The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 549: Who is the Dark Lord?

At the homes of many national leaders.

Wizards have never been a secret.

However, most of the higher-ups did not pay enough attention to wizards, and some of the leaders of America even thought that wizards were nothing more than a group of circus clowns who knew some magic tricks.

Now, the Death Eaters' actions prove the wizards' power. Although they are physically weak, in the face of magic, technology seems like a joke.

"How could this be...?"

The Prime Minister's heart was in turmoil. The Chief of the Defense Staff, seated below him, a white-haired veteran of many wars, was equally ashen-faced. He slowly removed his glasses, wiping the lenses with trembling hands, as if this action could help him process what he had just witnessed. "What...what was that?"

No one could answer him.

Finally, the Prime Minister spoke with difficulty, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible: "Contact...contact those people. Those...the Ministry of Magic. Tell them, whatever agreements or rules existed before...we need help! Immediately!"

Meanwhile, in another part of London, the Ministry of Magic's Emergency Services Hall was in a similar state of chaos.

Red alarm lights flashed in the hall as owls and Patronus flew in like snowflakes, bringing increasingly alarming messages: "Urgent contact from the Muggle Prime Minister's office! Large-scale supernatural conflict has broken out in East London! Muggle troops have intervened and suffered heavy losses!" "Urgent notification from the International Wizarding Federation! An unknown force is openly using mass-destructive magic in Muggle territory! Suspected Death Eater group action!"

"News from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries! Numerous Muggle casualties have been reported! We request immediate intervention from the Ministry of Magic!"

Minister Fouché stood pale and helpless on the high platform, listening to the chaotic reports from his subordinates. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but found his voice completely drowned out by the noise.

Finally, he slammed his fist on the table and roared with all his might, "Aurors! Mobilize all available Aurors! Get to the scene immediately! Control the situation! Protect the Muggles! And... contact Dumbledore! Who can contact Dumbledore?!"

The Aurors filed out, the sounds of Apparition exploding echoing throughout. However, when the first Aurors arrived, they were met not with a controllable "situation," but with a deeper despair. There was no way around it; the first Aurors had barely Apparated at the edge of the night market ruins when, before they could even form ranks, they were met with a deluge of dark magic attacks.

"Extremely painful!"

"Crushed to pieces!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

The ghastly green light wove a web of death in the night, and several Aurors at the forefront were struck before they could even raise their wands, falling to the ground with screams of agony.

This is war.

Some died on the spot, while others convulsed and writhed in excruciating torture, uttering inhuman screams.

"Scatter! Scatter! Find cover!" Scrimgeour, the Auror's chief of staff, roared, waving his wand repeatedly to deflect several spells aimed at him. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scanned the dark battlefield, trying to find a way out.

But he soon discovered that it was not a battle at all, but a massacre.

The number of Death Eaters far exceeded expectations, and their combat power was stronger than ever before in any conflict! Those strange magical fluctuations and those protective methods that distorted space rendered the spells that the Aurors were so proud of completely ineffective—the Cutting Curse was deflected by the invisible barrier, the Stunning Curse was swallowed up and disappeared, and even the Killing Curse could not penetrate the distorted domain around some Death Eaters!

"These people...something's wrong!" an Auror cried out in alarm. "My spells aren't hitting them!"

His response was a beam of green light shooting from the side. As he fell, his face was frozen in disbelief and horror.

More Aurors arrived, but they too fell one after another. Like moths to a flame, they were completely swallowed by the darkness.

And those more Horcruxes hidden in the shadows finally began to reveal themselves.

An old man dressed in a black robe, another Horcrux of Tom Riddle, from Marvolo Gaunt's ring—he slowly emerged from the shadows.

The man raised his hand and waved it lightly, and an invisible wave of magical energy spread out. All the Aurors who were fighting the Death Eaters felt their wands tremble violently at the same time.

It looked like it was about to fly out of my grasp!

"Disarm you!" Several Aurors instinctively cast disarming spells, but the spells struck the old man as if hitting a phantom, passing right through his body and having no effect.

The old man smiled slightly, and with a flick of his fingers, a pair of Auror wands flew from their hands simultaneously, landing amidst the Death Eaters' encirclement! "Not so!"

"What do we do without a wand?!"

Amidst screams of terror, the Death Eaters pounced like a pack of wolves. The Aurors, without wands, were like lambs to the slaughter before the wand-wielding, powerful Death Eaters.

One after another, green lights flashed, and one figure after another fell down.

That was the most elite force of the British Ministry of Magic, highly trained and battle-hardened warrior wizards. But now, they lay fallen like harvested wheat amidst the ruins.

Scrimgeour watched in despair, gripping his wand tightly, preparing to cast his final, potentially fatal, spell. But just as he raised his hand, a hand reached out from behind and gently pressed down on his shoulder.

He turned around and saw a young and handsome face. It was another Horcrux clone, Tom from the Hufflepuff Cup.

"Good night, Mr. Auror." Young Tom smiled, his scarlet eyes reflecting Scrimgeour's terrified face.

Then, a green light appeared.

Scrimgeour fell.

The entire Auror force was wiped out.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, the duel between Grindelwald and young Tom had reached its most dangerous juncture.

Grindelwald was panting, looking disheveled. His robes were torn in several places, and his silver hair clung messily to his sweat-dampened forehead. His magic was nearly depleted, and the stolen wand had completely lost its obedience to him, trembling violently in his hand as if it might fly out at any moment, or even turn against him.

Young Tom, however, remained calm and composed, even showing a hint of disappointment.

"It's over, Mr. Grindelwald," Tom said softly. The "Void Realm" once again spread out from beneath his feet, and the black tentacles, like a swarm of hungry snakes, slowly approached Grindelwald. "You were indeed a worthy opponent. Unfortunately... times have changed." Grindelwald took a step back, then another, but behind him lay collapsed ruins, a dead end with nowhere to retreat.

Those black tentacles drew closer and closer...

He could sense that once touched by those tentacles, his body, his soul, and his very existence would be completely "returned" to the void—an end more thorough than death.

Countless complex emotions flashed in his heterochromatic eyes—resentment, anger, regret, and a hint of…mockery of fate. Once upon a time, he, Grindelwald, was a figure who stirred up the winds and waves of the world, but now, he was to die at the hands of a junior's "avatar," on this filthy Muggle ruin.

His whiskers almost touched his toes.

At this very moment

He suddenly looked up, his strange gaze passing over Tom, over the dark battlefield, over the countless fallen corpses, and into a distant corner he had been deliberately ignoring, yet could never completely ignore.

There, a young man with black hair still stood quietly.

It did not move an inch from beginning to end.

He never used any magic from beginning to end.

From beginning to end, it watched all of this silently, like a forgotten ghost.

Grindelwald didn't know why he wasn't intervening, what his purpose was, or even whether he was friend or foe. But he knew that in this desperate moment, if anyone could change things...

Only him.

Only the "Raven" was ignored by Voldemort, overlooked by the Death Eaters, and even almost forgotten by Voldemort himself.

With his last ounce of strength, Grindelwald roared. His voice was hoarse and aged, yet it carried an unprecedented plea, a plea that relinquished all pride and arrogance.

"Ian...Prince!"

His voice echoed through the ruins, drowning out the screams, laughter, and explosions in the distance, reaching the black-haired young man's ears clearly. "I know you've been watching! I know you have the power to change all of this!"

"These Muggles, these Aurors, and this old man on his deathbed—we can't hold them off!"

Ian Kent

"You must reverse all of this..." Grindelwald's heterochromatic eyes flashed intensely, finally culminating in a soul-piercing shout: "Correct history!"

The moment the words left his mouth, young Tom's "Void Domain" finally touched Grindelwald's body. Those black, all-consuming tentacles wrapped around his ankles and spread upwards along his calves—however, the anticipated "return to the void" did not occur.

Yes, nothing happened.

Grindelwald stood frozen, looking down at the black tentacles that entwined around him. They wriggled and coiled like real, living things, yet... they had no real effect. His body remained intact, his consciousness remained clear, and there was no sign that his existence had been "devoured." The smile on young Tom's face froze.

He suddenly raised his hand, urging more chaotic magic into the "Void Domain." The black tentacles became denser and more active, frantically tearing at Grindelwald's body—but no matter how hard they tried, Grindelwald remained standing there unharmed, not even a tear in the hem of his clothes.

"I see!"

Grindelwald seemed to realize something.

"This...how is this possible?!" Tom's voice lost its composure for the first time, carrying a hint of undisguised panic.

Just then

"I am here, I have always been here."

Ian showed off.

Then.

The entire world around them began to distort and shatter like a mirage. The corpses lying in the open, the collapsed stalls, the burning wreckage of armored vehicles, the pervasive stench of blood—everything was becoming blurred and transparent at a visible speed, and then quietly dissolving like mist blown away by the wind.

A Death Eater looked down at his hand, where the wand he was clutching tightly was twisting and deforming, eventually turning into an ordinary... tree branch.

"My wand?! How did my wand turn into a tree branch?!"

Another Death Eater looked around in horror. The Muggle corpses that had just been lying on the ground, killed by their own hands, had all vanished, leaving only empty streets and the cold moonlight. The blood everywhere, the agonizing screams, the frenzied slaughter—it all seemed like a vividly real nightmare.

"Where are they?! Where are the Muggles?!"

"What on earth is going on?!"

Several of Tom's Horcruxes were equally shocked and bewildered. Old Tom looked down at his hands, which had just been able to unleash the "Void Domain," but were now completely empty, without even a trace of magical energy remaining in his palms. Young Tom's face was ashen. He turned abruptly and looked at the black-haired young man who had been standing quietly in the distance.

Ian Prince remained standing, his face calm as still water. His deep, pool-like eyes reflected the empty street, the panicked Death Eaters, and the several Horcrux clones with grim expressions.

His right hand had somehow risen up, and a seemingly ordinary magic wand was held in his slender fingertips.

At the tip of the wand, a faint, almost invisible wisp of silver light was slowly dissipating.

That was... the light from the dispelling of the illusion.

Everything—that horrific massacre, the flames from the crashing fighter jets, the fallen Aurors, Grindelwald's despair at being cornered—was all an illusion.

When did it start?

Was it from the moment Voldemort appeared? Or even earlier? From the moment Ian first raised his hand and cast that imperceptible "ripple"? Nobody knows.

But now, the truth is laid bare before everyone:

The streets were deserted.

The moonlight was cold and desolate.

Ruthless mockery.

The Death Eaters were just slaughtering thin air; their proud sense of triumph was nothing more than an illusion conjured up by others.

Their self-satisfied power was like child's play in front of that dark-haired young man.

"You...it's you!" Young Tom turned around abruptly, his scarlet eyes fixed on Ian, his gaze filled with disbelief, shock, fury at being tricked, and a hint of fear that even he himself was unwilling to admit.

"You've been playing us for a fool from the very beginning?! You're behind all of this?!"

The other Soul Weapon clones also gathered around, their faces equally grim.

Old Tom, Golden Cup Tom, and even two clones who had been hiding in the shadows and had never shown themselves before, all revealed themselves and surrounded Ian.

"An illusion that could fool all of us?!" Tom's voice trembled uncontrollably. "This is impossible! How could our senses, our magic, be deceived by a mere illusion?!"

"Unless..." Old Tom narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint in his crimson pupils, "unless the caster's magical power far surpasses ours."

As soon as the words were spoken, the expressions of the several Soul Weapon clones changed simultaneously.

They raised their hands almost simultaneously, channeling all their magic power to launch the fiercest attack on Ian!

Old Tom's "Tear Curse", Golden Cup Tom's "Devouring Vortex", Young Tom's "Void Domain", and the various dark magic spells cast by the other two clones transformed into five different colored but equally deadly torrents of magical power, pouring towards Ian from different angles!