The first thing I did after calming myself down was retrieve the Encyclopedia of Mind Arts from my system inventory.
The moment it appeared in my hands, I could tell it wasn’t an ordinary magical book.
The cover was made from smooth black leather without a title, and the pages shimmered faintly with silver runes that rearranged themselves every few seconds.
It radiated an ancient magical aura that made even Tom Riddle’s instincts recognize it as an extraordinary treasure.
I smiled slightly before opening the first page.
“Mind Magic…
exactly what I need.” If there was one person I refused to underestimate, it was Albus Dumbledore.
That old man was far too intelligent for his own good.
Even if he wasn’t a natural Legilimens who casually invaded people’s thoughts, he possessed decades of experience reading people.
He noticed tiny expressions, body language, hesitation, lies, and contradictions.
If anyone in this world could suspect that I wasn’t quite the same Tom Riddle he expected to meet, it would be him.
Fortunately, I wasn’t exactly a different person anymore.
The soul fusion had changed everything.
I wasn’t possessing Tom Riddle.
I wasn’t pretending to be him.
I was Tom Riddle.
My memories from another life were simply another part of who I was now.
Even so, I couldn’t afford to take chances.
There was another issue that needed to be solved.
The original Tom Riddle had not exactly been kind to the other children living in this orphanage.
Through accidental magic he had frightened them, manipulated them, stolen from them, tortured them in subtle ways, and generally ensured everyone feared him.
If Dumbledore questioned any of them, the stories would paint a picture of a cruel and dangerous child.
They weren’t wrong, but they also weren’t useful to me.
My lips slowly curled into a smile as an idea formed in my mind.
“Obliviate…
Memory Modification…
False Memory Charms.” If I could master those spells before Dumbledore arrived, then the solution was obvious.
I wouldn’t simply erase their memories.
That would leave suspicious gaps.
Instead, I would carefully rewrite them.
Every memory of me bullying another orphan would disappear.
Every frightening incident involving accidental magic would become something completely harmless.
Instead of fearing me, they would remember me helping them whenever they were sad, sharing food with them, standing up to bullies, making everyone laugh, and generally being the most well-liked child in the orphanage.
Perfect.
No evidence.
No witnesses.
Nothing for Dumbledore to investigate.
To fool the greatest White Lord of the age, I needed everyone around me to genuinely believe I was nothing more than an unusually intelligent child.
Fortunately, Mind Magic specialized in exactly that.
Without wasting another second, I focused on the Personal Dimension option within my system.
“Enter.” The world around me dissolved into countless particles of light.
A moment later I found myself standing inside an enormous white space that stretched endlessly in every direction.
There was no ceiling, no walls, no sky, and no visible floor beyond the smooth white surface beneath my feet.
It felt as though I had stepped into an empty universe waiting to be shaped.
A notification appeared.
Welcome to the Personal Dimension.
Current Time Ratio: 100 Days Inside = 1 Hour Outside.
Current Authority: Beginner.
Available Functions: Basic Terrain Creation, Training Environment, Simulation.
I blinked before reading the message again.
“One hundred days…” That was ridiculous.
If Dumbledore arrived within the next hour, I would still have over three months to prepare.
If he arrived tomorrow…
I could spend years training.
An uncontrollable grin spread across my face.
“This is absolutely broken.” Immediately I sat down cross-legged and opened the Encyclopedia of Mind Arts.
The instant my fingers touched the pages, the writing shifted into a format I could understand perfectly.
Complex magical theories that should have taken years to comprehend suddenly felt surprisingly approachable thanks to my enhanced intelligence and photographic memory.
Every page explained not only the spells themselves but the underlying principles behind thoughts, memories, emotions, consciousness, and the soul.
Rather than simply teaching magic, the book explained why the magic worked.
Hours passed.
Then days.
Soon weeks.
I immersed myself completely in the study of the mind.
Legilimency wasn’t merely reading thoughts.
It was understanding how thoughts were structured.
Occlumency wasn’t simply blocking intruders.
It was reorganizing one’s own consciousness into an impenetrable fortress.
Memory Charms weren’t crude acts of deletion.
Memories could be hidden, altered, locked away, duplicated, rewritten, or even fabricated from nothing if one possessed sufficient skill.
The more I learned, the more I realized just how terrifying true masters of Mind Magic were.
After nearly a month of uninterrupted study, I finally began practicing.
Without a wand, casting proper spells proved impossible, but theory alone wasn’t enough.
Fortunately, Tom Riddle had always possessed exceptional control over accidental magic.
That control, combined with my enhanced intelligence, allowed me to begin experimenting with wandless spellcasting.
It was significantly more difficult than using a wand, requiring far greater precision and concentration, but it wasn’t impossible.
“I suppose being one of history’s greatest magical prodigies has its advantages.” The first few attempts were disasters.
My concentration collapsed repeatedly.
My mental barriers shattered almost instantly.
Constructing false memories proved so delicate that even imagining them caused them to unravel.
Still…
Every failure taught me something.
Every mistake brought improvement.
By the end of my second month, I could already feel my thoughts becoming more orderly.
My emotions no longer fluctuated wildly.
Every memory was organized like books upon library shelves, each one accessible whenever I desired.
Then I began constructing my true defense.
Rather than imagining a simple wall or shield, I envisioned my mind as an endless library containing millions of books.
Every memory had its own place.
Countless false corridors twisted between shelves, leading nowhere.
Hidden doors concealed my true memories, while countless fabricated books filled the visible shelves.
Anyone attempting to invade my mind without overwhelming skill would become hopelessly lost before ever reaching anything important.
“Not bad.” It certainly wasn’t perfect.
Someone like Dumbledore might eventually break through if given enough time.
But a casual glance?
Impossible.
That was all I needed.
As I continued practicing, my thoughts drifted toward my future.
The original Voldemort had undoubtedly been one of the greatest magical geniuses in history.
He had also been an absolute idiot.
His obsession with Horcruxes had ruined everything.
Splitting his soul seven times had shattered his sanity.
Every fragment stripped away pieces of his humanity until only paranoia, arrogance, and madness remained.
Whether those personality flaws already existed or were amplified by soul damage hardly mattered anymore.
“I’ll definitely become immortal…” I looked toward the endless white horizon.
“…but not like that.” One Horcrux?
Perhaps.
Two?
Maybe.
Three?
Three was a magical number.
There was undeniable symbolism behind it, and if creating Horcruxes truly became necessary, stopping there seemed infinitely safer than tearing my soul into countless fragments.
Even then, I wasn’t convinced.
There had to be better methods.
Alchemy.
Ancient rituals.
The Philosopher’s Stone.
Life Extension Potions.
Magical evolution.
Surely a world that had produced Merlin possessed more than one path toward eternity.
“I’ll research every immortality method in existence before making that decision.” I nodded to myself.
There was no reason to rush.
Unlike the original Voldemort, I possessed knowledge of the future.
That alone changed everything.
Eventually I stood up and decided to test another function of the Personal Dimension.
“I want a wand.” Nothing happened.
A moment later a crude wooden stick appeared before me.
I stared at it.
“…Seriously?” Picking it up, I immediately understood the problem.
The system wasn’t creating real magical artifacts.
It was creating objects based upon my own understanding.
Since I had never actually held a genuine wand, I couldn’t accurately imagine its internal magical structure, the interaction between magical wood and magical core, or the enchantments naturally present within one.
As a result, all I had created was an ordinary carved stick.
“I suppose that makes sense.” Once I obtained my Hogwarts wand and studied it thoroughly, perhaps I would eventually be able to recreate identical copies inside this dimension.
Until then…
“I’ll have to rely on wandless magic.” Fortunately, I wasn’t starting from nothing.
Tom Riddle had unconsciously used wandless accidental magic for years.
Moving objects, frightening animals, speaking to snakes, and manipulating small objects had become second nature long ago.
Now it was simply time to refine that talent into true magic.
My real journey had finally begun