Chapter 257: Am I Right?
Cracks appeared across the sphere's surface. The once-unified team fractured into discord. They turned on one another, fighting savagely over anything of value. Throughout this chaos, the elegant script continued appearing.
"This is all your fault."
"We should have lived in peace and abundance. Why did you have to return repeatedly and disturb us?"
Mural after mural depicted the story—a fallen civilization rising once more, only to collapse again. Yet what puzzled Evans was that after each mural finished its narrative, the elegant script would appear, inexplicably hurling accusations at him before fading again, offering no explanation whatsoever.
This pattern persisted until the murals ended.
Gazing at the pyramid standing proud within the final image, and the black mist drifting around it, Evans found himself thoroughly confused.
So you tell a story, then scold me while telling it? What's that supposed to mean?
But just as Evans puzzled over this, a soft sound echoed through the chamber. The floor's center suddenly opened, and a stone platform rose upward. Upon its surface rested a brilliant crimson sphere, identical in appearance to the one depicted in the murals.
Yet Evans's attention was instantly captured by something else entirely resting on the platform—something seemingly inconspicuous.
It was a line of text, aged and worn, but the handwriting was completely different from the elegant script that had appeared in the murals.
Moreover, what it conveyed bore no connection to those previous messages.
"Listen, you can do Apparition with house-elf magic, right? Grab what's on the platform and run. Don't bother with that woman."
"If you can't do it, then fight your way out. I believe in you!"
Evans's pupils contracted sharply. His grip on his wand tightened immediately, eyes fixed intensely on those words. His fingers blanched from the pressure, trembling with the shock of what the text revealed.
He had researched this extensively when he first discovered his gift. Throughout history, countless individuals had studied magical creature abilities, attempting to convert them into spells any wizard could use. Results had been minimal.
House-elf Apparition was among the most practical abilities of all magical creatures. Yet even now, he'd never heard of anyone successfully researching how to learn house-elf Apparition.
This meant using such magic couldn't rely on conventional learning. His gift, however, could accomplish precisely this.
Combined with that text's final sentence, Evans could confirm with certainty—these words were left specifically for him.
After his analysis, Evans's mind churned with chaos. Thoughts flickered rapidly.
That text's age was immense. The way it referred to house-elves confirmed this. Centuries ago, that name had already become standard, with "elf" itself having been reassigned to fairies.
Using that terminology meant the author lived at least a thousand years ago.
Someone, a thousand years in the past, had known of his existence? Had deliberately left clues for him?
Sudden transmigration. The strange bird appearing yearly at the orphanage. His miraculous gift. The seals in the Forbidden Forest. Hufflepuff's inheritance message mentioning "the successor." Image after image flashed through Evans's mind as he deconstructed and analyzed every anomaly from his entire life. After long deliberation, he looked again at the platform's text and exhaled slowly.
Yet that person had overlooked something crucial.
Since house-elves were enslaved, every single one in this world closed their hearts to everyone.
Even he could no longer befriend any house-elf.
Sighing once more internally, Evans raised his head toward the central platform.
From the moment this chamber appeared, silence had reigned absolutely. Even the eerie green flames produced no burning sounds.
Staring at the brilliant crimson sphere at the platform's center, Evans hesitated, considering carefully.
He understood that sphere held immense importance. Yet without house-elf Apparition, approaching recklessly risked disaster.
That text itself suggested as much—if he couldn't manage it, he'd have to fight his way out. That meant battle lay ahead.
Should he leave first, gather reinforcements, then return?
But the instant that thought crossed his mind and he stepped backward, thunderous sounds erupted from all directions simultaneously.
The four corridors that had extended in four directions suddenly collapsed inward toward the center, disappearing from Evans's view with deafening roars.
Simultaneously, the spacious chamber began vibrating slightly. The stone platform standing at its center glowed with magical radiance as a figure gradually materialized.
The runes drifting within the light suggested some form of visual magic—but far more advanced than anything displayed in the murals.
Evans watched the phantom at the platform's center with grave intensity. His wand swept lightly, sending a red bolt of light toward the phantom. Yet black mist suddenly manifested mid-flight, blocking the spell before it dispersed.
Observing the mist that had blocked his magic, Evans felt his chest grow heavy.
Generally, visual magic on this scale possessed sufficient self-awareness to cast spells using the magical energy that constructed the image itself.
If this phantom originated from whoever had written those two sentences, matters would be manageable. But if it came from whoever had created this pyramid and those monsters, the situation grew significantly more complicated.
Even now, he sensed multiple gazes pressing around him—dozens that he could perceive alone. Combined with an ancient wizard capable of casting with residual magical power, this would prove an extraordinarily difficult battle.
Most of his combat-capable magical creatures remained outside assisting Bill's group. Only Tim remained in his suitcase, representing meaningful combat strength.
Most critically, he couldn't determine whether those corridors had simply closed or been completely sealed.
If fully sealed, he'd traveled at least two kilometers to reach here. Diricawl Alice's Apparition couldn't cover such a distance.
That meant he could only consider escape after the battle concluded.
While Evans analyzed the battlefield situation, the phantom on the distant platform solidified into a definite form.
An exquisitely elegant woman materialized, adorned in an elegant black dress trimmed with golden threading. Her eyes remained slightly closed as an indescribable air of nobility radiated from her entire being—a presence so overwhelming that merely gazing upon her felt intimidating and unapproachable.
Evans had encountered such a presence only in ancient magical creature monarchs he'd met. Yet even the most powerful rulers he'd known possessed a tenth of this woman's dignity.
After the image solidified completely, the woman remained silent, eyes closed. Then she spoke slowly, her tone carrying unmistakable authority. Yet somehow Evans detected something else—a faint undercurrent of sorrow.
"I knew you would return here someday."
"After all, you are such a heartless person. You could never allow us to truly reclaim what was rightfully ours, could you?"
"Am I right?"
"Merlin?"