234: Death cannot take a soul without my permission
The surgery was scheduled for Friday.
On one hand, this was because Astoria's soul activity would be at its lowest by then. On the other, it would allow her to rest better after the procedure.
During the week leading up to the surgery, many students noticed sothing unusual about Astoria—she seed especially drowsy and often fell asleep in class.
When others asked what was wrong, she would simply yawn and say she hadn't slept well the night before.
If this continued, Astoria would inevitably get detention for dozing off in class. Fortunately, Friday finally arrived.
Accompanied by her sister, she made her way to the Chamber of Secrets, where Rhys was already waiting.
"It will be okay… right?" Astoria grew nervous as she looked at the platform set up in the center of the chamber.
"Trust Rhys. He can do anything," Daphne squeezed Astoria's hand, trying to encourage her.
The Chamber of Secrets was empty and silent—any small sound could carry far. Naturally, Rhys heard the sisters' conversation.
He could only shake his head helplessly. I can do anything?
There were many things he couldn't do, many things beyond his power…
He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing for these girls to have such high expectations of him.
"Lie down," Rhys gestured for Astoria to get onto the platform.
Astoria obediently climbed onto it and lay flat on her back.
The platform Rhys had prepared was large, making her seem small and fragile in contrast. Dressed in a white robe, lying on the cold stone, she looked just like a sacrificial offering placed upon an altar.
Seeing her sister like this, Daphne couldn't help but think of bodies laid out in a mortuary. She shook her head forcefully, trying to drive the terrifying thought away.
"Trust , no matter what happens," Rhys said softly as he pulled out a small vial of potion.
Daphne and Astoria blinked in confusion, then nodded.
Logically, entrusting a life-threatening condition to soone their own age was absurd. But the Greengrass sisters chose to trust Rhys unconditionally. Countless renowned Healers had failed to cure Astoria's illness, but maybe Rhys could—after all, they had never seen him fail before.
Rhys fed the prepared potion to Astoria, and she quickly drifted into a deep sleep.
Once she was unconscious, he retrieved a small silver knife from his robe. After coating the blade with a special ointnt, he pressed it against her wrist and made a precise incision.
Scarlet blood gushed from the pale skin, like a ribbon of red unfurling over a snowy landscape.
Rhys pulled Astoria's hand over the edge of the stone platform, letting the blood flow freely from the wound.
Daphne couldn't help but let out a low gasp—she hadn't expected Rhys to begin with such an extre thod. But rembering his earlier instructions, she imdiately shut her mouth, locking away all her chaotic thoughts behind her lips.
The chamber fell into an eerie silence. In the vast space, the only sound was the steady drip of Astoria's blood hitting the marble floor.
Normally, a wound like this would naturally begin clotting on its own, but Rhys' knife seed to have been specially treated—there was no sign of the bleeding stopping. As more blood drained from her body, Astoria's complexion grew deathly pale, and her breathing beca faint and shallow.
In contrast, Daphne's face turned redder, her breaths growing heavier.
To her, it looked as if her sister was truly dying!
What was Rhys doing?
Confusion and panic surged in her chest, but in the end, she chose to trust him.
When Astoria's breathing beca nearly imperceptible, Rhys took out another small vial of potion. He pried open her mouth and poured the liquid inside—her breathing stopped completely.
Through this carefully executed process, Rhys had successfully forced Astoria's soul into a dormant state, rendering her nearly indistinguishable from the dead. At this mont, the fla of her life was on the verge of being extinguished, and the curse entwined with her soul had suffered a trendous impact.
The curse seed to sense sothing abnormal with its host—it grew restless and beca unusually active. Deeply bound to Astoria, it refused to perish, showing signs of seeping outward.
At that mont, Rhys took out Riddle's diary and pressed it against Astoria's forehead. Then, he sprinkled so potion onto the diary, causing it to tremble slightly.
Rhys briefly disrupted the barrier within the diary, injecting a trace of vitality into the soul fragnt sealed inside.
Revitalized, the fragnt imdiately stirred. Driven by its survival instinct, it expanded outward, seeking fresh sustenance—only to collide directly with the seeping curse.
One was a soul fragnt on the hunt, the other an agitated curse. The two forces fused almost instantly, rging into one within a short span of ti.
By the ti either side realized sothing was wrong, it was already too late—the curse could no longer separate from Riddle's soul.
Rhys swiftly grabbed the diary and yanked it away. A dark shadow erged from Astoria's forehead and was sucked into the diary.
Success!
A flicker of excitent flashed in Rhys' eyes—the result was even better than he had anticipated. The curse had been completely severed from Astoria's soul, freeing her from the blood curse once and for all.
The only problem was… the girl had stopped breathing.
Rhys' treatnt thod relied on the nature of both the curse and the Horcrux, forcing them to separate. However, this process had a crucial prerequisite—the patient had to enter a near-death state. Otherwise, the curse would never voluntarily detach itself from Astoria's soul.
Now that the first half of the treatnt was complete, it was ti to carry out the second half—resuscitation.
The mont the curse was completely extracted and sealed within Riddle's diary, Daphne felt a faint chill in the air. A breeze brushed against the hem of her robes, sending a shiver down her spine.
Astoria's complexion turned ashen in an instant—she had reached her limit.
Rhys, too, sensed the almost imperceptible chill. He knew that a certain unwelco "old friend" had arrived, seeking to claim a pure soul.
But Rhys refused to allow it.
Without his permission, no soul would be taken before his eyes.
A potion, deep crimson with a hint of violet, slipped from his sleeve and was poured into Astoria's mouth. Then, he dripped a few drops of dittany onto the wound on her wrist.
Astoria's injury healed at an astonishing rate—within seconds, new flesh had grown over the cut, as if it had been healing for days. Her once-pale face rapidly regained its rosy color.
The eerie chill that had suddenly invaded the chamber silently faded away.
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