But what Marcel didn't expect was that when he returned to the shore, he saw an unexpected scene.
At this moment, by the shore of Lake Rëku, stood a large group of people. Most of them were dressed as servants of a noble family, and at the head was an old butler in a black suit vest and a white long-sleeved shirt underneath.
"Miss Blois? What is this..." Marcel undid the charms on himself and went forward to ask.
"The servants from home are here. I have to go back."
Vylie was as calm as ever, her face still devoid of any expression, as if she were talking about something that had nothing to do with her.
"Sir, thank you for taking care of our young lady these past few days. If you have time in the future, we would be most honored to have you as a guest at Blois Castle in Paris. I believe the master will be very pleased," the old butler said kindly, without a word of blame for Marcel. Instead, he extended an invitation on behalf of his master, fully displaying the competence and composure of a noble family's butler.
Marcel nodded. He glanced at Vylie, then said, "Mr. Butler must have had a hard journey finding us. When I have time in the future, I will definitely pay a visit. Miss Blois and I are classmates at Hogwarts and have become good friends. When the next term starts, I will ask the Head of Slytherin House, Professor Severus Snape, to continue looking after her."
Marcel had always been good with words.
He knew what Vylie lacked, and her family was naturally well aware of it too. Although from Vylie's appearance, it seemed her family situation was not very good, as an outsider who didn't know the details, expressing goodwill in this way was always the right move.
As expected, the old butler also nodded and thanked him for his words, then turned to walk towards Vylie.
"...Thank you," Vylie said softly as she was about to leave. "And thank you for the Christmas present..."
She turned and took a few steps forward, then looked back and added, "...See you at the start of term."
Marcel smiled at her and stood by the lake, watching as the old butler Apparated away with Vylie.
"Looks like she's from a rather impressive pure-blood noble family."
He stood on the shore pondering for a while, then dismissed the speculation from his mind and dived back into the lake.
He followed the familiar path to the underwater cave, then down the somewhat steep stone steps, and soon reached the very bottom.
There was indeed a stone door here. It looked very old, but it was not damaged in any way. It was just that the stone door was bare, with nothing on it.
"Alohomora!" Marcel drew his wand and gently waved it at the stone door.
This was just a test. Marcel hadn't expected it to have any effect, but to his astonishment, the door slowly swung open.
"What's going on?"
Marcel curiously peeked inside and found that it was just a large, empty hall.
The space inside looked very large. The sound of the stone door scraping against the ground echoed in the hall, making one feel a little uneasy.
On both sides of the hall were rows of supporting pillars, with rough carvings on them. At the deepest end of the hall stood a throne with a high back, carved from a single piece of rock. Although it was somewhat damaged, at first glance, it still had a primitive, rugged beauty.
The floor of the hall was paved with large, flat stone slabs, with faint traces of carvings on them. The weathering seemed too severe, and the specific details were no longer clear.
"Weathering?" Marcel pondered as he looked, then suddenly froze. "Speaking of which, there is indeed wind in this hall. Where is it coming from?"
This was the bottom of a lake. How could there be wind blowing in?
He waited quietly for a while and, seeing nothing unusual, lifted his foot and gently walked in.
"Hmm?"
As soon as Marcel reached the center of the hall, he immediately felt a wave of dizziness.
In a daze, it seemed the surrounding scenery was changing.
He quickly suppressed the discomfort in his heart and shook his head, only to find that everything around him had changed! To be precise, the hall had suddenly become brand new.
The carvings on the stone pillars were clearer, the chips on the rock throne had disappeared, and even the weathered marks on the stone slabs under his feet had been completely restored.
"What's going on?"
Marcel looked around. Just as he was about to make a guess, the stone door behind him began to move again with a heavy sound. He glanced back hastily and was surprised to find that the stone door was not closing, but opening!
He quickly ran a few steps to the left, using a stone pillar as temporary cover. Just as he hid, the sound of footsteps came from the entrance.
"I clearly opened it just now, how could it..." Marcel thought with a frown. "Could it be that the dizziness I felt just now was because I walked into an illusion? This place isn't real?"
It was hard to say whether it was an illusion or not, but right now, it seemed someone was walking towards him. Dealing with this was the top priority.
But when Marcel waited a little longer, he found that the person seemed to have stopped. He peeked around the side and immediately froze.
The person was also looking in his direction. As he peeked out, their gazes met.
It was a beautiful woman with black hair and black eyes, dressed in ancient noble attire. Her face was beautiful, but her expression was solemn, and her gaze was exceptionally sharp.
"...Rowena?" Since he had been discovered, Marcel had no choice but to step out and, out of habit, test the waters.
"My name is Rowena Myra. Young candidate, welcome to the second trial," the other party said in a flat tone. The content was simple and direct, with a faint hint of rationality.
Before Marcel could ask anything more, the stone slabs on the floor of the hall all lit up with a dazzling, eerie blue glow, enveloping both him and Rowena.
Marcel only had time to glance at the carvings on the stone slabs on the floor and found that they were all rule-runes arranged in a regular pattern!
"This is a huge combination of rule-runes!" The thought flashed through his mind, and then his entire being disappeared from the hall.
The light gradually dimmed, and there were no more figures in the hall. No one knew where Marcel and that "Rowena" had gone.
…
Just as Marcel disappeared from that ancient hall, a mere ten miles away, Voldemort was in an extremely dire situation.
"Ugh... huff... ahhhhh—"
Beneath that small ancient temple, there was a very large underground palace. And in the deepest part of that palace, a massive stone stele was stuck diagonally in the ground, causing large and small cracks to spread all over the floor.
And in front of this stele, a small figure stood with his back hunched, letting out painful wails.
"Mas... Master, spare me... ughhh—"
It was Quirrell!
Behind him, a phantom made of black smoke was floating in mid-air, its face ferocious and extremely terrifying. Suddenly, the eyes of the phantom instantly turned blood-red, and a brutal and bloody aura suddenly spread out. The powerful might it contained made Quirrell shrink to the ground, trembling uncontrollably.
But this aura came as quickly as it went. The phantom suddenly shot up into the air and, turning into black smoke, rushed towards Quirrell.
A moment later, Quirrell slowly stood up. When he opened his eyes, a blood-red glint flared.
"...Still no good."
This time, it was Quirrell who spoke, or rather, Voldemort.
"This ancient stele is indeed very strange. Just maintaining my own will from being affected consumes too much power," he muttered to himself in a low voice. Suddenly, his expression changed, and a hint of anger appeared in his crimson eyes.
"If it weren't for that boy, why would I have to come looking for this stele to draw power. It's a pity... it's really better not to touch this thing if one can avoid it."
Voldemort had a love-hate relationship with this strange ancient stele. He loved its malevolence and power, but he also hated that it was too malevolent and too powerful.
If not absolutely necessary, Voldemort would never casually come here. This was all because of the stele's strange ability—bewitchment.
It was as if a devil was hidden inside this huge stone stele.
It could bewitch any creature that came before it, making that creature enter into a contract with it. It could grant the other party power while also bringing them both physical and mental torment.
If one could endure it, their power would grow, but the creature itself would also gradually sink into the stele's bewitchment as its power increased.
Whether it was a gradual loss of humanity, brutal abnormality, or other changes, it would bring great harm to the creature itself and eventually lead to the loss of life. The soul of that creature would then attach itself to the stele after its death.
At this moment, Quirrell and Voldemort were essentially one. And Voldemort's idea was naturally for Quirrell to bear the contract in his stead, while he himself drew power from Quirrell.
But it was clear that the effect had not been good so far.
"...If that's the case, then I'll just keep trying until I succeed," Voldemort said, squinting his eyes as if he had made up his mind.
At the same time, Voldemort once again turned into black smoke, separated from Quirrell's body, and floated behind him again.
"Continue!"
"No, no... Master, I really can't take it anymore..."
"Con-tin-ue!"
"..." Quirrell knelt on the ground, trembling and hesitating, but ultimately did not dare to defy the Dark Lord's command.
He sobbed as he cut his own wrist, sprinkling his blood onto the surface of the stele. With a flash of light, Quirrell began to wail again, his voice much weaker than before.
The terrifying and eerie howls echoed faintly in this underground palace, adding a bit more horror to this place shrouded in darkness.
Behind Quirrell, the crimson glow in the black smoke's eyes became even more intense. The dark and powerful aura expanded once again, filling the entire dark underground palace chamber...
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