, responding seriously.
“I actually know the goblin race quite well.
I once had a goblin friend, so I know a fair bit about them.
They are an intelligent magical race capable of existing independently of wizards.
But obviously, the wizarding world has limited resources.
They had to learn to coexist with the most powerful magical creatures—wizards.
Ultimately, they chose to serve the wizarding community.
“However, as an independent race with their own heritage, they also have their own ethical standards.
This is the biggest source of conflict between them and wizards.
Take an example: equipment forged by goblin smiths paid for by wizards is considered the wizard’s property under wizarding ethics.
But in goblin eyes, the wizard has merely rented their work, and ownership eternally remains with the goblin creator.
“Teacher, what I want to point out here is not the differences between wizards and goblins, but rather that both races share the concept of ownership, and both share very similar core values. There is commonality within our conflicts. Greed, sorrow, fear, anger—goblin emotions are no less complex than those of wizards. Ranrok proved that a century ago.”
At the mention of that final name, a barely perceptible twitch crossed the Goblin Manager’s face, though it was quickly suppressed by this elite goblin who had spent half his life navigating the dark and treacherous underbelly of the bank.
However, Raven’s eyes had not left the Goblin Manager’s face since he started speaking.
He caught that brief moment of unnaturalness perfectly.
Pondering Raven’s words, old Nicolas felt that his disciple’s speech gave him a sudden spark of technical inspiration.
[Pure] [Fear]
Inspiration seemed to dangle right before him, yet he couldn’t quite grasp it.
But at the very least, he understood Raven’s meaning.
“I spent a great deal of energy on this matter back in the day, wasting a lot of time that could have been used to seek truth. If you plan to use this solution, I suggest you do it as quickly as possible,” old Nicolas advised.
He didn’t speak in crude, bloody terms; as an old Frenchman, he still maintained his sense of style.
Raven, however, thought of his *Field Guide* and the magic supply indicator of his base, which was currently labeled [Overflowing].
Patting his large book through his coat, Raven said, “Perhaps this time, we won’t need to waste any time at all.”
Ever since the day he fitted Raven with a vocal apparatus, he could no longer enjoy being the sole cryptic riddler in their relationship.
Legacy—this was also a form of legacy.
Old Nicolas slipped into a state of deep contemplation, radiating an aura that clearly said, *I don’t want to talk to you right now.*
Thus, only the sound of the wind and the screeching of the tracks remained.
Feeling a bit bored, Raven decided to needle the goblins who had been acting as mere decorations throughout the ride.
“Mr. Manager, speaking of goblin ethics, I have a hypothetical question for you. If—and this is just an ‘if’—a human wizard used a goblin as raw material to craft an art piece, who would own that crafted item according to goblin ethics?”
A devilish question.
The sharp-featured Goblin Manager kept a polite, professional smile plastered on his face.
Before he could answer, the elderly General Manager, who had been dozing off the entire trip, spoke up.
“I can answer that, young Mr. Weasley. My father was once the General Manager of Gringotts in France. After he was turned into gold by Mr. Flamel, Gringotts headquarters paid my family accident insurance and work-related injury compensation. They also used an equivalent weight in Gold Galleons to purchase the ownership of that ‘crafted item.’ So, I am quite clear on this: ownership belongs to the raw material’s family.”
Raven, who had once been a fan of dark humor, found this highly amusing.
He pushed further.
“Still speaking hypothetically, if I were to store such a crafted item in my own Gringotts vault, how would you handle it?”
This time, the Goblin Manager driving the cart answered.
“We at Gringotts have extremely strict security measures. The Thief’s Downfall is just the most basic layer. If you are still concerned, guest, you can follow the example of the ancient families and place your own security measures inside the vault. Providing vault-safekeeping services for personal defenses is also included in the lower-vault contract.”
With a harsh, grinding screech of brakes, they finally arrived at their destination: Vault 555.
The Goblin Manager stepped off the cart first and helped the passengers down.
Then, he pulled a container from his pocket and opened the lid.
A ball of bright light flew out automatically and attached itself to a lamp holder.
The light illuminated a massive door.
The design on the door was incredibly simple: a single slot and a pentagram.
Each point of the pentagram was marked with a specific symbol:
Earth, Wind, Water, Fire, and Ether.