A few days ago, Demon Island.

"Clean up the experimental subjects and organize the observation reports—"

Nicolas Flamel instructed calmly, not at all concerned about the pile of flesh and blood behind the two-way mirror.

As the oldest and most powerful alchemist in the magical world today, he knew very well what was experimental material and what was a person.

Over the years, he had never been crazy enough to deviate from his original intention, the most important thing being that he would not stand above others—his primary test upon arriving at Demon Island was to determine whether those "humanoid creatures" "specially summoned" by Tom Riddle's Horcrux fragment counted as people, which was also what the other Major Arcana besides "The Tower" and "The Fool" wanted to determine.

Judging whether a "person" is a person seems like a philosophical question, but when it comes to Horcrux fragment revival, it's not a terribly complicated situation.

According to the Tianming Group's data, Tom Riddle had an immortal main soul that carried most of his memories.

As for the Horcrux fragments scattered in various Horcruxes, they did not form any consciousness-sharing network with the main soul, at least not when either side was extremely weak.

At the same time, each "revived" Horcrux fragment did not iterate new memories, and those new pieces of information that were revived and quickly annihilated.

Without the participation of the main soul, what was revived here on Demon Island was not the real "Voldemort."

The alchemy workshop merely created an independent body for Tom's fragmented Horcruxes, and even those Horcruxes did not truly enter the body.

The "special summoning" of the Horcruxes did not directly destroy the Horcruxes. After destroying the fragile body consciousness of the "summoned" creatures, the Horcruxes would re-enter a state of waiting to be activated.

Obviously, even if these Horcrux fragments unanimously identified themselves as "Tom Riddle," they were essentially man-made, mass-producible alchemical products.

"The soul concentration on Hufflepuff's cup has decreased by another two percent, Master Magician."

A white-robed wizard tapped the table lightly with his wand, conjuring a semi-transparent magical record board in mid-air.

"Judging from the current situation, Hufflepuff's cup can be used at most thirty-seven more times, and according to Netherland's soul decay conjecture, we estimate that unstable reactions will begin to occur after about twenty times. It may be necessary to rely on stronger magic output, rituals, and consumption of materials to achieve the normal 'revival' effect as before."

"Only less than forty times left? The consumption rate of Tom Riddle's Horcruxes is faster than we imagined—"

Nicolas Flamel frowned slightly, his bony fingers tapping lightly on the magical light board in front of him, his eyes full of worry and reluctance.

Apart from Hufflepuff's cup, only two of Voldemort's Horcruxes scattered in the magical world had been found so far: Tom Riddle's diary and Marvolo Gaunt's ring. Although according to Ellena, two more Horcruxes were expected to be obtained this year, if they were all like this, it would still be difficult to satisfy Nicolas Flamel's experimental assumptions accumulated over hundreds of years.

"Miss Fool said that if the main soul is used as the core material, then the immortal nature of the Horcruxes can be used to repeat the experiment continuously."

A middle-aged wizard standing not far from Nicolas Flamel said, he looked at Nicolas Flamel somewhat cautiously, handing over a thick stack of documents while explaining.

"The greatest use of Horcruxes is to extend the complete annihilation of the 'individual' soul. According to our previous model calculations, the number of experiments that the main soul can carry should recover over time—"

"Tom Riddle's main soul... Well, that makes some sense, but it's hidden now and can't be found at all, right?"

A trace of realization flashed in Nicolas Flamel's eyes, he nodded, he roughly scanned the document and understood.

Horcruxes continue the soul, therefore, as long as the Horcruxes still exist in this world, Tom Riddle's main soul will never be completely annihilated and disappear.

As for the power consumed in the revival, any problem that could be solved by wizards' dissipated magic being recharged was not even worth considering for Nicolas Flamel and others.

"Well, this world is too big. If he deliberately hides, it will indeed be difficult to find his trace, but—"

The middle-aged wizard coughed lightly, took a small step forward, opened the thick stack of documents, and pointed to one of the pages, explaining seriously.

"We suspect that the strict magical barriers around Demon Island may be interfering with the experimental subjects' transmission of information outwards."

"At the same time, on the other hand, the overly rapid and bland handling of experimental subjects may also be one of the factors affecting the experimental subjects' information interaction. If strong emotional stimulation can be performed, it may be possible to collect more relevant content about the experimental subjects... Our current progress has temporarily entered a standstill stage, and most of the follow-up situations do not have concrete data support..."

There is too little research data on Horcruxes in the magical world. Almost everything about its operation methods and the connection between Horcruxes and the main soul is blank.

Although Demon Metropolis's research on the nature and critical point of Horcruxes in the past few months has filled some gaps, it is still far from enough.

"Hmm, some stronger stimulation? Open external environment? I roughly understand—"

Nicolas Flamel pondered for a few seconds and gently repeated a sentence as if lost in thought.

Obviously, as the leader of the Horcrux and alchemy human body project, he had to produce a convincing report.

As for the final presentation form of this report and how to achieve the goals listed in this plan, the few "Demon Lords" would naturally consider and plan.

…………

Lestrange Family Manor.

After several fierce magical confrontations, the situation gradually began to clear up.

Perhaps Voldemort in his prime was indeed a top wizard, a dangerous guy who could even threaten Dumbledore under certain circumstances and conditions.

However, this definitely did not include the "Riddle-031" who had not even figured out his own "meaning of existence."

Not to mention that his current magic and physique data had long been presented to Grindelwald and Dumbledore, just the wand in his hand carrying the "Queen's Majesty" destined him to lose from the beginning—considering the attached goals of this plan, compared to letting "Riddle-031" die barehanded, it was better to give him some "false hope" first.

Even if Grindelwald deliberately suppressed his own magic and kept using various spells to maintain the battle with "Riddle-031," the situation was still tilting one-sidedly.

More importantly, since Grindelwald started, the psychological pressure that Dumbledore, who was watching from the sidelines, gave to "Riddle-031" was also constantly increasing.

"It's useless, surrender, Tom."

Dumbledore stood quietly on the edge of the battlefield, occasionally waving his wand to block the aftermath flying towards him, while patiently persuading Voldemort.

"You should be clear that you are not even a match for Mr. Gellert now—"

"Shut up!"

Voldemort said fiercely, his pupils filled with bloodshot eyes.

He felt like a wild beast in a cage, constantly being driven and tortured by cunning hunters.

"Don't be distracted, Voldemort—weren't you quite powerful in the past? How come you're so embarrassed and weak now..."

Not far away, the old wizard he didn't recognize roared, waving the wand in his hand non-stop, releasing spells at him like crazy.

After a few minutes of fierce "evenly matched" fighting, Voldemort roughly guessed the other party's identity—mostly the elder of some unknown person who was easily crushed to death by him in the past.

If it were in his prime, this kind of irrational, ordinary old guy wouldn't even be able to withstand one round in his hands, but in the current predicament, even a stunning spell that looked crooked, Voldemort had to stare at with all his attention, because he didn't know if there would be other debris scattered around him.

The most hateful thing was that the spells released by that old guy were clearly mixed with a large number of black magic spells such as "Crucio," but Dumbledore stood by and remained indifferent.

Obviously, before today's battle, Dumbledore should have reached an agreement with that old guy, allowing him to take revenge on himself.

Damn it!

Damn it!

When he escapes and recovers his strength, he must make that old thing wish he were dead!

Voldemort dodged another Crucio spell in embarrassment, he noticed that Dumbledore's patience seemed to be disappearing.

Compared to a few minutes ago, the frequency with which this old wizard waved his wand to interfere was increasing, like a large net that was slowly tightening.

"Mr. Riddle, given that the game difficulty may be too high, we have prepared an extra small gift for you."

A passage involuntarily floated through Voldemort's mind, the instruction given by the mysterious voice after he woke up.

If he fulfilled the other party's request, then in times of crisis, he could get unexpected help from the "organizer."

Although from the depths of Voldemort's heart, he hated the feeling of being manipulated like a puppet, it seemed that there was no other way now.

No matter what, as long as the other party intervened, there would definitely be loopholes—no matter how great the strength of that unknown promise, it could at least attract Dumbledore's attention, and even if it was only for a short ten seconds, as long as Dumbledore was entangled, he would have a chance to escape this place. As for the subsequent things, he could lie dormant slowly and take revenge one by one.

"Powerful... Explosion! Cataclysmic Disaster—"

Voldemort's eyes suddenly condensed, and he waved the wand in his hand violently towards the ceiling, creating an indiscriminate magical explosion in the room.

The next second, taking advantage of the gap between Dumbledore and the unknown old wizard defending with their wands, Voldemort quickly turned his wand, gritted his teeth and pointed it at his left arm.

"Morsmordre—"

Accompanied by the burnt smell of an iron, the Dark Mark quickly spread inside his skinny arm.

In less than a few seconds, a scarlet, scorched Dark Mark was branded out.

This was his last hope of turning the tables—

Comply with the request made by the mysterious voice, imprint the Dark Mark on himself, and then... summon all the Death Eaters.

In exchange, the mysterious mastermind hidden behind the scenes would terminate the "game" they set up, and as long as those guys dared to show up, with Albus Dumbledore's wisdom, he would soon understand that there was a group of more dangerous guys threatening this world.

"Fulfill your promise, you damned devils—"

Voldemort roared viciously in a low voice, pressing his right thumb against the Dark Mark.

————

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Yay!