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Chapter 81: Voldemort and the Resurrection Stone

This was a fragment of Voldemort's soul.

On the day the Philosopher's Stone was stolen, Voldemort's soul power, accumulated over eleven years, was completely annihilated by the blood-red water prison of Dracula. Now, he could barely sustain his existence through the Horcruxes, which were his only means of ensuring his soul's survival.

Currently, Voldemort existed like a nearly invisible bubble, with a face whose features were blurred, lacking hands and feet. He floated with the cold wind, at any moment on the brink of dissipating completely.

His mind was somewhat unclear, but he still muttered unconsciously:

"I haven't lost... I haven't lost yet... I have other cards to play... I will return..."

Muttering to himself, he struggled against the wind, drifting towards Little Hangleton in Yorkshire.

In reality, he had originally wanted to return to the Albanian forest where he had spent eleven years. At least he was familiar with that place, and there was a snake named Nagini to keep him company, preventing him from being utterly alone.

However, after using his Horcrux diary to regain some strength, he discovered a more efficient and faster method of recovery. He deeply wished to avoid another eleven years of torment.

Thus, he chose Little Hangleton, where the Gaunt family ancestral home was located.

After an unknown amount of time, Voldemort's weakened form finally reached a valley on the outskirts of Little Hangleton.

In the dense forest at the valley's edge stood a dilapidated shed, partially hidden among a pile of fallen logs. The disordered trees around the shed blocked all light and obscured the view of the valley below, adding a touch of eerie atmosphere to the structure.

The shed's walls were covered in green moss, many tiles on the roof had fallen off, exposing the rafters in places. Unnamed vines grew around it, their tips extending up to the small, dirty windows.

The bubble that was Voldemort's form showed signs of hope and joy as it slipped through the grimy glass cracks and floated inside the shed.

Inside the shed, it was in a state of decay, filled with rusty pots and pans, moldy furniture, and various kinds of trash, just as it had been when Voldemort first came here at sixteen.

At that time, the decrepit state of the Gaunt family home had filled young Tom Riddle with disgust and disappointment, giving him a new perspective on the so-called pure-blood supremacists.

Now, returning in such a pitiable state, he was like a stray dog.

He had no thoughts of reminiscing about the past or criticizing the decaying family; his only focus was—

To retrieve the Horcrux hidden under the floorboards!

Voldemort's bubble drifted through the warped, worn wooden floorboards, descending into the dark lower layers of the floor.

In the muddy floor crevice lay a ring.

The ring was golden, set with a large, jet-black stone. Its craftsmanship seemed rough, even somewhat ugly, with the gold band appearing clunky and unrefined.

The black stone bore a prominent mark— a triangle with a circle inside, each divided by a vertical line.

According to Marvolo Gaunt, this mark was called the Peverell Crest.

However, if Dumbledore saw this mark, he would likely involuntarily name it for what it truly was— the Deathly Hallows!

Yet Voldemort did not know this was the legendary Deathly Hallows.

In the past, he only knew that this ring could control corpses and create an army of the dead. Now, he knew it could provide a more efficient recovery speed, aiding his resurrection plans.

Seeing the ring in reality, a hint of relief appeared on Voldemort's otherwise blurred face, and he quickly immersed his entire being into the black stone of the ring.

This Horcrux did not absorb Voldemort's knowledge and personality, so it did not develop a consciousness like the diary. Additionally, Voldemort had placed a powerful curse on the Horcrux ring, one strong enough to harm a great wizard.

Under these conditions, even in his weakened state, Voldemort could forcibly absorb the fragment of his soul within the Horcrux back into his own soul.

A burst of light suddenly shone from beneath the rotting floorboards—

The already fragile wooden floor exploded into dust, countless fragments falling and piling up.

Then, a grotesque spectral figure emerged from the debris.

"My power is still insufficient; I need a real body!" Voldemort rasped, his terrifying voice murmuring.

In the next moment, he appeared in a dark, overgrown cemetery.

On the right side of the cemetery stood a tall yew tree, behind which was the black silhouette of a small church.

On the left side, on a slope, was a quaint old house— the Riddle House, a luxurious and spacious building in stark contrast to the Gaunt family's shed.

Voldemort merely glanced in that direction before losing interest, as the people there had long been mostly killed by him decades ago.

Walking along the cemetery path, he examined each tombstone until he found a well-maintained marble tombstone with a name inscribed—

"Tom Riddle."

Looking at the gravestone bearing his own name, Voldemort felt no sadness or joy. He had long abandoned everything associated with that name.

He raised his hand, pointing the black stone on the ring at the grave.

The grave suddenly cracked open, and a skeleton emerged, floating towards Voldemort's spectral form.

Under the effect of the Resurrection Stone, a white light enveloped the skeleton, removing the dirt and filth from the bones, gradually purging all impurities, leaving only the pure, dust-free skeletal frame.

Then, the skeleton of Old Tom Riddle rapidly accelerated and slammed into Voldemort's spectral form.

The white light from the bones enveloped Voldemort's entire being.

Moments later, the light slowly dissipated.

A terrifying figure stood before the cracked grave—

He had skin as white as bones, a withered body, and blood-red eyes. His chalky white face resembled a skull, with a sunken nose and unnaturally long fingers, resembling misshapen spider legs...

Voldemort clenched his fist, relishing the long-lost sensation of having a body, his distorted face full of ecstasy.

"It's wonderful, the feeling of having a body—" he took a deep breath of the stale cemetery air and whispered.

"Father's bones, unwittingly donated, allow his son to be reborn... Ha, this old fool still proves somewhat useful!" Voldemort sneered, unrepentant about digging up his own father's grave, "What's left below, the flesh of servants, the blood of enemies?"

In reality, Voldemort had not obtained a complete body.

He had only used the power of the Resurrection Stone, which he did not even fully understand, to construct a simple but functional body using his father's bones as a framework. However, the flesh of this body was still not real, but conjured by magic.

"The flesh of servants is easily obtained, as for the blood of enemies... It depends on whether my diary can retrieve Potter's blood under Dracula and Dumbledore's noses."

Thinking of how Dracula had completely obliterated his soul's essence, Voldemort's red eyes flickered with vengeful light.

"Ha, doesn't Dracula enjoy finding amusement?" he sneered, "If so, I might as well find some entertainment for him, hope he enjoys it..."

Voldemort put the ring on his middle finger, and his fist tightened suddenly.

In the next moment, the graves in the cemetery all split in half, and stiff skeletons began to crawl out of the graves. They were decayed, hairless, with murky eyes, and moved with twisted, eerie steps towards Voldemort.

Voldemort's mouth curled into a wicked smile.

Then, a cloud of black smoke covered the newly created undead, and he transported them to the outside of a dark cave.

Inside the cave lay many ragged humans, all tattered and covered in dirt, their eyes filled with hatred and despair.

The deformed Voldemort, leading a group of grotesque undead, elicited wary looks from the cave's occupants, who bared their teeth and blocked the cave's entrance.

"What are you doing here? Outsiders are not welcome!" a well-dressed leader among them stepped forward, speaking harshly.

"Bang!"

Without Voldemort moving, the leader was immediately sent flying, crashing into the cave's ceiling and then falling heavily, unconscious.

"Next time you see me, remember to speak properly!" Voldemort said coldly.

The ragged people, seeing this act of violence, seemed unfazed, as if they were used to it.

They crowded together, trying to bite and claw at Voldemort with their teeth and long nails.

Voldemort's expression was icy as he waved his wand.

A large area at the cave entrance was cleared, creating a wide space for Voldemort and the undead behind him to pass.

As they delved deeper into the cave, the number of people increased, all looking savage and bloodthirsty. They watched Voldemort and the undead with eager anticipation, as if waiting for a command to attack.

"Who dares to make trouble here?" a tall man with a fierce demeanor emerged from the deepest part of the cave, "Does anyone not know whose territory this is?"

The tall man had gray hair and beard, a fierce expression, and sharp teeth exposed when he spoke. His long