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The goblins’ ears might as well have turned hypersensitive. When the mohawk goblin screamed with a sharp, explosive shriek, the entire Gringotts lobby instantly descended into chaos.
Some goblins dropped their jewels, abandoned whatever business they were handling, and sprinted toward the back vault doors. Others just dove under their desks and trembled there, terrified.
The scene was bizarre.
Ian was left dumbfounded, not knowing how to react.
“Do Goblins play World of Warcraft, too? Wait, WoW hasn’t even been released yet.” Ian had his suspicions, though he couldn’t be sure if they were accurate.
“What’s going on?” Mr. and Mrs. Granger were also startled by the goblins’ reactions. In the blink of an eye, the once bustling lobby had become completely goblin-free, and not even a single goblin head was in sight.
Even the one that had been helping them had hidden under the counter. The couple exchanged glances, their expressions filled with confusion.
They wondered if this was some kind of magical world ritual or scheduled event.
“Are you robbing the bank?”
Only Hermione realized that the goblins were terrified. She ran over to Ian, her face full of disbelief.
“I just saw the goblin that was helping you peeing himself while he ran away!”
“Maybe I’ve robbed it before, but not this time,” Ian said, helplessly rubbing his forehead. He was starting to suspect that Albus Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel might soon make a breakthrough in their time-turner research.
“What do you mean? You robbed it before, and forgot about it?” Hermione hadn’t yet developed the kind of lateral thinking a wizard ought to have. Her Muggle-born knowledge base kept her reasoning very limited.
“Whatever the archmage Medivh did… what does that have to do with me?”
Ian suddenly shifted to outright denial. ‘You had to admit, the kid was quick on his feet.’
He had come to his senses.
No matter what he might do in the future, since he had chosen the path of using an alias, he absolutely could not reveal anything suspicious to anyone, not a single breadcrumb.
As per usual, by rounding the logic a bit, he figured he bore no responsibility for any cause-and-effect.
“Uh…”
Hermione was rendered speechless by Ian’s constantly shifting personality.
Just then, a deep and heavy rumbling echoed from the vault doors deeper within the hall.
“Dammit, Kumba! Today’s not April Fool’s!”
A goblin with a bushy mustache, a beret, and a pipe in his mouth was the first to emerge through the door.
Following him was none other than the terrified mohawk goblin, Kumba, who clearly hadn’t had time to change pants, yellow liquid was still dripping from his crotch. Judging by the smell, he’d definitely been eating too much spicy food lately.
“Medivh was a legend from nearly two thousand years ago! You lot must be insane! A human wizard can’t possibly live for two millennia and then de-age himself! This is just your deep-rooted fear talking. If you ask me, it all comes from your cowardly ancestors. There are tons of people in the world who look alike, and…”
The mustached goblin kept ranting, very much like a manager scolding a subordinate.
But the moment he approached Ian and the Grangers,
Thud~
Not only did his scolding stop abruptly, but his legs turned to jelly, almost sending him face-first to the ground.
“Supreme Archmage Medivh!!”
His eyes locked on Ian’s face, and he let out an even sharper shriek than Kumba had before. Clearly, this goblin’s ancestor wasn’t just timid; they were probably cursed, too.
Then, a bird-claw-shaped brand appeared on the mustached goblin’s forehead. The burning sensation, along with a binding force from deep within his soul, made him drop to his knees with a thud, with no warning at all.
“I knew it! I knew it!!”
Kumba the goblin shouted in terror upon seeing this and turned tail without hesitation, fleeing again, tumbling and scrambling with practiced ease.
Perhaps the goblin had already mentally rehearsed this moment countless times.
“What exactly did Medivh do to you all?”
Ian could sense a mysterious connection lingering in the air. He raised his hand and lightly brushed the claw-shaped brand on the mustached goblin’s forehead, and it immediately grew redder.
The goblin’s body trembled even more violently, its spasms so rhythmic it could outdo a Korean girl group dancing with surprise eggs stuffed down their dresses.
“Don’t eat me! Please don’t eat me! We goblins have always abided by the terms of the contract!” The mustachioed goblin didn’t seem to even hear Ian’s question as he pleaded.
It wailed uncontrollably, replying in complete gibberish.
Gone was the smug air it had while reprimanding the other goblins earlier.
Ian walked up to the kneeling goblin, staring down at the creature who barely reached his knees. He could clearly sense the terror emanating from the goblin’s heart.
“I’m not Medivh,” Ian said, “But I think I understand now… Medivh was probably the husband of the cousin of the son of the younger sister of the wife of the father-in-law of my aunt’s son.”
‘Ian’s way of comforting others remained… unique.’
Whether it was because the explanation was too convoluted for the goblin to follow or because the goblin simply didn’t have the courage to think straight at this moment, it didn’t matter.
Either way, the goblin failed to notice anything suspicious in Ian’s bizarre family tree logic. It simply took in the key point, Ian had denied being Medivh.
Trembling, the goblin lifted its head, eyes filled with confusion and doubt.
“You… You mean you inherited the wealth of the House and the contract signed with my ancestors?”
“What do you think?” Ian replied calmly, though inwardly he wasn’t so sure himself.
Still, he kept his expression neutral and threw the question back at the goblin.
The goblin, normally a shrewd and calculating species, was now clearly in no shape to play clever.
“We’ve always honored the contract!”
No interrogation was needed. The mustached goblin blurted everything out on its own. Struggling to stand, it fumbled around and pulled out a shiny gold Galleon from its robes.
“Goblins are loyal to contracts! Goblins don’t fear surprise audits!”
Whatever was going on in its mind, it clearly imagined some worst-case scenario. As it spoke nonsense no wizard would ever believe, it held the Galleon up toward the overhead chandelier.
And,
On the coin’s portrait side, a wizard in traditional robes with a thick beard was engraved, the face shining brilliantly under the reflected light.
“Who’s that? A big shot in the wizarding world?” Hermione asked, curious, having slipped free from her parents’ grip.
“I’ve been wondering that too,” Ian admitted.
“He supposedly represents all wizards,” The goblin explained, “But if you use one of the hidden anti-counterfeit charms…”
The mustached goblin began to rhythmically tilt the Galleon. Light shimmered off its surface, catching the coin at different angles.
Soon, the engraved bearded wizard began to warp. Under specific lighting, the beard slowly faded.
And then, a strikingly handsome face emerged, clearly and unmistakably.
“Huh?” Ian’s pupils shrank slightly.
It was as if one of his wildest guesses was slowly being confirmed.
Meanwhile, Hermione, standing on tiptoe and craning her neck to get a better look, gasped in disbelief. Her eyes widened as her expression turned into one of utter astonishment.
“Oh! Heavens! Gringotts really is yours!”
Clearly, she’d ‘figured’ something out.
“Uh…” Ian blinked in surprise and glanced at Hermione.
That face… he had only seen it in the mirror after taking an age-enhancing potion. He hadn’t expected Hermione to recognize it so quickly.
“Is that your ancestor?”
‘…Okay. So Hermione’s recognition skills weren’t entirely accurate.’
But before Ian could reply, the mustached goblin overheard the young witch’s words and immediately had a panic attack.
“Gringotts belongs to us goblins! Only the portrait on the Galleons belongs to the Supreme Sorcerer Medivh… and his descendants!”
When he said this, the mustached goblin still sneaked a cautious glance at Ian. He wasn’t entirely free of fear, far from it, but goblin instinct compelled him to correct Hermione.
“…”
Ian felt deeply disappointed.
He had thought he had somehow seized the minting rights to wizarding gold, only to find out it was just the right to the portrait on the coins. That left him somewhat confused.
“So… Future me didn’t want ownership of the mint or the gold itself, but the rights to the coin’s image? What’s the point of that?”
Ian could only make the most irrational but strangely plausible guess: “Maybe I really am a genius. I created something from nothing, discovered a divine path that doesn’t even belong to this world.”
He was already wondering… with how much he enjoyed “digging up graves,” would he one day end up unearthing his own nine tombs?
In one of those crossover Lovecraftian-style novels he’d read before this world, a path to godhood did involve something like this, but Ian felt doing something that insane in the Harry Potter world was just… absurd.
While Ian pondered whether the gold could be used to gather faith or belief, Hermione was off on a different tangent. The Muggle-born girl, freshly introduced to the wizarding world, was still fascinated by all things mysterious.
“Is that a slave mark in the wizarding world?”
Hermione’s emotional intelligence at this stage could be… questionable. She just blurted it out, staring at the claw-shaped mark on the mustached goblin’s forehead, recalling something she’d read in a miscellaneous book earlier.
“…”
The mustached goblin looked incredibly awkward.
Ian, however, silently gave Hermione a mental thumbs up.
He’d wanted to ask the same thing, but his assumed identity kept him from speaking too freely.
‘Who would’ve thought, in a world without the Internet, he’d still find someone to say the things he couldn’t?’
“Don’t be so rude, Hermione,” Ian even took the opportunity to play the “good cop.”
He suddenly understood why villains always liked having a talkative sidekick.
“Sorry! That was out of line,” Hermione quickly bowed and apologized to the goblin.
“Young lady! You’re definitely going into the nastiest House!” The mustached goblin huffed, glaring at Hermione indignantly before hastily explaining himself to Ian.
“It’s true that a group of goblins once signed a labor contract with the Supreme Sorcerer Medivh that involved no pay. But that contract only bought our bodies, generation after generation!”
“It didn’t include our souls! Nor our treasures! Nor our gold!”
This was a classic goblin behavior, on full display. This one sure knew how to phrase things carefully.
“We are nothing like those filthy, lowly house-elves!”
As the saying goes, the guiltier you are, the more you insist on drawing a distinction. This goblin’s current attitude made that perfectly clear.
“Got it.” Ian respected the goblin’s conviction.
He wasn’t planning to invoke any master-servant contract just yet anyway. The house-elves at Hogwarts were far more obedient and hardworking than goblins.
Even though goblins and house-elves might share some genetic ancestry, leaving a goblin in your home would practically guarantee petty theft every three days. You’d be better off raising a Sniffer.
At least Pigsy (Zhu Bajie) from Journey to the West waited for his master to be missing half a day before stealing the luggage.
A goblin? You go fishing for two hours and it’ll declare itself heir to your entire estate.
“I’ve verified your commitment to the contract. That’s good. I’m pleased. Now, take me to the vault,” Ian said with a vague, open-ended phrase that could be interpreted any way.
After all, his original intention was just to open a vault at Gringotts.
Now, he was betting that his legacy had to involve more than just the right to be on a coin.
And, wasn’t it true that you know yourself best?
“Of course. No problem at all.”
The mustached goblin responded immediately, without the slightest reluctance or regret, no grief over “losing the family fortune.” He simply bowed politely and gestured for Ian to follow.
“Ka-cha, ka-cha~”
The massive iron door slowly began to open.
“Can I come along and take a look too?”
Hermione was eager and full of anticipation.
“Hermione! It’s extremely rude to go into someone else’s vault!” Mrs. Granger immediately came over and pulled back the curious little kitten of a daughter, who looked slightly disappointed.
“I actually don’t mind,” Ian said casually.
He didn’t even know what was inside the vault himself. If opening it required something like a blood sacrifice, perhaps Miss Granger would be of unexpected value.
He thought this with mild amusement in his heart.
However, the mustached goblin began shaking his head like a rattling drum.
“Apart from us goblins who serve as vault managers, only the vault owner and their rightful heirs can step into that area. If the bloodline isn’t correct, the magic and security mechanisms will immediately blast the intruder into a mist of blood.”
“It’s the most advanced form of protection, cast personally by the Supreme Sorcerer Medivh. I’d say not even your headmaster, the one who recently became a banned name here in Gringotts, could bypass that level of security.” The goblin’s tone became sour at the mention of the old headmaster.
Clearly, they were still bitter over the last Gringotts break-in.
“Alright…”
Hermione paled after hearing the goblin’s explanation. To be fair, even Ian himself started to feel a twinge of unease.
Was it all just a baseless guess?
If his hunch turned out wrong…
Just imagining the consequences made Ian’s scalp tingle. He nearly backed out.
“Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, I have a backup plan.” Ian touched his chest. There had been nothing there moments ago, but the moment he formed the thought, the black phoenix had silently appeared, already prepared.
“Huh? Why do I feel like I heard that sound again…” Hermione scratched her ear, then looked down to see her newly purchased wand vibrating faintly.
A creepy “jeer-jeer” sound came from within it, and it felt like only she could hear it.
“If you want to see a vault for yourselves,” The mustached goblin suddenly said, eyes flicking toward the Grangers, “You could always rent one. We’re offering a back-to-school 2% discount on limited-time vault rentals.”
The goblin had sniffed the air like a trained Niffler. Judging from the scent of Galleons clinging to the family, he quickly began pitching.
“Alright, we’ll inquire about it. But first, we’d like to exchange some Muggle currency into Galleons,” Mr. Granger responded politely.
“You can handle that at the desk over there. This year’s allowance is up to twenty Galleons, much more than in past years. The Ministry of Magic has ramped up its exploitation and oppression of us once again. Honestly, I don’t see what use you Muggles have for your worthless paper…” The goblin muttered with clear disdain, but still pointed them to the appropriate desk.
“I specialize in buying worthless paper, so sell it to me” Ian chimed in jokingly.
The mustached goblin gave him a slight bow, but offered a somewhat disappointing reply: “The Ministry would never allow us to handle Muggle money off the record.
If they did, I’d gladly give it to you. But to us goblins, it’s worth less than our own lives.”
The goblin clearly treated Ian with extra respect now, The glowing brand on its forehead was plenty effective.
“Please wait here while I fetch my ding-dang token.” The goblin suddenly recalled something and jogged off toward a station that clearly hadn’t been used in a long time.
In Gringotts’ underground vaults, the goblins kept fierce dragons as guards, to deal with any intruders with ill intentions.
After one had died previously, they had replaced it… with three more.
The ding-dang token was an access item,
used to let goblins and clients safely move through the underground vaults.
“Take your time,” Ian replied calmly.
While the goblin was off fetching the token, Ian slipped enchanted protection rings onto all ten fingers, and even onto his toes, exposed through his sandals.
Despite having focused his mind on the Twilight Zone these past few days, he had no desire to return there in any “honorable” way.
“A hundred layers of protection should be enough…” Ian mused silently.
The mustached goblin had returned.
“And… what’s this getup?” It looked Ian up and down, visibly surprised by his outfit change.
“I suddenly felt the urge to go full Wuha style. Just a quick costume swap.” Ian swung his ten-kilo-weighted hands a little as he replied with an unconvincing excuse.
“Alright then…” The mustached goblin gave Ian a long, deliberate look.
“Everyone! Back to your posts! Stop hiding under the tables!” As it led Ian forward, it barked a command toward the halted workstations around them.
That commanding officer energy, was starting to come back.
“So he’s just a descendant of Medivh…”
“I really thought Medivh himself had returned. Scared me half to death.”
“Even if he’s just a descendant, my instincts tell me that kid probably enjoys goblin snacks in his downtime, and I swear, my pants have prophetic powers.”
…
The goblins that had been hiding had, in fact, kept their oversized ears tuned in the entire time. Now that things had calmed down, they all let out sighs of relief and resumed their usual duties.
The only clients needing service were the Granger family. All the goblins returned to their beloved work as if nothing had happened.
“What can I help you with today?”
The elderly goblin at the vault rental and account desk, despite having heard everything,
still put on a perfect performance and turned to the Granger family with practiced professionalism.
“We’d like to exchange some pounds into Galleons,” Mr. Granger said politely.
There wasn’t much resistance, perhaps thanks to Ian’s “Medivh descendant” identity working its magic.
After receiving a small pouch of Galleons, Mr. Granger couldn’t help but sigh,
wondering if that amount would even be enough to feed his daughter at school.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Granger was already thinking about whether they could exchange some more through Ian.
However, the old goblin grew visibly restless upon noticing they weren’t inquiring about vault rentals.
“Aren’t you going to ask about the different vault rental options?” The goblin’s voice was a bit too eager.
As a race, goblins loved hoarding wizard money in Gringotts. In their minds, once it entered the bank, it practically belonged to them.
“We might not have that much need for it…”
Mr. Granger’s hesitation showed the kind of negotiation tactics one learned in the Muggle world, even the earlier conversation with his wife had been a coordinated setup.
This kind of maneuvering was clearly unfamiliar to the old goblin.
“That’s a very unwise decision. There are plenty of dark wizards out there looking to plunder your wealth. Only by storing your money with us can you minimize the risk of being robbed!”
The goblin began fearmongering with dramatic flair.
“Is that so?” Mr. Granger was visibly unsure. He truly didn’t know the social dynamics of the wizarding world.
And that moment of doubt, was all the opening the goblin needed.
“Absolutely! Only Gringotts can protect your wealth! We have three dragons guarding the treasure! And one-on-one personalized vault keys, completely unforgeable! You see, the only difference between a great bank and a perfect one,
is Gringotts!” The goblin’s pitch was both passionate and hilarious in its delivery.
“Someone told me you were robbed before,” Hermione suddenly cut in out of nowhere.
She didn’t speak often, but whenever she did, it landed like a direct hit.
“Who?! Who told you that?!” The old goblin instantly flew into a rage.
“The newspaper… I read it in the newspaper…”
Hermione flinched at his reaction. She didn’t want to get Ian in trouble, so she resorted to an unconvincing lie.
(She had seen wizarding newspapers in the bookstore, after all.)
“Nonsense! We already had the papers retract that! It must’ve been that, ” The goblin began to curse but suddenly caught himself.
“Fine, fine! How about a 5% discount? Statistically speaking, a bank that’s already been robbed is way less likely to be robbed again in the near future. You don’t have to believe me, but at least believe in mathematics…”
Wow. Once it realized the person it was about to scold couldn’t be offended, this goblin went full-on scientific. All in the name of selling a vault rental.
…
Deep underground,
The tunnel sloped steeply downward, with narrow railway tracks running along the ground.
The mustached goblin blew a sharp whistle, and a cart came rattling toward them along the track.
“Honored young master, please step aboard.” The mustached goblin climbed in first and used his own clothing to wipe clean a spot for Ian. His practiced movements made one wonder whether this was an instinctual skill etched into his very bones.
“Shouldn’t you be calling me master?” Ian teased, his eyes fixed on the branding mark on the goblin’s forehead.
“You really do enjoy a good joke. We all know… your ancestor never fully fulfilled his promise. We goblins still haven’t been granted our rightful living territory.” The goblin chuckled awkwardly, politely refusing Ian’s demand.
And just like that, the young wizard had fished out another piece of valuable information.
Of course, perhaps the goblin had deliberately let that slip.
“Let’s go see my… my family’s vault first.”
It was Ian’s first time riding the Gringotts mine cart. He had only experienced it through the films and William’s descriptions.
The actual ride lived up to the hype, a violently rattling, brain-jarring, borderline berserk experience.
Cramped and narrow.
Utterly primitive.
Not only was there zero suspension, but the shrieking screeches it made while running along the tracks were incredibly irritating, like nails on a chalkboard. Ian didn’t get carsick, but this noise made him want to file a formal complaint with time itself.
As the mine cart weaved through the labyrinthine tunnels, a chill surrounded Ian from all directions, a stark contrast to the warmth and brightness of Diagon Alley above.
“Careful, sir. Stay quiet. We’re entering the dragon watch zone.”
Just then, the cart began to slow. The goblin guide lowered his voice and warned Ian with utmost seriousness.
No sooner had he said that, then the massive forms of several dragons began to come into view.
They were coiled up inside magically reinforced caverns, lazily shifting their enormous bodies. Occasionally, one would let out a deep, thunderous growl that reverberated through the vast underground chamber. Though bound by powerful magic, their mere presence exuded a fearsome pressure that could fill even the bravest hearts with awe and dread.
At the very least, when the dragons roared, the mustached goblin visibly flinched with tension.
“You’re remarkably calm.”
It watched Ian calmly pull out a camera and start snapping pictures of the three Western dragons, speaking with genuine admiration. Even adult wizards rarely dared to face such creatures so casually.
“I raise one at home. A bit on the bony side, but it’s definitely bigger then this one.” Ian casually fired off a dozen more shots. He knew Hagrid would absolutely love a mixed-blood dragon like that.
“…Er.”
The goblin couldn’t quite understand how “bony” and “enormous” worked in the same sentence, but chose to remain silent as it focused on navigating the cart deeper into the vault levels.
The speed of the cart picked up again, comparable to a high-speed train.
Even so, Ian was buffeted by cold wind for what felt like an eternity. Vault after vault whizzed past. Eventually, the mustachioed goblin took him into a rarely visited section.
On both sides of the tunnel, the vaults disappeared entirely, replaced by an extremely narrow and endlessly descending passageway.
Ian remained ready to bolt at any moment, hand on the trigger to let the black Phoenix Apparate him out if necessary.
His guard was fully up. But… nothing unexpected occurred.
The cart carrying Ian and his goblin guide eventually came to a slow halt. Around them was a silence deeper and more solemn than anything Ian had ever known. The cave’s walls, aged and damp, looked as though they’d been abandoned by time itself. In the dim light, countless ancient runes flickered faintly into view, etched in a language so old and mysterious that it exuded both reverence and warning.
“Looks kind of like… that magic text I can’t read.”
Ian tried to make sense of it. These runes weren’t just decorative, they were Gringotts’ most powerful magical defenses. Just like the mustached goblin had mentioned earlier, they could sense and eliminate any unauthorized intruder.
And yet, to Ian and his semi-enslaved goblin companion, those deadly runes didn’t react at all. It was as if they didn’t exist.
The mustached goblin’s expression grew complicated.
“So it’s true… of course it’s true… what else could it be…”
It muttered softly, as if confirming something it had long suspected.
Contracts passed down through bloodlines, that was the key.
That was why the chicken-head goblin had gone looking for him first.
“So I open it from here, huh…”
Ian couldn’t read the defense runes on the wall, but he could understand the alchemical array on the vault’s bronze door. There was no need to ask further.
And so, Ian raised his wand and pointed it at the bronze door.
There was no spell incantation. Only pure magic power.
He pressed the wand against the metal, and directly channeled his magic into the vault door.
This truly was the best form of verification. After all, just as there are no two identical crows in the world, there absolutely couldn’t be two wizards with the exact same magic power.
And then,
His magic power flowed out like a winding Western dragon, swiftly tracing along the patterns on the vault door. The carvings on the door seemed to be activated by the current, lighting up section by section with a soft, mysterious glow. The light wove itself across the cavern, forming intricate designs, each containing ancient and formidable magical power.
As the light spread, the door began to emit a low rumble, as though the entire space were trembling in anticipation of this moment. The mustached goblin had to brace himself against the wall just to stay upright.
Finally,
With a thunderous roar that shook the chamber, the bronze door slowly opened.
Ian’s suspicions were fully confirmed.
“Please, go ahead. We goblins have no right to step into your treasure vault.” The mustached goblin had already dropped to his knees, bowing his head to Ian with a voice full of reverence.
“Treasure vault? Now that’s a name that sounds satisfying!”
Ian held his breath and looked inside the vault, and was surprised to see a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Who knew how many years it had been lit, but it cast a warm, natural light that illuminated the entire vault with exceptional clarity.
“No printing press?!”
Stepping inside, Ian’s expression turned incredulous. Not only had he failed to find the treasure he had hoped for, he didn’t find even a single gold galleon.
No,
Not even a single copper knut.
The young wizard searched the vault top to bottom, completely unwilling to give up,
but he couldn’t find anything that could remotely be considered valuable.
What was in there, was a heap of seemingly worthless, broken objects.
“This is what they call a treasure vault? I’ve changed! I’ve definitely changed! I’ve become stingy!!”
Ian hadn’t expected “Medivh” to be such a cheapskate, toward his own descendants, no less.
Look at this, this vault that was big enough to be an international airport, and aside from a pile of broken junk with perhaps some precious metal content, there wasn’t even a single shining gemstone to be seen.
No wonder they needed such a massive light fixture, otherwise, anyone would think this place was just a junkyard.
Under the bright lights, the vault was filled with dull and lifeless weapons and armor.
There were also objects placed on high shelves, like a badly weathered trident, some faded necklaces, rings, and even a shield embedded entirely with gray, dim stones.
They might have once been magical items, but now, they were all broken.
Ian even suspected someone had smeared Oreos on them, because he could see some kind of golden, unknown substance stuck to many of the weapons and armor. That might’ve been the shiniest thing in the entire room.
Beneath the “sunlight”,
The gentle shimmer in the air came from those unknown liquids. They looked like they had never aged, or perhaps time had passed over them without effect.
“At first, I thought it was the shine of gold galleons…”
Ian sighed and sat down on a stone pedestal inside the vault, glancing around at the hundreds, maybe thousands, of worn-out items scattered everywhere.
“This spear seems… somewhat intact. Though the grip’s covered in Oreos too.”
Ian pulled on a pair of dragon-skin gloves and lifted a long spear from one of the high racks.
Just as he’d said,
This spear, made of mysterious metal with a faint luster, had a wooden grip at the base. Even that was smeared with some golden grime. But thankfully, it didn’t transfer onto his gloves.
“There’s magic text on this?”
It wasn’t until the spear was in hand that Ian noticed: There was a faint line of magic runes etched into the shaft, weathered and partially rusted. They were Runes, a script Ian was quite familiar with.
“Whisper to me, and I shall end your enemies.” Ian translated the runes aloud.
In the next instant, the line of magic text on the metal spear began to glow faintly, as if awakening, but then, like a short-circuit, it flickered out again.
It was simply too damaged.
(End of Chapter)
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