The journey doesn't stop here…
► 5 chapters/ two days await you on Patreon — only 1 chapter/day is posted here.
► We're already at Chapter 115
► Supporting means more content, faster releases, and direct impact on the world's evolution.
Join the inner circle & read ahead:
▶ patreon.com/HACKDWORLD ◀
_________
Moriarty pushed open the door and stepped into the secret room. The scene was striking: parchment covered nearly half the floor, and dozens of wand holsters floated mid-air, suspended by enchantments. Nicolas Flamel reclined alone in a chair, his expression calm.
"I have to admit I lost, Moriarty."
Flamel leaned slightly, glanced over at Moriarty with a serene smile, and added, "For nearly four centuries, the word 'lose' hasn't crossed my lips. It's been brewing in my mind for a long while. I wanted it to emerge with dignity—with a deep voice, philosophical insight, like a celestial whisper from the heavens."
Moriarty walked to his side, conjured a duplicate reclining chair with a flick of his wand, and eased himself into it slowly.
"Winning and losing are like a duel of hands—they expose the raw truth. Losing exposes the loser as a fool. Winning? That can expose the winner as one too."
Moriarty stretched on the backrest. He hadn't rested in nearly forty-eight hours. A long-lost comfort swept over him, one that harmonized with Flamel's aura—calm and soothing. He hadn't truly won the mad wager.
"Yes, even the victor must taste defeat. If you ask me, it's better to let him lose once!"
Flamel wore a flowing white nightgown today, gold embroidery along its collar. His hands drummed gently on the chair's armrest.
"Fonway Capet once told me that my first emotion upon completing the wand set was joy." Flamel closed his eyes, sharing the memory with Moriarty.
"Perenelle and I smiled with deep relief. Only then did we realize we possessed weaknesses. Ironically, our greatest vulnerability was alchemy—our greatest strength."
Fate had played a cruel jest. Just when they believed nothing short of death could defeat them, alchemy itself—through Moriarty—had humbled them. A discipline they had mastered for centuries had turned to challenge them anew.
"Indeed," Moriarty said with a faint smile. "I only succeeded in crafting the wand set thanks to a new alchemical principle I've termed the Alchemy Matrix.
You see, if fate is unpredictable, knowledge is consistently surprising.
Through countless experiments, formulas, runes, and matrices, alchemy has evolved with each generation. I have no doubt even more refined and advanced methods will emerge beyond the Matrix."
"As do I." Nicolas Flamel did not inquire further about the Matrix. Nor did he show any sign of frustration or despair over the loss. Instead, he rested both hands on his abdomen and smiled with genuine peace. "I've abandoned thoughts of embracing death. I intend to live another few centuries, just to see if those superior alchemical techniques truly emerge."
"They will. I'm certain of it." Moriarty tilted his head back. "I don't know what you've experienced, but you always observe the world like a bystander.
You've guided some of the greatest wizards—Dumbledore, Newt Scamander, many more.
But you rarely seek to explore the world yourself. You believe someone else will invent greater alchemical methods. Why not you?"
He raised an eyebrow. His grey eyes, reflecting the ceiling's glow, shone with unwavering confidence. Flamel caught the gleam and chuckled.
"You believe you will be that person, don't you? Always confident. Always certain.
I can't tell whether it's instinct or something deeper, but I will say—it's remarkable."
As Flamel spoke, he stretched out his left hand and gestured toward a nearby podium. A large, weathered book with a gray cover and countless smudged handprints floated to him. He pulled a page from the book and handed it to Moriarty.
Moriarty took it with care. It was a page from an ancient diary—evidently hundreds of years old. The aged scent was unmistakable.
"April 25th, 1382," Moriarty read aloud.
Flamel raised his brows in surprise. "Dumbledore never told me you read French. Oh—sorry, please continue."
Moriarty went on: "I have followed the instructions in the book, extracting redstone from mercury of equal weight, and then transmuting the mercury into gold!
It's purer than ordinary gold—softer and more malleable.
I believe this is the Philosopher's Stone referenced in the text. Even more astonishing than the process is the nature of the book itself. It's like a spell—those who obtain it cannot put it down.
If not for Perenelle's warning, the book would have stirred the deepest ambition and desire in my soul."
Moriarty handed the page back to Flamel, his gaze thoughtful. These ancient wizards were not to be underestimated. Their lives were the stuff of legend—layered in secrets, just like the moment before him.
"So... the Philosopher's Stone originated from a book? I always assumed you created it yourself." His eyes drifted to the gray book. "Is that the same book mentioned in the diary?"
"That's the one," Flamel's expression shifted subtly. "The Book of Abraham the Jew."
"Jewish?" Moriarty repeated, curious. "That's unexpected. Most people associate Jews with finance and commerce—not magic."
"Precisely," Flamel said gravely, sitting upright. "But angels don't lie. Allow me to explain—
Around six hundred years ago, an angel visited me in a dream. It told me I would soon come into possession of a book. If I studied it thoroughly, it would grant me extraordinary magical power."
Moriarty blinked, stunned. Flamel tapped the book and smiled.
"Don't look so shocked. Soon after, the dream came true. I acquired The Book of Abraham the Jew in exchange for two gold florins. I then spent twenty-one years reading and researching it..."
At that, Moriarty noted a flicker of unease in Flamel's eyes.
"In the end, with help from a Hebrew scholar, I deciphered the text and forged the Philosopher's Stone."
He pulled the crimson gem from his pocket, flicking it into Moriarty's view.
"What a coincidence. I have one as well." Moriarty reached under his robes—not really, of course, as he retrieved his from his system space—and presented a nearly identical Philosopher's Stone, glimmering between his fingers.
"Merlin's beard!" Flamel involuntarily leaned forward. He saw a second stone—identical in shape and hue. What could be more astonishing?
Moriarty was pleased by the elder's astonishment. "Mine's male. Yours must be female," he teased.
Flamel chuckled, then lifted the gray book and handed it to Moriarty. "I was going to offer you guidance, but now I realize you're far more capable than I imagined. Or as you would say—more talented."
Moriarty accepted the book calmly. Just as he began to open it, Flamel said, "If you're not in a rush, try counting the pages first."
"This cover feels like it's made of bark," Moriarty murmured, running a hand along the coarse surface. He opened the book, not reading its contents yet, but instead counted the pages.
"Twenty-one pages," he said neutrally. "Connected to the number seven?"
"It is," Flamel nodded. "Seven is a sacred number in our world." Then he added, "And not just seven. Please, read."
Moriarty turned to the first page—and his eyes widened with surprise. It showed only a portion of an illustration.
He turned the next pages rapidly. By the seventh, a full picture had emerged.
"The first image: a staff entwined by two snakes. One snake is white and patterned, devouring the black one."
He glanced at Flamel.
"Yes," Flamel replied. "But tell me—how do you interpret it?"
"The double-serpent staff represents magical medicine. In Greek myth, Hermes wielded such a wand—it symbolized harmony and sexual energy," Moriarty said. "But interpreting it separately: the staff stands for authority and status, while the two snakes could represent balance. The patterns on the white snake, though, disrupt that balance."
"Oh, brilliant interpretation." Flamel smiled, then grew solemn. "But I saw in it the fusion of matter. And Perenelle saw... the wings of a fallen angel."
"Huh. So the image remains constant, but the meaning shifts with the reader?"
Moriarty nodded thoughtfully. That meant the book was either heavily enchanted or was itself an advanced alchemical artifact.
___________
We're already at Chapter 115 on Patreon!
5 chapters/ two days unlocked. One chapter/ day here.
Fuel the story and read ahead:
▶ patreon.com/HACKDWORLD ◀