To achieve immortality—to walk this path to its very end—was a feat of unimaginable difficulty. Even the sun, which had illuminated the earth for billions of years, would one day flicker out. The universe itself was not eternal; in the distant future, it too would succumb to the inevitable heat death. For a mere human to aspire to eternity... it bordered on the absurd.
Roger knew his limitations. He was no deluded fool who believed himself to be exempt from the rules of nature. And yet, if there existed even the smallest sliver of possibility, even if that chance was infinitesimally close to zero, he would dedicate his life to pursuing it. Immortality was not merely an obsession—it was his sole purpose.
And so, his journey would begin with Transfiguration.
The question of using Transfiguration to extend one's lifespan was not a new one. Ancient wizards had explored this path long before the formation of the modern magical institutions that divided the wizarding world along Muggle national borders. Back then, wizards were independent entities. Some allied themselves with kings and emperors, becoming court mages or royal advisors. Others withdrew from society altogether, secluding themselves in mountains or deep forests, forming secret sects and hidden orders. Many were fiercely territorial, their knowledge hoarded like a dragon's treasure.
Unlike the structured education at Hogwarts, where students could freely learn from a vast repository of magical knowledge, ancient wizards were bound by lineage and secrecy. Apprentices inherited only the knowledge their masters possessed. A potion master's disciple would never learn combat spells. A Transfiguration expert's student might never touch alchemy. Private libraries were rare and belonged only to the most powerful wizards—Merlin, perhaps, but few others.
Yet, despite these restrictions, some sought ways to prolong their existence with the magic they knew. Among them was the author of Bloodline Magic and Transfiguration – A Conjecture for the Future Era, a tome that Professor McGonagall had placed in Roger's hands. The unknown wizard who penned it had attempted to combine bloodline modification with Transfiguration in pursuit of eternal life. His method was as ingenious as it was grotesque—skinning, bone extraction, and organ replacement.
When his skin wrinkled, he used Transfiguration to restore its smoothness. When his bones became brittle, he reinforced them. When his organs aged, he replaced them with youthful ones. Like the legendary Ship of Theseus, he sought to rebuild himself, part by part, until no trace of his original mortal form remained.
For a time, he succeeded. His body became a construct of magic, seemingly ageless. But true immortality eluded him. His method had three fatal flaws.
First, while he could replace nearly every part of his body, he could not replace his brain. He lacked the knowledge of soul magic; his consciousness was still bound to a decaying organ. No matter how many times he rebuilt himself, his mind continued to wither.
Second, his reconstructed body depended on Transfiguration, and all magic was transient. Over time, spells weakened and required constant reinforcement. When an enchantment on a critical organ began to fail, he had to repair himself immediately—a vulnerable moment that could mean death if he faltered.
Third, and perhaps most damning, was magic's fundamental nature. Almost every spell had a counterspell. While few could counter the three Unforgivable Curses, most magic had reversals—Finite Incantatem, Deletrius, and others. If an enemy dispelled his Transfigurations in battle, his body would unravel in an instant.
Realizing these flaws too late, the ancient wizard abandoned his reliance on Transfiguration and turned to the study of magical creature bloodlines. But he had no foundation in this field and had to start from scratch, experimenting relentlessly. Time, however, remained his ultimate adversary. His brain aged faster than his research progressed, and in the end, death claimed him. His book was all that remained—a record of his theories, his trials, and his regrets.
Roger would not make the same mistakes.
The failures of the past were not dead ends but lessons. The records of those who had come before were not tombstones but stepping stones. He would not waste centuries pursuing a flawed method for an additional two or three hundred years of life. No, he would take what was useful, discard what was not, and forge his own path.
His pursuit of immortality had only just begun.
What is the purpose of historical records if future generations are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past?
Roger's path was conceptually inspired by the ancient wizard's work, yet it bore his own technical innovations. The limitations of past knowledge had forced early wizards to adopt a crude "block-by-block Transfiguration" method, riddled with flaws. Lacking an understanding of biology, chemistry, and physics, they could only reshape their bodies in a rudimentary way.
But Roger was different. He had the advantage of modern scientific education—he understood cells, DNA, atoms, and molecules.
So…
"If I use my own cells as the base material for Transfiguration, then even if a counter-spell is cast and the transformation is undone, it won't cause me any harm."
The flaw of traditional Transfiguration lay in its external material dependence. If an object was transformed into food, consuming it could be catastrophic—like turning a wooden block into a cake and eating it, only for it to revert mid-digestion, tearing the stomach apart. But if a red blood cell were transformed and then reverted, no harm would be done.
"Instead of replacing my old parts, I will make them my 'gripping points.'"
Roger had seen movies and played games in his previous life. He recalled a film where the protagonist had nanotech embedded in his body—microscopic machines that provided strength and repaired damage. A game called Prototype featured the Blacklight virus, which granted similar regenerative abilities.
"According to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, the integrity of a transformed object remains intact during the transformation." This was why wizards couldn't conjure food—it couldn't be broken down into nutrients by the body.
"But the effects of transformed items persist even after Transfiguration is undone." If a conjured knife was used to kill someone, the victim wouldn't come back to life when the knife reverted to its original form.
So…
The most effective application of Transfiguration for longevity wasn't mere bodily reconstruction—it was micro-level manipulation. Roger sought to establish a 'bridge' between his will and his body's structure, akin to the Blacklight virus, unlocking a form of 'world modulation' unique to humans.
He would control the arrangement of his cells, DNA, atoms, and molecules with his own intent.
And because only the tool of transformation—the 'manipulation mechanism'—was magical, rather than the transformation itself, no counter-spell could undo his enhancements.
Once his magic was perfected, he could assimilate the advantages of all creatures in existence. No—he wouldn't merely copy nature's designs. He could craft brain and body structures that, while physically viable, could never have emerged naturally.
He could transcend the limitations of carbon-based life, ascending to a higher form of existence.
Of course, Roger was still far from such an achievement. Even an 'ultimate being' could not easily claim the weighty title of 'immortal.'
Immortality was not a prize to be won through Transfiguration alone.
"Sigh…" Roger exhaled, his excitement tempered by the weight of reality.
The moment he began his magical experiments, he encountered his first major obstacle.
"I wish I had been a scientist in my previous life."
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