HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

The Shield spell was now vastly stronger, but its power came at a cost — massive magical drain, acute focus, and precise timing in combat.

Vizet crossed his arms, deep in thought.

I'll have to face this limitation eventually, he reasoned. Given my current growth rate, I might as well test the limits now...

He took a controlled breath and cast Primordial Magic: Shield — this time, channeling power from the Obscurus.

The Obscurus Core, hidden deep within like a second, volatile heart, suddenly surged to life. Primordial magic erupted outward in a swelling bubble of energy, condensing into a shimmering magical barrier around him.

The barrier was transparent, bathed in a faint silver-blue glow that didn't hinder visibility in the slightest. It shimmered like thin glass under moonlight — almost delicate, yet humming with power.

But just as Vizet began to observe its structure, the Obscurus trembled — angrily.

It was beginning to stir, to thrash for release.

Immediately, he ended the spell. The barrier collapsed like a soap bubble, vanishing without a trace.

"It can't hold for long... is that really all?" he muttered, brow furrowing. He cast Shield again.

And again.

After several rounds of careful testing, Vizet gained a deeper understanding — not just of the spell's function, but also of its boundaries.

The magical barrier could remain active for only about two seconds before the Obscurus reacted violently.

Once that happened, he needed to pause — let the Obscurus settle for at least two seconds — before trying again.

From activation of the Guardian Meditation Technique to the moment the barrier formed, the whole casting process took roughly two seconds. Vizet labeled this the "casting delay."

Combined with the two-second limit on how long the barrier could be maintained, the word instant in the Guide's description now felt... misleading.

At this stage, its practical use in actual combat was questionable. A single miscalculation could cost him dearly. In fact, it might be safer to simply rely on Botanomorphis to transfigure a Devil's Snare to form an organic defense around his body. That spell at least could persist longer and act independently.

He walked over to the window sill, gazing out at the wind-ruffled grasses of the field below, lost in thought.

Is there no way to streamline it further...?

Then he paused.

Wait... I'm a wizard. Why am I not using my wand?Just because a spell could be cast wandlessly didn't mean it had to be.

Letting out a short laugh, Vizet pulled his wand from his pocket and gave it a small flick.

Activating the Guardian Meditation Technique, he raised his wand — and this time, the bubble-like barrier sprang up around him almost immediately.

The casting delay was reduced to one second.

I knew it. His hunch had been right.

Using a wand significantly sped up the connection between the meditation technique and the Obscurus Core, minimizing the delay.

More than that, he could feel something subtle: the wand acted as a focus — not just for channeling magic, but for helping his awareness synchronize with the core.

That feeling was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

With more practice, he thought, I could probably push the delay down even further.

And once he fully mastered the control process, he might even achieve this speed in wandless casting.

Encouraged, Vizet resumed his training — casting the barrier again and again, measuring his timing, refining his focus.

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"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. I hope you have a pleasant day."

As the deep, formal voice echoed, the Viking warship statue slowly moved aside, revealing an exquisitely carved sprucewood door. On it was a depiction of a Viking warship, majestic and triumphant, riding the waves.

The middle-aged man with a goatee smiled faintly, trailing his fingertips over the wood.

"The brave Viking wizards of the past..." he murmured, "no longer exist. Now they're just a flock of cowardly Swedish wizards, aren't they?"

The fair-skinned man beside him lowered his gaze, his tone laced with contempt. "Yes… that's right."

The man with the goatee gave a nod of satisfaction. "Then let's begin. Department of Mysteries —"

"I know." The fair-skinned man raised a hand dismissively. "I want the spear. If there's time, I'll take the eye too."

"All right. Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," the goateed man said cheerfully, opening the door and making a graceful, theatrical gesture of welcome.

Beyond the door was a space barely larger than a telephone booth. A rudder hung on the wall, glowing with the words: Main Hall of the Ministry of Magic (Lobby and Reception Office)

Each man gripped a handle. Instantly, a soft blue light engulfed them both.

The Swedish Ministry's main hall resembled the interior of a grand ship's cabin. The floor was lined with plush, downy carpets, and vibrant fabrics and tapestries fluttered along the walls, all in the style of Norse embroidery.

At the center stood an enormous ice sculpture of a towering wizard. With gentle, periodic waves of his wand, the ceiling above transformed into an ever-changing ocean — sometimes stormy, sometimes still.

Bubbles drifted lazily around the hall, pulsing with faint light. Wizards arrived and departed through them.

Passing through the standard security inspection like ordinary visitors, the two men continued to a smaller adjacent cabin, which also housed a rudder.

Most of the labels along its handle glowed brightly — except one: Department of Mysteries, which remained dim.

"Visitors can't enter that one," the goateed man sighed softly. "Seems I'll have to ask you to put in a little more effort…"

"You didn't assign anyone for this?" the fair-skinned man asked coldly.

"Our members are valuable," the goateed man replied. "And your targets are a long stick and an eyeball. Hardly worth allocating resources to. My presence is merely supervisory. A guide, if you will. Forgive the bluntness."

The fair-skinned man exhaled through his nose, face still expressionless. "It doesn't matter."

But his clenched fists told a different story. The veins on the back of his hands bulged, twitching with restrained fury.

As the cabin filled with wizards and the rudder began to turn, signaling movement through the Ministry's internal system, something changed.

The fair-skinned man began to tremble — slightly at first, then more violently. Like a convulsion.

From the corners of his eyes, his nostrils, and his mouth, black mist began to seep.

The air turned cold.

The surrounding wizards noticed too late.

A heavy, storm-like darkness bloomed behind the man — vast, oppressive, and shot through with threads of crimson.

"What is that…?"

"Why did the Ministry let this thing in?"

"It's… it's a monste— No! An Obscurus! It's an Obscurus! It's going to kill us!"

"Hurry up," the goateed man whispered calmly — then screamed with theatrical terror, "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

He shoved into the crowd, his lips curved into a delighted grin.

His outburst triggered mass panic.

The other wizards, shouting and scrambling, reached for their wands, but in the chaos, they had no space to draw, no room to cast.

The already shaking cabin now thrashed like a ship in a raging sea, teetering on collapse.

A piercing siren rang out — shrill, warlike — and the entire Ministry trembled. The force of it echoed off the stone corridors like a giant bell being struck.

Then came the blast.

The black mist surged — obliterating half the cabin in an instant. Dust and debris exploded into the air.

Stone rained down from the ceiling, only to disintegrate on contact with the black mist.

The fair-skinned man didn't pause.

He moved — darting downward like a javelin, crashing through six thick walls in seconds.

He landed in a dark, circular chamber lined with doors: the gateway to the Department of Mysteries.

Every nation's Ministry had one — a place of forbidden research, where knowledge of ancient forces was guarded in silence. Even most Ministry employees knew nothing about its inner workings.

Now silent once more, the fair-skinned man stood still.

He closed his eyes. The black mist around him pulsed — then shifted, flickering, dimming...

And turned silver-blue.

The energy curled like smoke, then solidified into an arrow of light, pointing steadily toward one of the doors.

He opened his eyes. The blood had drained from his face, and his irises were nearly black.

"Cough… cough…"

His body trembled as he coughed, the sound raspy and raw.

Then he was swallowed by silence, and bolted forward, rushing through the door the arrow had marked.

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