"The second part requires you to capture nine pillars within the Changbai Mountains to accumulate points. As for how to mark them..." Old Tom clapped his hands.
At the auditorium entrance, several Cavendish family members entered, carrying wooden crates. Inside were nine crudely carved human figures, their faces indistinct.
"Place one of these sculptures on a pillar to claim it!" Old Tom announced. "These figures are scattered throughout the mountains. You'll have to find them yourself."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Furthermore, the Changbai Mountains are vast. This competition will last a full month, until the end of the semester!"
"The third and final part of the challenge," he continued, "will begin only after all pillars are secured. The rules for that stage will be announced personally by Master Erwin Cavendish."
A murmur rippled through the crowd of young wizards as Old Tom finished. The discussion quickly turned heated, but before it could escalate, Dumbledore approached the old butler.
"Mr. Tom," Dumbledore said, his tone polite but firm. "We need to discuss this. Everyone is eager to understand these arrangements."
He gestured to the staff behind him, who looked thoroughly bewildered. Old Tom nodded. "Of course. My Master has already anticipated this."
He followed the professors into the meeting room behind the Headmaster's office.
The moment the door shut, Karkaroff exploded. "Why? This wasn't discussed! The third trial wasn't supposed to involve a journey to another country! It's completely different from what Erwin and I agreed upon!"
Old Tom turned a cold gaze on the Durmstrang Headmaster. "You will refer to my Master as Mr. Cavendish. I will only say it once."
The intensity in his eyes startled Karkaroff. Recovering, the man remembered he was facing the head butler of the Cavendish family—Erwin's most trusted subordinate. Despite Old Tom's amiable demeanor, his reputation was forged in blood; his recent overseas missions had left a trail of eliminated dark wizards.
Dumbledore, sensing the tension, stepped in. "Mr. Tom, please explain why Erwin made these changes. They are a significant departure from his initial proposal."
"Very well, Headmaster," Old Tom replied, his voice steady. "Master Cavendish feels the original plans were too simple for participants of their caliber. Their strength is already considerable; ordinary tests are ineffective. Therefore, after consulting with relevant authorities, Master changed the rules for this final trial."
"But going to Changbai," Dumbledore countered, "is quite distant. Wouldn't that be logistically inconvenient? Especially with spectators—they're planning to attend."
Dumbledore glanced at Barty Crouch, who stiffened.
"Don't bring me into this!" Crouch said quickly. "What happens has nothing to do with me personally!"
Barty knew exactly who held the power. He knew he was merely a figurehead. "I haven't received any specific orders regarding this," he declared, eager to avoid any implication that he was overstepping. He valued his position—and his life—too much to meddle in Cavendish affairs.
"Master has already considered everything," Old Tom said. "The Cavendish family will handle all travel arrangements for those wishing to attend. The stands are already constructed. Master has coordinated everything—there will be no tickets this time. It's entirely free. Cavendish will issue notifications via magical communication; those interested may register directly."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "If Erwin has arranged everything, then I have no objections."
"In that case," Old Tom said, "I have other matters to attend to."
He turned and left, the other professors filing out after him, leaving only Dumbledore and Grindelwald in the room.
Dumbledore frowned. "Gellert, something feels off."
Grindelwald smiled, a dark amusement in his eyes. "It is off. It's obvious Erwin is plotting something again. And this time, I suspect it will be extraordinary."
"If things proceed as planned," Dumbledore said, his voice grave, "far too many people will be involved. Even ordinary wizards. What does he want with such a massive audience?"
"I don't know," Grindelwald admitted, "but I know Erwin has his calculations. With his current power, if he truly intends to do something, we cannot stop him. In that case, we should simply watch and see what he has in mind. We can't change anything."
"I fear he's walking a dangerous path," Dumbledore sighed.
Grindelwald rose and walked to Dumbledore's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Albus, 'right' and 'wrong' are never determined by opinion. The victor writes the history. There are few in this world who can stop Erwin now. Whatever he does, we can only watch; we cannot intervene. Moreover, he has likely included us in his calculations."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "Consider the tournament. The leaders of the four Houses will certainly attend. With such a grand stage, I suspect he might be planning something unprecedented."
Dumbledore's breath hitched.
Grindelwald nodded. "Remember? Erwin told you he could achieve the impossible."
"So, he intends to attempt it?" Dumbledore frowned. "But how will he succeed? Even if he tries, is he confident? We aren't enough. This is a fundamental force."
Grindelwald chuckled darkly. "Why worry? It's only a month. We will see then, won't we?"
Dumbledore nodded, though the unease in his chest remained.
Meanwhile, inside a hidden temple.
Erwin looked down at the King's Sword, where two faint traces of divine power shimmered. He abruptly severed his own output, leaving only those faint, lingering remnants on the blade.