You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: spatreon/darkshadow6395
Albus rely chuckled in response.
"Your caution, obviously, hasn't yet reached the proper level." His gaze held a deep, aningful edge, sending a chill down Ian's spine, a clear warning of danger.
"Cough cough, better to see through it without saying it out loud. We're still good brothers." Ian's expression was rather awkward. To be honest, since adopting this fighting style, it was the first ti soone had truly seen his true self.
"Do you concede?" Albus asked with a smile.
"Of course not." Without hesitation, Ian answered.
"Oh?" That clearly surprised Albus.
"Still got a trump card?" He eyed Ian with growing curiosity.
"Isn't it just an anti-magic field? I know that charm quite well." Ian glanced at the magical runes inscribed on the ground around them and felt a bit moved; he wasn't the only one who enjoyed studying this kind of magic.
The reason his "decoy" collapsed and why he was so embarrassingly crawling out from underground was precisely because this ritual-created domain blocked the effects of magical power.
Otherwise, he should have erged in a much more impressive manner...
"My magical power can't really function here, and neither can yours. All things considered, this fight is finally fair." Ian fixed his sandy hair, which still fell in clumps after shaking it twice.
"Seems like you really understand these rituals. That's reasonable. But since you know the current situation, I suppose you haven't forgotten my identity, right?"
Albus smiled brightly.
"You have many identities. Which one do you an?"
Ian was unfazed. He watched the young man across from him pull back his robes.
"Of course, the identity I'm most proud of right now... kid, et , Albus Dumbledore... from Gryffindor House."
Saying that, the elegant young man unsheathed a gleaming long sword. It wasn't the Sword of Gryffindor, but from its sharpness and exquisite design, it was clearly crafted by a master.
The blade was razor-sharp, radiating a biting chill.
"I told you, I've won." Dumbledore gripped the sword's hilt tightly, his arm muscles subtly bulging, revealing hidden strength. The sword seed alive in his hand, its tip quivering gently as if responding to his will. It began swiftly approaching Ian's neck.
This was one of Albus Dumbledore's lesser-known talents: swordsmanship, and the reason he dared to abandon magic here. Unable to outmatch Ian's magical power, he chose the most advantageous strategy for himself.
An anti-magic domain.
Few wizards could face a skilled swordsman inside such an area.
"Luckily, I have a counterplan for this."
Most wizards would panic when magic was unavailable, facing a charging swordsman. But Ian was not among them. Ian instantly drew sothing fierce from his pouch; just as Dumbledore could pull out a sword, Ian had many tricks hidden in his enchanted bag.
Not sealing off alchemical creations was definitely Albus's biggest mistake. Of course, this might also be because they were currently inside the Room of Requirent.
Albus Dumbledore chose not to use absolute anti-magic asures.
"My future professor! Tis have changed!" Ian shouted.
He then pulled out a homade magical Gatling gun. Maybe magical power couldn't flow into it, but in manual mode, its chanical structure still allowed it to empty all its built-in bullets in a minute.
The machine gun was pitch black, emitting a cold tallic sheen. Its huge fra contrasted sharply with Ian's slender figure but didn't diminish its imposing presence in the slightest.
"!!!???"
Look.
Albus was stunned. His sharp steps abruptly faltered, and the long sword he was swinging froze stiffly mid-air.
He was perhaps only a few paces away from Ian.
However, his proud House seemingly did not grant him the courage to continue the charge. After all, Albus Dumbledore, who knew quite a bit about Muggles, was a man who recognized quality.
"What... what are you doing?" For the first ti, the elegant young man showed a terrified expression, even stamring in his voice.
"Three thousand six hundred rounds per minute, rcifully saving the world. My future professor, I'm telling you, in front of this thing, without magic, we're all just... mundane flesh and bones." Ian pulled the trigger, and the Gatling's rotating barrels reflected the dazzling sunlight simulated by the Room of Requirent.
"Damn it!"
Albus's pupils contracted violently. Perhaps for the first ti in his life, he cursed. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he instantly made a snap decision and hurled the long sword in his hand.
The target wasn't Ian.
It was the endless magical runes inscribed on the ground.
At the sa ti,
"dá dádá dá~"
Blue flas flickered to life.
The Gatling gun's rotating barrels erupted in a deafening roar, like a furious beast howling. Countless enchanted projectiles rained down like a dense barrage.
They sliced through the air, leaving scorching trails.
"By rlin's beard!" Albus scrambled on the ground, clutching his head. Fortunately, after several rolls, the sword he threw cut through the magical runes he had set up.
Magical energy surged back to life.
"Protego! Protego! Protego!" Albus cast spells frantically, his lips almost worn raw from speaking so quickly.
The incoming "bullets" were finally blocked by invisible "shields," giving him a mont to catch his breath.
"Expelliarmus!"
Seizing the chance, he cast at Ian.
The Gatling gun in Ian's hands was blasted away.
Seeing that the "big killer weapon" was finally neutralized, Albus let out a sigh of relief. But the next mont, dizziness hit him, and he couldn't help but drop to one knee.
Not only was his whole body weak, but even his brain felt so heavy it barely functioned.
"What did you load in this...?"
He struggled to look down at himself, only to see more than ten syringes stuck into his body. Obviously, his fancy rolls without protective enchantnts hadn't helped much to dodge.
"It's my overdosed Draught of Living Death."
Ian blinked honestly. Of course, he wouldn't kill his future headmaster. The Gatling he pulled out was a special version designed to deal with a possible "Slytherin rebellion."
As he had said before, Ian really had a strong sense of caution. But it was only to deal with his classmates; there was no need to use a truly lethal weapon.
They didn't deserve that.
"..."
Hearing Ian's answer, the staggering Albus Dumbledore felt extrely frustrated inside. He knew the boy was sneaky, but hadn't expected it to be this devious.
"There's no way I'll teach you these things. No way... absolutely no way." Albus's voice was full of stubborn disbelief.
"You're not my apprentice! Damn it! How can this Draught of Living Death be so powerful?!"
He slowly pulled out all the needles, shook his head a few tis, then struggled to lift his head, forcing his eyelids open, his eyes fixed tightly on Ian in front of him.
"Yes, you didn't accept as your apprentice, but Professor Grindelwald always said I was his apprentice." Ian was still telling the truth, though not the whole truth.
He couldn't betray his good uncle.
"Grindelwald... Grindelwald... this is really... damn sneaky..." Albus kept repeating the na, as if forcing himself to rember it firmly.
"So, now I win, right?"
Ian knelt halfway in front of Albus and pressed his wand against Dumbledore's forehead.
"Heh, I admit your dirty tricks... did surprise , but like I told you just now, I had already won when I set up this ritual."
Albus shook his head.
His voice held a trace of guilt as he looked at Ian. In his eyes, there was a strong drowsiness, but it couldn't overshadow his resolute emotion.
"Huh?"
Ian glanced at the broken magical runes on the ground, destroyed by young Dumbledore himself. He furrowed his brow, unable to fully understand what Dumbledore was saying.
"I didn't just set up one ritual, kid," Albus explained proactively, suddenly touching his wand and channeling magical energy into it.
The next mont, the shattered magical runes began to twist and change. While Ian tried to discern it, the dark runes converged together and gradually disappeared into the ground.
"What is this...?"
Ian was sowhat suspicious and unsure. He clearly sensed sothing, but it was too late.
"Hiss~"
Dozens of black hands, like claws reaching out from the depths of the Forbidden Forest, suddenly burst out from the gravel on the ground, swiftly and powerfully grabbing Ian's ankles.
Ian's magical power was "frozen" and restricted. He tried to struggle, but those hands clamped down on him tightly like iron pincers, holding him immobile.
(To Be Continued…)
User Comments
0 comments from readers