Unfortunately, Ian wasn't here. He wasn't even in the same time and space.
The conversation between the elderly Saruman and the man in black robes was taking place a thousand years after Saruman's ordeal. At this very moment, Ian was still trapped in the R'lyeh of the past.
So there was no way he could ask Saruman where exactly he'd gotten one of his feathers.
Of course, perhaps Ian already knew. Or perhaps he was about to find out.
Either way, what was happening here belonged solely to Saruman and the black-robed man. The underground levels of the African Ministry of Magic had already been completely cleared out by the latter. There wasn't another witness to be found.
"A raven's tail feather."
Saruman's voice was unusually solemn. "What I found wasn't merely knowledge or written records. I also found this, a physical object. It's a key, a ticket... and a sanctuary."
He gently stroked the strange feather.
"My research has actually been built around the unusual properties contained within this feather. And through it, I found a way. An unorthodox and extremely dangerous way, but one that might actually allow me to interfere with the past."
Saruman knew his plan was about to be put into action. There was no longer any point in keeping it secret.
Even if the source of the corruption could somehow hear every word he said, it was already too late to stop him. In fact, even without the black-robed man's help, the elderly wizard had already prepared another solution.
The only reason he wanted the man to act now was to teach him one final lesson. Saruman intended to use this opportunity to help him break through the shackles around his heart, so that in the future, he might go even further.
Yes. The future. Going even further.
That should have been something the black-robed man could no longer hope for. Something no one in the African Department of Mysteries could hope for.
But Saruman believed he could give them that future. Because if the past changed, the future would change with it.
The world would lose only one person, Saruman himself.
In exchange, it would become a better, safer place. The greatest threat buried within the very foundations of this world's laws would finally be erased.
"The moment I die, the instant my soul is freed from the restraints of my body," Saruman said with terrifying calm, "the power of the Raven contained within this feather will activate.
"It won't allow my soul to enter the realm of the dead, the Illusory Realm. Instead, it will create a small, fragile bubble flowing against the current of time.
"That bubble will carry my soul core and my most important memories. It will follow the countless threads of cause and effect connecting me to R'lyeh and to Ian Prince.
"Then, using R'lyeh's own chaotic space-time structure, it will rewind my time."
Saruman had finally revealed his entire plan. He intended to cross time itself and change everything.
If one Legendary wasn't enough to accomplish it, then Saruman would become another and add his own strength to the scales. That had been the driving force behind his relentless study and growth all these years.
There was no denying it. The plan was incredibly bold. Utterly insane. And exactly the sort of thing one would expect from a true Super Wizard.
The black-robed man was too stunned to speak. He could only stare blankly at the black feather.
"You intend to go back... a thousand years?" His voice was dry.
"Back to the crucial point in time, just before Ian Prince activated the magic formation and the three of us were dragged into it," Saruman replied precisely. "I will return to that event as the soul of someone who has already lived through it, carrying knowledge of part of the future."
Then he revealed another crucial detail.
"Because of the state of my soul, my power will, at least temporarily, reach the Legendary level."
In other words, the status of a Legendary belonged not to the body, but to the soul.
It was extraordinarily precious knowledge, but the black-robed man was in no state to care about that now.
"You... What are you planning to change?"
His head spun.
Change the past?
Interfere in a confrontation between a Legendary and the ruler of the Old Ones?
Even if his teacher was also a Legendary, the very idea was so insane that it left him struggling to breathe.
"Everything."
For the first time, Saruman's voice trembled with barely restrained excitement and absolute determination.
"In an event of that scale, involving both a Legendary and the Old Ones, even the smallest variable could become the flap of a butterfly's wings and ultimately produce an entirely different ending.
"I intend to become that variable.
"I will be the final weight on the scales that ensures this crisis is completely resolved."
At last, the black-robed man understood.
His teacher had never truly been seeking death. Behind what had looked like a suicidal desire lay an utterly insane plan.
Saruman intended to use death as a springboard. He would cast off his body, send his soul backward through time, and return as the one variable capable of changing the tragic fate that had befallen both himself and his dearest friend.
He was going back to shatter the seemingly inevitable closed loop that had tormented him for a thousand years.
"But... Teacher, this is too dangerous! What are the chances of success? What happens if you fail? Your soul could…"
The black-robed man couldn't bring himself to finish.
Would Saruman become lost in the turbulent currents of time? Be completely consumed by the madness of R'lyeh? Or become a casualty of some temporal paradox and be erased from existence entirely?
"The chances of success? Almost nonexistent,"
Saruman admitted without hesitation. Yet his expression seemed brighter than ever.
"And the price of failure? My soul will be destroyed. There will be no afterlife, no reincarnation, nothing."
He paused.
"But this is our only chance. What else should I do? Sit here and watch the corruption slowly eat away at me while I wait for the end? Or lose control one day and become a monster?"
Saruman's voice hardened. "That is not the ending I choose for myself! Even if the odds are one in a billion, I'll wager everything I have for a chance to undo that tragedy! This is the method I spent my entire life searching for!"
He slowly raised his head. Though his eye sockets were empty, it somehow felt as if those hollow eyes could see through everything as they settled upon his student.
At that moment, the full majesty of a Legendary Wizard revealed itself. And the black-robed man finally understood the conviction, and the responsibility, carried by someone who had reached that level.
"So, child... do you understand now?"
"I need to die. A clean, complete death that allows my soul to leave my body without interference. The power within this feather can carry only my soul."
Saruman's voice remained calm and unwavering.
"And here, the only person capable of giving me that death in the safest possible way, without causing any unnecessary disturbance..."
"Is you."
With those words, Saruman placed the final choice before his shaken student, along with the strange black feather that carried his only hope of traveling against the flow of time.
Silence descended over the chamber once more. But it was nothing like the silence from before.
Previously, the room had been suffocating beneath the weight of terrible secrets and approaching death. Now, the silence carried something almost heroic, a solemn determination born from the willingness to sacrifice everything for a greater purpose.
"Teacher..."
The black-robed man stood motionless. His body was no longer trembling.
Saruman's mad, breathtaking plan had struck through the darkness in his heart like a bolt of lightning, scattering all his hesitation, anguish, and self-doubt.
His teacher had never been passively seeking death. He intended to turn his own soul into a vessel, use a thousand years of accumulated knowledge and that mysterious feather as his oars, and make one final gamble, sailing against the river of time itself to challenge fate.
To save his dearest friend from a thousand years ago.
To change the ending of that tragedy.
To cast one tiny stone onto the edge of that vast game between a Legendary and the ruler of the Old Ones, in the hope that its ripples might change the future.
That almost obsessive courage, that friendship which transcended life and death, and that determination to challenge the impossible filled the black-robed man with an indescribable sense of respect.
Compared to his teacher's ambition, his own emotional pain and struggle between duty and affection suddenly seemed insignificant.
He knew what he had to do. He had to help the man who was closer to him than family see this through.
The black-robed man slowly drew a deep breath. The air, heavy with sulfur and ancient dust, suddenly felt unusually solemn.
Then he performed a gesture rarely seen in the African wizarding world, yet one that could not have been more appropriate at this moment.
He stepped backward three times, each step steady and deliberate. Then he stopped and straightened his back, which had grown slightly hunched from the corruption.
He raised his right hand and held his wand, the same wand that had accompanied him for countless years and had been stained by more filth and blood than he cared to remember, horizontally across his chest, its tip angled toward the floor.
At the same time, he placed his left hand over his chest and bowed slightly.
It was the traditional salute of a formal wizard's duel, originating from European wizarding customs. It represented formality, respect, and the utmost seriousness toward the duel about to begin.
Here in Africa, where wizarding traditions placed greater emphasis on shamanic rituals, communion with nature, and physical strength, the very act of using a wand and performing such a salute revealed how completely the black-robed man's state of mind had changed.
He was not carrying out a cold-blooded execution. He was bidding farewell to a mentor worthy of the highest respect, helping him carry out one final, world-shaking plan.
"Good."
Saruman was blind, but his vast spiritual perception was like an endless ocean. Every tiny movement his student made was reflected clearly within his mind.
When he sensed the formal dueling salute, a smile slowly appeared on the ancient face that had weathered a thousand years and rarely shown even the slightest ripple of emotion.
There was relief in that smile. There was pride. There was approval for the student who had finally overcome the demons in his heart and made his decision. And beneath it all was the faint melancholy of a man preparing to say goodbye to an extraordinarily long life.
Saruman knew he had chosen correctly. This child, soft-hearted yet unbreakably strong, had finally understood him and accepted the heaviest burden Saruman could possibly place upon his shoulders.
Saruman returned the salute.
The wizard's duel was about to begin.
However...
Saruman did not summon the Legendary wand that had struck fear into countless enemies, the 'Whisperer of Stars', said to have been crafted from the spine of an Astral Giant Beast and set with a gemstone from the Abyss.
Nor did he reach for any of the terrifying magical artifacts he had collected over his long life.
In fact, he didn't even draw an ordinary wand.
Saruman merely raised his thin, age-spotted hands. Despite their frail appearance, they were steady and powerful, as though they held some profound understanding of the universe itself.
His ten fingers curled naturally, faint traces of magical light flowing around their tips. It wasn't the prelude to an attack, but rather a sign of immense power gathered within and held under perfect control.
"Please instruct me, Teacher."
Seeing Saruman face him empty-handed, the black-robed man finally cast aside his last distracting thought.
This wasn't arrogance or contempt. His teacher intended to use these final moments to give him one last lesson, a true instructional duel in which he would hold nothing back.
Saruman would control his strength enough not to truly harm him, but he would also mercilessly demonstrate the absolute difference between their levels. He wanted his student to see the road that still lay ahead of him and, at the same time, give meaning to this final farewell.
Which meant the black-robed man knew exactly what he had to do.
He had to attack first.
"Then let's begin! Let me show you how much I've grown!"
He took a deep breath and focused entirely on the wand in his hand.
It wasn't his Zodiac magical artifact. He had seized this wand many years ago from an exiled European Dark wizard during a secret mission abroad. Made of yew with a dragon heartstring core, it had a cold, vicious nature.
Strangely enough, the foreign wand had developed an unusual affinity with his magic after being mutated by R'lyeh's corruption.
Now the tip of the wand gave a faint hum, almost as though responding to its wielder's will. Dark magical power silently gathered around it, a strange energy combining orthodox arcane structures with the corrupting properties of the Abyss.
Pure, yet dangerous.
"Forgive me, Teacher. I won't hold back."
The whispered words drifted through the empty chamber. Before the last syllable had faded, his wrist snapped forward.
"Stupefy!"
A scarlet bolt tore through the air like a striking snake, shooting straight toward Saruman's chest.
At the same instant, the black-robed man moved. His body slid sideways with eerie, shadow-like footwork, leaving several afterimages behind as he circled toward Saruman's flank.
Meanwhile, his left hand remained hidden inside his sleeve, silently preparing another spell: a Leg-Locking Curse.
There wasn't the slightest fluctuation of magical power to give it away. He was simply waiting for the right moment to unleash it.
Strictly speaking, neither spell belonged to the modern Charms system, though their effects and names were essentially the same. After all, modern Charms were an improvement upon older systems, not a complete reinvention of magic.
It was a textbook opening combination: force the opponent onto the defensive with a direct attack, then silently immobilize their lower body while their attention was occupied.
An ordinary wizard would already have been scrambling to respond.
Saruman didn't move. He didn't even shift his feet. He simply raised his right hand and casually traced a tiny circle through the air with his index finger.
"Go."
The incoming red light of the Stunning Spell suddenly slowed three feet from his chest, as though it had struck an invisible yet impossibly flexible barrier. Its glow rapidly dimmed. Its speed collapsed. Then, like the last flame of a candle extinguished by the wind, it silently vanished.
The Leg-Locking Curse creeping along the ground fared no better. Just as it was about to reach Saruman's ankles, an incredibly subtle yet precise field of magical power redirected it, split its energy apart, and dispersed it into nothing.
It didn't even cause a ripple.
"Your magical power is solid. Your casting is fast. Your tactical intent is clear. Very good."
Saruman sounded as calm as a professor commenting on a student's performance in class, his voice carrying neither anger nor praise.
"But your perception and control of the true nature of magic still remain at the most superficial level, casting a spell and making it hit its target."
Before the black-robed man could respond, Saruman spread the five fingers of his left hand and gently pressed his palm forward.
The air around the black-robed man instantly froze.
No, it was as though the entire space around him had suddenly turned into thick glue.
An invisible but overwhelming pressure closed in from every direction, locking down his limbs. Worse, it began interfering with the natural circulation of magic inside his body. His magic felt as though countless fine threads had wrapped themselves around it, making every movement sluggish and difficult.
This wasn't brute force. Saruman wasn't simply crushing him beneath a greater amount of magical power. He was exercising near-perfect control over the ambient magical elements and the spatial field surrounding them.
He hadn't attacked at all. He had merely reached out and gently plucked one of the strings that governed the rules of the world itself.
"This feeling..."
The black-robed man's heart tightened.
Only now did he truly understand what stood before him. This wasn't a wizard who fought merely through spells and raw power. Saruman was an existence who genuinely understood and wielded the very origin of magic.
Before his teacher, every technique, trick, and surprise attack the black-robed man possessed seemed no more sophisticated than the clumsy steps of a beginner learning to dance.
And Saruman, using nothing more than ordinary power, was showing him the path that led to Legendary.
(End Of This Chapter)
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