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The dark green light illuminated the entire room.
The magic of death surged.
Two powerful magical forces intertwined and tore at each other in mid-air, forming a brief but dazzling vortex of energy that shredded the surrounding air, emitting a sharp whistling sound. The light in the underground room became distorted at this moment, and it felt as if the wails of countless souls who had died from the Avada Kedavra curse could be heard.
Facing Voldemort, who had inexplicably been resurrected and regained his magic power through the Philosopher’s Stone, and whose strength, though not at its peak, far surpassed that of other wizards, Ian chose to confront him head-on, wielding his own immense magic power to engage in a fierce contest.
Ian knew that the scales of victory would tip in his favor.
Fate held many possibilities, but none of them included him losing to Voldemort, this was the confidence a wizard should have when picking up a wand.
Of course.
To be safe, Ian had already used Voldemort’s family to cast a debuff on him, causing the “wizard genes” in Voldemort’s body to be continuously suppressed and weakened by the potion.
“To be honest, I’ve always wanted to test it… how much substance lies beneath the reputation of the so-called Dark Lord Voldemort.” Ian’s voice carried a hint of excitement.
The seemingly perilous scene did not make him the slightest bit afraid.
“You little bastard, don’t you know that no wizard in this world should utter my name directly?” Voldemort’s voice was cold as he increased the magic output from his wand.
Although he was affected by Ian’s potion, causing the activity of his magic power to continuously decline, his years of experience allowed him to quickly steady himself, his eyes filled with malice.
Years of built-up confidence made Voldemort believe that, aside from Dumbledore, who might have a slight chance of stopping him, all other wizards would ultimately die by his magic.
The history of the past years proved this. As long as he killed this little wizard with his bizarre strength, he would have enough time to deal with the issues caused by the potion’s influence.
“I’ll make a tombstone for you, and on it, I’ll carve these as your last words.” Ian stared at the figure that had struck fear into countless wizards.
He tightly gripped his wand, which felt like an extension of himself, in perfect harmony with his thoughts. All the magic power he poured into the wand was unleashed with maximum efficiency.
“Sharp-tongued brat, you can’t possibly be a real wizard. At your age, no wizard could possess such powerful magic power.”
“Not me, not Dumbledore, and I doubt even Merlin could… Have you never wondered why you’re so special?”
Voldemort exaggeratedly shook his wand, feeling the pressure from his opponent and attempting to break Ian’s psychological defenses using his knowledge of psychology.
“In the wizarding world, nothing unusual is a coincidence, and no gift comes without a price. I doubt you’ve ever considered what price lies behind your extraordinary talent.”
It must be said that Voldemort’s mind had become sharper after his resurrection.
Unfortunately.
Ian had walked his path step by step, remembering every footprint. There was no gift or blessing, he had relied entirely on his own efforts and a little external help in the form of an apple.
“I hate people like you who talk nonsense! Just because you can’t do it, you say others can’t either! All these years, haven’t you ever wondered why you’ve always been beaten by Dumbledore?”
“Reflect on it! Maybe it’s because you’re not as hardworking as me!” Ian didn’t think Voldemort could answer his questions about the system. His heart remained unmoved by Voldemort’s psychological tactics.
“Submit to me, and I’ll truly tell you why. Even though you’ve repeatedly thwarted my plans, I value talent. Despite my deep hatred for you, I’m willing to give you a chance…” Voldemort continued to try to bewitch Ian, realizing that the rate at which his magic power was weakening was far beyond his expectations.
The green lights intertwined in the air, forming a complex pattern, as if two forces were vying for dominance over the space, and his territory was being continuously eroded.
“I can share with you the knowledge Dumbledore refuses to reveal, the power he hides, and even the secrets of immortality.”
“I’m a generous person. Stand by my side, and I’ll let bygones be bygones for your past actions.” Voldemort increased the stakes in his attempt to sway Ian.
Whether he was bluffing or not, his tone sounded sincere. If it weren’t for the increasing killing intent in the magic clashing with Ian’s… well, Ian still wouldn’t believe him.
“I overestimated your intelligence.” Ian remained completely unfazed by Voldemort’s recruitment attempts. Which of Dumbledore’s hidden books couldn’t he read if he wanted to?
And immortality? The pitiful existence of Horcruxes could hardly be called immortality.
“I suggest you listen to how the great villain from sixty years ago swayed others. Don’t just talk big.” Ian’s tone was filled with undisguised disdain.
Indeed.
Grindelwald’s speeches sounded grand, and he was truly willing to share the benefits. In contrast, the second-generation Dark Lord before him paled in comparison.
There were no tangible benefits. Just dreams, power, and future status.
Any smart person could tell it was all empty talk. Honestly, this outdated manipulation tactic probably wouldn’t even fool his two roommates.
Loyalty among his followers relied solely on the threat of death. That’s why, after one was imprisoned, his followers remained loyal, while the other’s Death Eaters scattered.
“Unfortunately, you’ve made the wrong choice.” Voldemort’s expression turned furious after being insulted, though his voice remained cold and calm.
The flesh on the Dark Lord’s face began to wither and melt, as if he were using some kind of dark magic, causing the magic power output from his wand to suddenly increase many times over.
Seeing the other’s Avada Kedavra curse pressing toward him, Ian showed no sign of worry.
“It’s you who made the wrong choice, not me. It seems you still haven’t realized that from the moment you stepped into Hogwarts, your fate was sealed.”
With a slight flick of his wand, the Avada Kedavra curse clashing with Voldemort’s spell in mid-air suddenly split into more than a dozen branches.
They seemed to be given life, or perhaps equipped with navigation, dispersing in the air and transforming into more than a dozen thin dark green beams, shooting toward Voldemort from different angles.
“Damn it! Another one of these tricks!”
This sudden change caught Voldemort off guard. He had seen Ian’s bizarre magic in the Hogwarts tunnels, but now it had reached a new level of strangeness.
“You can’t possibly have such a strong soul and control!”
Voldemort didn’t dare to take the thin dark green beams lightly. After all, even a mosquito-sized Avada Kedavra curse was deadly, and not even the Dark Lord could escape such a rule-bound force.
Seeing the magic flying toward him, Voldemort slammed his wand down, forcibly breaking the stalemate with Ian. He disappeared just before several thin Avada Kedavra curses and a thick one could hit him.
The cunning of magic.
Played out in Voldemort’s hands.
He silently reappeared behind Ian, raising his hand to launch a sneak attack, only to find blue flames suddenly erupting from the ground, fiercely lunging at him.
The scorching, deadly magic swept through, forcing Voldemort to disappear again. However, this time, he didn’t reappear for several seconds.
Ian looked around.
He didn’t have Grindelwald’s observational skills, nor could he sense Voldemort’s presence. The only thing he was certain of was that Voldemort was still in the room.
“Shadowless Storm!”
Ian couldn’t find Voldemort, but he knew how to deal with him, as Ian’s spell reached an unprecedented intensity, the entire underground room seemed to be torn apart by an invisible force.
His magic was no longer simple beams or explosions but had transformed into countless invisible blades, like razor-sharp shards in a hurricane, silently yet lethally filling the room.
These blades roamed through the air, cutting through anything in their path. The stone pillars, tables, chairs, and even the sturdy stone walls of the room were reduced to fragments under their cutting force.
Every inch of space was covered.
The air was filled with the pungent smell of dust and the fluctuations of magical energy. As the saying goes, “When in doubt, unleash overwhelming firepower.” Ian fully demonstrated what it meant to not worry about the direction of the threat when you had vast magical power.
“You damned magical creature! A product of biological alchemy!” Voldemort was forced out of his hiding spot, his body surrounded by an invisible shield that protected him from the blades.
Of course.
Since Ian’s magic had been unleashed so rapidly, Voldemort’s face and body bore wounds of varying severity, which was likely the reason for his rage.
“So you think I’m a product of biological alchemy?” Ian realized what Voldemort had been trying to say earlier. He sneered and raised his wand again.
Voldemort’s expression immediately tensed, and he chose to strike first, casting a spell at Ian.
“Flesh Stripping!”
It was a vicious dark spell.
The increasingly dormant magic power in his body made Voldemort dare not engage in a magical duel with Ian. He realized that the substance Ian had thrown at him was far more troublesome than he had imagined. An invisible force had penetrated deep into his body, suppressing his magic power with an unstoppable momentum.
“Finite Incantatem!” Ian flicked his wand.
Voldemort’s magic dissipated into the air, he had learned the version modified by Dumbledore, which could even disrupt the time and fate magic of Slytherin.
A mere dark magic was nothing in comparison.
“Become my nourishment once more!”
Ian swung his wand forcefully, and the fire on the ground transformed into the deep red of the “Soul Furnace,” the soul-burning fire dancing dangerously.
Voldemort, who had a deep understanding of souls, immediately became alert.
“Damn you! Where did you learn all this?” Voldemort was shocked and tried to cast another spell, but he sensed that something was increasingly wrong within his body.
The magic power he used to cast spells had completely stagnated, no longer possessing any activity, like stagnant water, or like the Squibs he despised.
The weakening of his magic power made Voldemort struggle to deal with the blades in the space.
His black robe had been set ablaze, emitting a pungent burning smell. He tried to continue using his shield to block the surrounding attacks, but the increasingly uncontrollable magic power was causing him to deteriorate once more.
The shield crackled, as if it could collapse at any moment.
“As you said, perhaps it’s the magic Dumbledore refuses to teach you?” Ian also began playing psychological games, making Voldemort even more furious.
“Dumbledore is just a fool I’ve been toying with! Damn you! You and Dumbledore will both taste the consequences of opposing me!”
“I’m not losing to you! I’m losing to that damned thing you threw at me! We’ll meet again! And when we do, you will die the most horrific death!”
Voldemort had already realized he had been outsmarted by Ian. Seeing his magical shield weakening, he gritted his teeth and cursed, trying to make a quick escape.
Suddenly.
Voldemort transformed into a cloud of black smoke and rushed toward the ceiling.
“You should’ve run earlier. Unfortunately, you couldn’t escape the moment I entered.” Ian’s words left Voldemort bewildered, and a sense of foreboding made him charge upward frantically.
“Look, you’ve only delayed your death…” Ian gently twisted his wand, and Voldemort, who had halfway merged into the ceiling, suddenly froze.
The black smoke he had transformed into contained a trace of a different color.
“Boom!”
As if he had lost control of his body, Voldemort fell from the sky, unable to maintain his magic, and reverted to his human form, covered in wounds.
“No!”
Before he could get up.
Sharp spikes pierced through Voldemort’s body, not only immobilizing his wand-wielding hand but also pinning him to the ground as if nailed there.
“What have you done to me!”
Voldemort’s eyes were bloodshot as he roared, lifting his head.
“A little transfiguration magic, how about that?” Ian glanced at the Mirror of Erised for a moment before turning to Voldemort.
“I told you earlier, victory would only be on my side. I don’t like to lie.” Ian’s wand twitched slightly, and the spikes protruding from Voldemort’s body turned into chains.
They emerged from Voldemort’s flesh, binding his hands, feet, and head, allowing Ian to choose to dismember and kill Voldemort at any time.
“This can’t be transfiguration! It violates Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration!” Voldemort’s blood-red eyes widened in disbelief, his voice filled with incredulity.
“You see, I told you you didn’t learn the real stuff at Hogwarts. You must not have attended Professor McGonagall’s classes. She told me herself that wizards are like gods.”
“If you’re a god, why bother with laws? It’s the limitations of your thinking that hold you back, Tom!” Ian stepped toward Voldemort, who was pinned in the center of the room, surrounded by deep red flames. Voldemort’s wand had already turned to ash in the fire, though it was unclear if it was Quirrell’s original wand or someone else’s.
“What kind of magic is this?” Voldemort suddenly seemed to calm down.
“It’s magic I created myself… my path.” Ian walked as if on a carpet woven from flames, yet he felt no heat and was unaffected by the fire.
“Do you think defeating and killing me will make you a hero? Dumbledore won’t let you go… and I’m the one who truly understands you!”
Voldemort struggled to lift his head and look at Ian.
“I don’t think you understand anything.”
Ian smirked.
“You’re just a product of alchemy, created by Dumbledore with false memories. When you’re no longer useful, our Headmaster will destroy you.”
Clearly.
Voldemort’s misunderstanding of Ian continued. He seemed to realize that the situation was hopeless, and all his previous hysteria and rage had vanished.
“You’re the biological weapon, and so is your entire family.” Ian delivered a hard slap to Voldemort, causing half of his face to cave in.
This guy had clearly sacrificed a lot of flesh to forcibly increase his magic power.
“I must say, if your plan was to step on me to rise to power, you’ve certainly succeeded… using some underhanded tricks.” Voldemort gritted his teeth, continuing to speak in a hoarse voice.
“If you have ambition, as long as you don’t kill me, I can assist you in becoming the new Dark Lord… I think I would enjoy such an achievement.”
“After all, I’m not getting any younger; it’s time to find a successor.” Voldemort was clearly speaking nonsense, trying to save the life he had just regained.
However.
This method of temptation was indeed unique.
“??????”
Ian felt that Voldemort likely regarded the title of Dark Lord as something very prestigious.
“Your mind is definitely different from normal people. How could you think I would want to become a Dark Lord? Don’t you know I hate it when others fear me?”
He slapped Voldemort again.
Now both sides of Voldemort’s face were symmetrical.
“If you want to be like Dumbledore, I can help you. You certainly deserve flowers and applause, becoming the White Wizard basking in the sunlight.” To Ian’s surprise, Voldemort was surprisingly tolerant. Despite the anger burning in his eyes, he suppressed his rage and attempted to negotiate with Ian.
One could only say that the scope of his thinking determined the value of the temptations he could offer.
“Dear senior… you’ve lived for so many years and seem to have made no progress.” Ian kicked Voldemort, who was trying to prop himself up to meet his gaze.
“The Dark Lord? The White Wizard? What a narrow ideal! It’s simply too evil! I wouldn’t even want to dirty my foot by kicking you, influencing my grand ambitions for the future.” Ian looked down at Voldemort, who was back on the ground, tightening the chains emerging from his body.
“In terms of evil, your magic is far more sinister than mine, treating other wizards as food… Tell me, do you think our White Wizard could tolerate the existence of your kind of magic in the world?”
“He can’t even tolerate me learning some dark magic.” Voldemort’s knowledge and insight were not weak; he looked at the vast sea of flames around him with a mocking tone.
“You will definitely die, and die worse than I will, and you won’t have a chance to return like I do. You might even be treated as a dark creature that he needs to deal with to further establish his greatness.” Voldemort spoke with conviction, his eyes filled with malice and a hint of schadenfreude.
“Just die already and say less.” Ian conjured a gun using transfiguration, intending to let Voldemort die by the very Muggle weapon he despised, after all, in Voldemort’s eyes, this method of killing was indeed humiliating. The anger on Voldemort’s face resurfaced.
“I will return! When that time comes, I hope to see you again, rather than having to dig up your grave, spit on your ashes, and mock you for becoming another glorious achievement of the great White Wizard Dumbledore!”
Voldemort sneered, lowering his head as if waiting for death to come again.
“Unfortunately, your family has no grave left to dig.” Ian aimed the gun at Voldemort’s forehead and, without hesitation, pulled the trigger.
“Da Da Da~ Da Da Da~ Da Da Da~”
The small gun.
Not only did it emit blue light.
But the speed of dozens of rounds per second was berserk, soon, Voldemort’s body lay mangled on the ground, with only a few remnants of his corpse among the numerous bullet casings.
“Ha~”
Ian blew on the muzzle of his gun.
“This thing is indeed useful.”
He dispelled the magic maintaining the modified gun.
Seeing the Mirror of Erised right in front of him, Ian, who had always been curious about it, didn’t approach immediately. Instead, he held his wand and waited in front of Voldemort’s corpse.
Minutes and seconds went by.
Perhaps he could no longer hold back.
“What a cunning fellow…” Black mist began to rise from the corpse, its tone filled with malice, gathering together and rushing toward Ian without hesitation.
“Those who kill me will ultimately become like me…”
Voldemort’s soul, seeing that it had no way out, attempted to place an indelible curse on Ian at the cost of its own soul.
However.
“I’ve been waiting for you!”
The deep red flames burning around Ian formed a barrier between him and Voldemort’s soul, capable of incinerating it into nourishment.
This was a well-planned strategy.
It wasn’t that Ian wanted to burn Voldemort for nourishment; it was Voldemort who had come to him, offering himself up. The little wizard had a solid plan, even thinking ahead about how to explain it to Dumbledore later.
However.
Sometimes plans are outmatched by unexpected changes.
“Ha Ha Ha!”
Accompanied by a laugh that left Ian incredulous, a black figure shot out from the distorted space like an arrow.
It ignored the fiery barrier Ian had raised and charged outside, completely unharmed, opening its sharp mouth as if a terrifying suction force was emerging.
Voldemort’s lingering soul, initially planning to retreat and cancel the unfinished curse, was unexpectedly sucked into the mouth of the black figure as soon as the thought crossed his mind.
“What the hell is this?!”
Voldemort’s soul barely had time to let out a final scream in the mortal realm.
Then, it was completely swallowed by the suddenly appearing “Phoenix”, presumably digesting Voldemort’s soul, the black Phoenix ignited with purple flames.
“Damn it!”
Realizing something was off, Ian dispelled the flames in front of him, only to see the black Phoenix swallowing. He could feel a tight, inexplicable connection between himself and this Phoenix.
But.
“I worked hard to defeat that monster! The soul that fell out should be mine! It’s my trophy!” Ian jumped up and grabbed the black Phoenix.
He tried to pry open the Phoenix’s beak to retrieve Voldemort’s soul, but the black Phoenix’s mouth remained tightly shut, no matter how hard he tried.
“Isn’t it supposed to be that the Phoenix only helps me when I need it the most? Why is it stealing my food?” Ian’s hands weren’t burned by the deep purple flames on the Phoenix, but he clearly had no way to deal with this suddenly appearing bird. He exerted all his strength but still couldn’t pry it open.
“Ha Ha Ha!”
The Phoenix tilted its head, looking at its master, its mouth still closed, but it made a sound that was eerie and strange.
“What kind of soul Phoenix is this?” Ian was utterly speechless.
He quickly looked at the Mirror of Erised, where the flickering golden patterns were becoming more frequent. Just as he was about to pull out his wand to see if he could remove them from his body,
“Don’t be nervous, child.”
Albus Dumbledore’s voice suddenly echoed. Ian turned abruptly, realizing the voice didn’t come from the door but from a wall in the room.
“Ka Ka Ka Ka!”
An unusual sound emerged.
First, a stone in the corner of the room trembled slightly, then it began to rotate clockwise at a slow but steady pace. Following that, the surrounding stones seemed to receive some signal, starting to rotate in a complex yet orderly manner.
As if driven by some ancient and powerful magic, each rotation of the stones was accompanied by a faint friction sound, and once fully turned, they revealed a hidden chamber behind the wall.
The chamber was dimly lit but exceptionally tidy.
Inside were some seemingly ancient magical artifacts and books. In the center of the chamber stood a massive stone table, covered in intricate runes and patterns, emitting a faint glow. A familiar figure slowly stood up, Albus Dumbledore.
The cunning old Headmaster.
“How did you end up here?!” Ian stared wide-eyed in shock and he was genuinely bewildered.
Dumbledore, who should have been dealing with the Quirrell incident in the basement, was now sitting in this hidden chamber with another older-looking man.
Moreover, they had clearly been there for quite some time, as the stone table was adorned with many tea sets, and the runes were meant to keep the tea warm.
Additionally, there were even small pastries laid out on the stone table, many of which had been eaten, suggesting that the two old men had witnessed the entire battle between Ian and Voldemort.
“Of course, to ensure everything is foolproof.” Dumbledore replied with a smile.
“This is what you meant by no danger?” Ian stared at the smiling Headmaster, finally understanding what the note about no danger meant.
“An impressive battle, beyond my expectations, and it didn’t give me a chance to intervene.” Dumbledore gave Ian a thumbs up.
The other older man, Nicolas Flamel, whom Ian had only seen in photographs in books, remained silent, his gaze fixed on the Phoenix perched on Ian’s shoulder, filled with suspicion.
“It has no soul, Dumbledore. This isn’t a normal Phoenix…” Nicolas Flamel quietly reminded Dumbledore in a voice only the two could hear.
“Indeed.”
Dumbledore’s eyes flickered momentarily as he patted Nicolas Flamel’s hand, his expression unchanged as he stepped out from the hidden chamber.
“Dumbledore, please help me see what’s happening to me!” Ian was genuinely anxious; his usual adeptness with magic text had failed him.
“No problem, Ian. This isn’t a bad thing; rather, it’s something many people would seek.” Dumbledore approached Ian, his expression somewhat complex, and his tone tinged with nostalgia.
“I bet one million Galleons that this Phoenix isn’t right… Why do I feel like I’ve seen this peculiar creature somewhere before?”
Nicolas Flamel leaned in, wanting to touch the black Phoenix, but the creature’s blood-red eyes turned toward him, causing a strong sense of foreboding to rise within him.
As a seer, he sensed that touching it would be dangerous.
“Not a bad thing?”
Ian was no longer focused on his Phoenix.
He looked at Dumbledore with confusion.
“That’s right. It’s actually your future path. Perhaps you, having read the relevant books, will be more familiar with its official name.” Dumbledore turned to the Mirror of Erised in front of Ian. His gaze intensified, even becoming slightly misty.
No one knew what the Headmaster saw in the mirror.
“What name?”
Ian immediately pressed for an answer.
Dumbledore turned back.
The eyes beneath the crescent-shaped glasses gradually calmed.
“It’s called the Testament of Legends, signifying the beginning of a legendary journey.” Dumbledore’s gentle voice resonated in the room where Voldemort had just fallen.
It was firm and filled with complexity and… envy.
“I have a vague image in my mind that I can’t quite make out. What is it?” Ian paused, then quickly expressed his thoughts about his body’s changes.
“Only you can know what that is, child. When you can see it clearly, it will signify that you have gained a certain authority, and it means you have truly become a legend.”
Dumbledore shook his head.
“Who would have thought that a little one would actually get ahead of you? Tsk tsk, I suppose I didn’t come to Hogwarts for nothing.”
“This is truly a significant matter!”
Nicolas Flamel finally focused his attention on Ian.
“I heard you say that wizards are like gods?” He watched as the little wizard nodded, pondering for a moment before continuing in a hoarse voice.
“Very good, I like your… belief.”
The nearly legendary alchemist suddenly asked casually, “May I have the honor of knowing what you saw in the Mirror of Erised?”
Upon hearing this, Dumbledore also turned to Ian.
“I was reading, both professors. I saw myself reading a book.” Ian answered without hesitation, and Dumbledore seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
“Reading, huh… What book?”
Nicolas Flamel, however, seemed unwilling to let it go.
“It should be called ‘The Journey of the Monkey King’.”
Ian blinked, noticing Nicolas Flamel’s puzzled expression at the unfamiliar title, and he turned back to the Mirror of Erised.
He truly saw himself reading.
However.
[I want this sky… I want all beings to understand my intentions.]
The only clear text in the book reflected in Ian’s eyes.
(End of Chapter)
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