The elderly Goblin General Manager pulled a Gold Flamel Coin from his breast pocket and slid it into the slot.
He then ran his long, pale-gray nail along the grooves of the pentagram.
As his nail slid across, the lines of the star began to glow with a faint light.
Soon, the runes at each corner of the star lit up one by one.
Yellow, blue, green, red, and white shone in harmony.
Then, the pentagram began to rotate, and the grooves that formed it began to contract, retracting into the slot.
The heavy clanking of interlocking gears and mechanisms echoed from behind the door.
Once all the noise subsided, the old goblin gently pushed the stone door.
The vault door swung open to a master who had never visited since its creation.
“And here I thought you’d have a massive collection, but your vault is actually quite bare, Teacher,” Raven joked to old Nicolas.
If you ignored the mountains of Gold Galleons inside, the vault was indeed empty.
There were no rare magical gems, no ancient alchemical artifacts, and no highly valuable deeds or shares.
Only Gold Galleons.
But there were so many of them.
Just how many?
It was enough for a dragon like Smaug to use them as a swimming pool.
So many that, if used without restraint, they could cause inflation so severe in the wizarding world that people wouldn’t even be able to afford bread.
Facing his disciple’s teasing, old Nicolas didn’t mind.
“I actually took this job from your parents today for two reasons. On one hand, I wanted to see you off to school. On the other, I wanted you to get a direct feel for the people and things you will have to face in the future. For the past twelve years, you’ve lived in my manor. The only one who knows of our relationship is Madame Maxime. Today, you saw for yourself what kind of people can be friends, what kind of families can be won over, and what kind of race will be your enemy. Seeing their attitude toward me with your own eyes should serve as a good reference for your future choices.”
Old Nicolas continued, “This vault is a symbol of the truce I made with the goblins back then. They recognized the Gold Galleons I held as currency, and in exchange, they were stored here. When I need to use them, the goblins pay them out, or perhaps they destroy them, melt them down, and make something else—a trick they learned from Muggles. You can think of this vault as a trophy room.”
Soon, the Goblin General Manager walked over, holding a standard Gringotts parchment agreement.
“Gentlemen, the inventory is complete. There are currently twenty billion, seven hundred and sixty-nine million, four hundred and seventy-four thousand, four hundred and fifty-five Gold Galleons in the vault. If neither of you has any objections, please sign this Unbreakable Vow agreement under my witness.”
Two wisps of magic scanned the parchment.
There were no curses or traps.
The goblins weren’t foolish enough to use magical contracts to deceive a legendary alchemist like Nicolas Flamel.
Thus, the names of the teacher and disciple were neatly inscribed onto the agreement.
A warm orange magical glow flowed across the paper, indicating that the Unbreakable Vow had been sealed.
The ownership of the vault was officially transferred to Raven.
Raven let out a mischievous grin and clapped his hands to draw everyone’s attention.
“Since this is Teacher’s trophy vault, I might as well place an art piece of my own here. Teacher, do you remember the Middle-earth story I told you? The dragon in the golden mountain, Smaug residing in the Lonely Mountain. With so much gold, how could we not have a dragon?”
With that, Raven pulled out his *Field Guide*.
With a flick of his wand, a distorted shadow emerged in the air.
As it expanded, a massive metallic dragon materialized before them.
The dragon was easily two hundred feet long, with a staggering wingspan of about three hundred and thirty feet.
The impact craters, deep bite marks covering its torso, and tattered wing membranes seemed to tell everyone just how fierce and battle-hardened it had been in life—and how terrifying the enemy who hunted such a monster must have been.
The flattering smile on the sharp-featured Goblin Manager’s face instantly vanished, replaced by an expression of utter disbelief.
Even the elderly General Manager, who had seen his fair share of historical storms, felt his heart skip a beat upon recognizing the goblin silver that made up the dragon’s body.
His heavily wrinkled face showed clear signs of unease.
Seeing that his collection had successfully stunned the two goblins, Raven explained with satisfaction, “This piece of art before you is what I call the Ranrok Dragon. The Goblin Dragon, Ranrok.”
The goblin leader who had instigated the goblin rebellion a century ago.
A dangerous figure who had used ancestral goblin silver technology to control dragons and trolls to build his army.
Though Ranrok was not as famous as the two Dark Lords, judging by the dangerous aura lingering on his corpse, Nicolas Flamel estimated that his threat level had been no lower than theirs.
“His corpse shouldn’t have fallen into anyone else’s hands…” the Goblin Manager muttered, his face turning incredibly complex.
The servile flattery from before was entirely gone.
Of course, even under such immense shock, the Goblin Manager was incredibly careful with his wording.
He must not mention or refer to [that person].
Any pointing words would trigger the condition, and expressing any negative emotions while speaking of them would summon the “Fanged Angels.”
This was a curse far more terrifying than the Taboo Voldemort placed on his own name.
It was a new shadow that had hung over the goblin race for the past century.
It was Ranrok’s greatest sin: he had brought an unimaginable enemy upon the goblins.
The fear had not disappeared; it had merely shifted.
What was even more terrifying was that the younger generation of goblins had taken to projecting positive emotions onto [that person] as a matter of course.
Raven did not answer the Goblin Manager’s question.
Instead, he countered, “You are Ranrok’s son, aren’t you? You look a lot like him. (In truth, I met him a hundred years ago.) According to goblin ethics, ownership of this goblin dragon should belong to you. Now that I am storing it in this vault, what will you do? Will you ‘retrieve’ your father’s remains? Or perhaps take this massive goblin silver body, which is enough to let goblins enslave every magical creature in the world? I believe you have plenty of reasons to ‘take it back’ from my vault.”
The Goblin Manager was left completely speechless by Raven’s counterquestion.
He was frantically weighing the pros and cons in his mind.
From the perspective of racial ethics, he held the right of ownership to this dragon’s corpse.
From a personal standpoint, this was his father’s remains.
From the perspective of racial righteousness, this was a monumental asset that could spark the rise of the goblins.
However, he was an employee of Gringotts, the Manager of Gringotts London.
The bank’s ability to protect wizarding property was the sole reason the wizarding society tolerated the goblin race.
*I cannot do this in my own name,* the Goblin Manager realized.
Sensing the resolve in the Goblin Manager’s eyes, the elderly General Manager finally spoke up.
“Rokson will not do anything to violate his professional code of conduct.”
Hearing the old goblin speak, the Goblin Manager, Rokson, looked at the General Manager with a pleading expression.
*Why not?*
But the old goblin firmly shook his head.
It was he who had sheltered Ranrok’s son after Ranrok’s defeat.
He had guided Rokson through life; this was a child he had raised, and he believed Rokson would make the right choice once he calmed down.
The young wizard was merely trying to make fools of them.
He would never leave the dragon entirely unguarded.
As such, he could not let Rokson continue to embarrass himself.
Sure enough, Raven announced that he wanted to set up his own defense forces.
Under the watchful eyes of the goblins, Raven pulled a row of flowerpots from his parchment book and sowed seeds into them one by one.
Catalyzed by magic, tiny Chinese Chomping Cabbages quickly sprouted.
The two goblins instantly froze on the spot!
Their survival instincts completely wiped all thoughts from their minds.
Raven checked the growth of the cabbages, looking thoroughly pleased.
He then produced a jar of liquid and poured it over the cabbages’ roots.
The Chinese Chomping Cabbages gulped it down, growing rapidly.
Placing the flowerpots casually by the door, Raven walked out with the goblins.
From the moment the Chinese Chomping Cabbages sprouted, the two goblins had been too petrified to move.
Having finally recovered, they absolutely did not dare to look at Raven.
They numbly closed the vault, boarded the cart, drove off, and escorted their guests out.
Do not think too much.
Do not look too much.
The “Fanged Angels.”
This was the signature of *that person*.
They were now absolutely certain that the young wizard had not obtained the Ranrok Dragon by chance; he had inherited the legacy of *that person*.
After all, Ranrok had been defeated by “that ancient…” No!
Do not think about it!
If a goblin thought of *that person* with negative emotions, Chinese Chomping Cabbages would inevitably spawn right beside them and shred every goblin within fifty meters.
This was a curse that the new generation of goblins had painfully learned to live with.
If it was unavoidable, they would refer to them as “That One” in their minds, concentrating entirely on ensuring they felt no negative emotions.
This was a rule the goblins had deduced only after losing a full ten percent of their population.
It wasn’t until the teacher and disciple walked out of Gringotts that the two goblins finally looked like they had survived a near-death experience.
Do not provoke him.
Under no circumstances must they provoke him.
Meanwhile, Raven was calculating what he could craft using the overflowing energy crystals in his *Field Guide*.
*Goblins really are a bountiful harvest.
I almost want to use them to feed the cabbages…*