Mr. Ollivander now stood before me, holding a wand he had carefully selected. His sharp, observant eyes studied me as he spoke in his soft yet serious tone.
"Mr. Chhimpa, this wand is quite similar to your previous one. Yew wood, nine inches, dragon heartstring core. However, while the tree and dragon species are the same, the dragon itself was different. This one, I believe, has the highest chance of being compatible with you. So, without further delay… here you go."
With that, he extended the wand toward me.
Excitement flickered in my chest as I reached out and grasped it.
The very instant my fingers closed around the wand, something unexpected happened.
The wand's color darkened, turning pitch black, as if being consumed by an unseen force. Before either of us could react, it disintegrated—vanishing into fine ash that crumbled through my fingers.
The shop fell into dead silence.
Mr. Ollivander and I were both frozen, staring at the pile of blackened dust in disbelief. His wide, pale eyes darted from my empty hand to the remnants of what had once been a wand.
And then, his reaction exploded.
"Impossible!"
His voice carried sheer astonishment, and before I could say anything, he ran his fingers through his silvery hair, gripping it as if trying to ground himself in reality.
"I have never seen anything like this before." His voice, though still soft, carried an edge of panic. "For a wand to reject a wizard so violently… to destroy itself rather than bond… this is beyond rare. It is unheard of! And this wand—this was supposed to be the best possible match for you!"
His expression was a mix of frustration, disbelief, and a hint of something else—something that looked almost like fear.
I let out an awkward chuckle, trying to downplay the situation. "Honestly, I'm just as shocked as you are."
But internally, my mind was racing.
Was this because of my immense magic reserves? Or because of the changes in my body after arriving in this world?
A part of me felt that my unusual power was the reason behind this, but telling Mr. Ollivander about it wasn't an option.
The old wandmaker, still muttering under his breath, began pacing. His fingers twitched as he thought, his lips forming half-spoken words of analysis. "No… no, we must start over. This requires a different approach. A fresh selection process—yes, I was too quick in handing you a wand directly."
He abruptly turned back to me; his gaze sharp with newfound determination.
"Mr. Chhimpa, we shall try again. But this time, I will take your measurements from the beginning."
With a flick of his wand, a measuring tape, seemingly alive, floated into the air and zipped toward me.
"Hold out your dominant hand, please. Left, or right?"
"Left," I responded, extending my hand.
As the enchanted tape began its work—whipping around my wrist, measuring my arm length, and even circling my shoulders—I found myself lost in thought.
In every world I had lived in, I had been left-handed and even had the same name.
It was a strange realization.
The first world—my original life—was natural enough. In the second world, I had been reincarnated, but since birth, I instinctively used my left hand. And now, in this world, Arjun Chhimpa—who had lived an entirely separate life—had also been left-handed.
Could this really be a coincidence?
Or was there something more at play here?
I filed the thought away for later. Right now, there was the more pressing issue of finding a wand that wouldn't turn to dust in my hands.
As I stood there, Mr. Ollivander finished measuring my hand, his expression suddenly shifting to one of astonishment.
"Oh, how fascinating!" he murmured, more to himself than to me.
Curious, I asked, "What's fascinating?"
He looked up at me, his silver eyes filled with intrigue. "This has never happened before. When a wizard replaces their wand, their hand measurements rarely change. But in your case, your wand length has increased—by a full four inches. Your previous wand was nine inches, but now… it seems your ideal length is thirteen inches."
I stared at him, taken aback. Four inches longer? That kind of change was unheard of. But as the realization sank in, a thought crossed my mind—perhaps this was a consequence of my reincarnation, of my soul settling into this new body.
Mr. Ollivander, deep in thought, walked back to the shelves and retrieved another wand box. He opened it carefully, revealing a new wand. "This one is nearly identical to your old wand—yew wood, dragon heartstring core—but adjusted to your new measurements."
I reached out and grasped the wand, and in the blink of an eye, it blackened, cracked, and disintegrated into ash. Again.
A heavy silence fell between us.
The old wandmaker muttered something under his breath, clearly deep in thought, before briskly striding back to the shelves. This time, he didn't bring just one wand. He returned with eight.
Placing the boxes in front of me, he said, "We need to approach this differently. We'll test various materials. Let's see if any of these wands will accept you."
One by one, I picked them up.
Three of them disintegrated instantly, just like before.
The other five didn't turn to ash, but as soon as I held them, strange things happened—one shattered a nearby glass flask without me even moving it, another let out a small explosion, and the others hummed with unstable energy.
Mr. Ollivander observed each reaction carefully, his sharp eyes narrowing. Finally, he muttered, almost to himself, "It seems that any wand with dragon material refuses to accept you… They react to you as though repelled by your very existence."
His words sent a jolt through me. A creeping realization took hold.
I discreetly accessed my status screen, scrolling to my list of titles. And there it was.
[Dragon Slayer]
[Natural Enemy of Dragons]
Of course. It all made sense now.
No wonder dragon heartstring wands were rejecting me so violently. They weren't just incompatible—they feared me. My very essence was the antithesis of a dragon's magic.
Guilt settled in as I glanced at the pile of ruined wands. I had unknowingly destroyed three of Mr. Ollivander's creations. Taking a deep breath, I looked at him and said, "I'm really sorry about this. Those wands were valuable, and because of me, they're gone. Please let me compensate you for the loss."
But Mr. Ollivander, to my surprise, waved me off. "Nonsense, Mr. Chhimpa," he said firmly. "It is a wandmaker's duty to provide a wizard with the right wand. If my wands cannot withstand the one who wields them, then that is my failure—not yours. I will not charge you for something that is, in the end, my responsibility."
I fell silent, my respect for the old man growing. Yet, I still felt guilty.
Ignoring my reaction, he turned and disappeared into the back of his shop, only to return moments later carrying two small boxes.
When he opened them, I saw that they did not contain wands—but rather, wand cores.
In one box lay a single strand of unicorn hair, delicate and shimmering under the dim light.
In the other rested a brilliant phoenix feather, glowing faintly with an almost ethereal radiance.
I instinctively used Appraisal on them. The results confirmed what I already suspected—these were indeed authentic unicorn hair and phoenix feather cores.
Mr. Ollivander gave me a thoughtful look. "Mr. Chhimpa, these are two of the finest materials used in wand-making. I want you to hold each of them and see if there is any reaction. It may help us determine what your wand core should be. And considering dragon-based materials are clearly out of the question, this is the best course of action."
Nodding, I reached for the unicorn hair first.
…Nothing.
I turned the delicate strand between my fingers, but there was no reaction—no warmth, no glow, nothing at all. Mr. Ollivander hummed thoughtfully, then took the unicorn hair from my hand and gestured to the phoenix feather.
As soon as I picked it up—
The feather ignited in light.
A warm, golden glow burst forth, enveloping my fingers in a soft, pulsating radiance.
I inhaled sharply.
Ollivander gaped at the feather, his shock giving way to something bordering on reverence."
For several long moments, we both just stared at the glowing feather in my hand.
Finally, he let out a breathless chuckle and muttered, "Mr. Chhimpa… I have been a wandmaker for many decades, but I have never seen a bond this… powerful. Wands choose the wizard, yes—but I have never witnessed a core respond to someone like this."
Still in awe, he reached for another small box on his desk. "For comparison," he said, opening it, "this is a dragon heartstring core."
The instant he touched it, I saw a faint glow—a subtle, almost unnoticeable reaction.
"This," he said, "is the typical response a wand core has when introduced to a wizard." He looked at the still blazing phoenix feather in my hand and shook his head in amazement. "But in your case, Mr. Chhimpa… this is something extraordinary."
I swallowed, suddenly uneasy.
I didn't want attention. I didn't want to stand out. But this? This was exactly the kind of phenomenon that would draw eyes to me.
Trying to keep my voice steady, I asked, "Mr. Ollivander… can you keep this a secret? I don't want any unnecessary attention on me."
He gave me a thoughtful look before nodding. "I will not speak of this unless the Ministry directly orders me to."
That wasn't exactly reassuring. The way he had said it… it reminded me of those people who swore they wouldn't snitch—right up until they got one stern look from the authorities.
This man was not trustworthy. But at this point, what could I do?
I let out a quiet sigh. Whatever happened, I'd deal with it when the time came.
Mr. Ollivander, still visibly excited, rubbed his hands together. "Well then, Mr. Chhimpa," he said, his eyes gleaming, "now that we have the core, let's find the perfect wood. I cannot wait to see what kind of wand you will wield."
And neither could I.
Mr. Ollivander took the phoenix feather from me and carefully placed it back into the box. Then, turning toward me, he said, "There are over a hundred types of wood that can be used for crafting wands, but only eighteen are truly compatible with phoenix feather cores. I usually determine the ideal wood just by observing a person, but your case is... different. Today, Mr. Chhimpa, I want to witness firsthand how you react to different woods."
With that, he motioned for me to follow him. We descended into the basement, and I was immediately struck by its vastness. It was much larger than the shop above, likely expanded with magic. The scent of aged wood and polished metal filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of parchment and ink. This was his workshop, where wands were crafted from raw materials into instruments of magic.
On one side of the room, logs of various woods were carefully stacked, their surfaces smooth and waiting to be carved. Nearby, glass cases held different wand cores, each labeled meticulously. In the corner, a modest bed stood next to a small table, atop which an old alarm clock ticked softly.
Mr. Ollivander walked over to a cupboard, retrieving a large tray, and placed it on his worktable. Inside the tray lay eighteen small wooden pieces, each distinct in texture and color. He gestured toward them and said, "These are the eighteen woods compatible with phoenix feathers. I need you to hold each one and see if any react to you."
He handed me the first piece. I held it, waiting—nothing. I even tried channeling a bit of my magic into it, but still, there was no response. Mr. Ollivander watched intently, then retrieved it and gave me the next.
One by one, I held each wood, but the results were disappointing. None showed a strong reaction. Three pieces gave off faint vibrations, but even those were underwhelming compared to what had happened with the phoenix feather.
Seeing Mr. Ollivander's crestfallen expression, I felt a twinge of disappointment myself. He sighed and muttered, "I had hoped for a more remarkable reaction, like with the feather... but even the three that responded to you did so only faintly. And your previous wand's wood, yew, didn't react at all."
I frowned, thinking. What made a wood compatible with a wizard? I could feel the magic in these pieces, even in the uncarved logs behind me, but my own magic was overwhelming them.
Then, a realization struck me. In my previous world, there had been only one tree whose energy was ever truly compatible with mine—the World Tree, Kalpavriksha. An old dwarven blacksmith had once forged a staff for me from a branch of that tree, embedding it with a Fenrir magic stone. I had used it for a long time before gifting it to the new Elf King to help protect Kalpavriksha.
And I still had several branches stored in my item box.
Without thinking, I summoned one—a thick, bluish-glowing branch, pulsating faintly with life.
The moment it appeared in my hand, Mr. Ollivander, who had been lost in thought, snapped to attention, his eyes widening. He was about to ask me something, but then his gaze locked onto the branch.
His expression froze. He wasn't just surprised—he was utterly stunned.
For a few moments, he simply stared, unblinking, as if trying to process what he was seeing. I could see the flicker of curiosity, of deep, scholarly intrigue, but his face remained unreadable.
Finally, he spoke, his voice measured. "Mr. Chhimpa… may I ask where this branch comes from? It is not among the hundred known woods used for wand-making."
Damn. I had pulled it out without thinking. Now I needed an explanation.
I chose my words carefully. "I found it in an old temple in my homeland," I said, trying to sound casual. "But what matters is—can it be used for a wand? Is it compatible with me?"
Mr. Ollivander studied me for a long moment before answering. "The reaction from this wood... is the strongest I have ever seen."
He hesitated, then reached out and took the branch from me. The glow dimmed slightly but did not vanish. He examined it closely, his fingers running over the smooth surface, and nodded to himself.
"Curious… Most curious. This wood is even highly compatible with me, and that is exceedingly rare. Mr. Chhimpa, if we craft your wand from this, it will be perfectly suited to you."
Hearing that, I felt a wave of relief.
"Then let's do it."
Mr. Ollivander nodded; his excitement rekindled. "Wait here. I will craft your wand immediately."
He gathered his tools and set to work. As he shaped the wood, he spoke—mostly to himself—murmuring about how rare and mysterious this branch was, about how he had never encountered such material before. At one point, he even tried to press me for more details about the "temple" where I had found it, but I deflected the questions as best as I could.
About twenty minutes later, the wand was ready.
He carefully placed the phoenix feather inside, sealing the core into the wood. The moment the feather was added, the wand's glow faded, stabilizing.
"Here," he said, handing it to me.
The moment I took the wand into my hand, I felt it.
A surge of energy flowed from the wand, straight to my heart, connecting directly to my magic core. It was a deep, visceral feeling—like something long lost had finally found its way back to me. And within the wand, I could feel something—a second magic core, a source of power that was now intertwined with my own.
The tip of the wand pulsed faintly, emitting a soft glow.
Mr. Ollivander let out an audible gasp, then burst into delighted laughter. "Ah! It has chosen you! This wand… this is something truly special."
Then, more somberly, he added, "No matter what path you walk, whether good or bad, this wand will stand by you, Mr. Chhimpa. Let us hope that the latter does not come to pass."
I remained silent, gripping the wand tighter.
After a moment, he handed me the remaining pieces of the branch. "These belong to you. This wood is rare beyond belief—I doubt another like it exists. Keep these safe."
I didn't miss the way he eyed them, the scholar in him clearly longing to study the fragments. But I wasn't about to hand them over.
Finally, I asked about the cost.
"Five Galleons," he said. "Normally, I charge seven, but since you provided part of the materials yourself, I am reducing the price."
I quickly retrieved the coins from my pouch, set them on the counter, and turned to leave. I had stayed here long enough—too long. Before anything else strange happened, I needed to get out of here.