The leader remained silent. He too felt a vague unease. Erwin's actions were far too ostentatious. The commotion had grown too large.
Wizards from across the world had gathered. The entire region was in controlled chaos. With so many witches and wizards assembled, who knew what might go wrong without strict oversight?
Fortunately, the Cavendish family was helping to manage the crowd. No major riots had occurred. Yet, something felt amiss—an inexplicable sense of dread that couldn't be pinpointed.
If there was a problem, it was that the Cavendish family had been too generous. They covered travel expenses for all wizards coming to attend. That was an enormous expense, and it convinced even those usually short on funds to make the trip.
Why not? they reasoned. The journey is free. We can watch the competition and enjoy the scenery. Treat it as a vacation.
Because of this, far more wizards arrived than expected. Local magical personnel were working overtime, overwhelmed by the crowd.
The leader shook his head. "Tell everyone to be extra careful. Whatever Erwin wants to do, he's already started. We can't stop him. But if anything happens, send the students away immediately. The tradition cannot be broken."
His expression was grim. The officials bowed deeply, accepting the order.
"By your decree."
With a wave of his hand, the leader dismissed them. He walked to the window, brow furrowed.
"Changbai Mountains," he murmured. "Why choose this place? Erwin, what do you know?"
As the leader, he knew more than most. The Changbai Mountains were indeed special, tied to ancient history, and linked to something of vital importance.
His figure shimmered. He Apparated instantly, reappearing in a sacred location.
There stood a shrine—the place of worship for successive leaders. He picked up three incense sticks from a nearby table, igniting them with a flick of his wrist. He bowed before the neatly arranged memorial tablets and placed the incense in the burner.
Then, he approached a specific memorial tablet inscribed with an honored name.
He bowed again and picked up a wooden box resting beneath it. Inside lay a heavy, ancient artifact. He lifted it solemnly. A golden light flashed across its surface.
At the very bottom were two deep cracks, extending upward and looking nearly fatal to the structure.
"One last use," the leader murmured. "Hopefully, this time, we can get accurate information."
He sat cross-legged on the ground. His magical energy began to flow, gathering around the artifact. A brilliant golden light shone upon it. The golden lines etched across its surface seemed to come alive, moving and shifting as fresh cracks began to form.
The artifact trembled, threatening to disintegrate at any moment. Seeing this, the leader pushed more power into the ritual.
"Hold on. Just a little more."
The golden light accelerated. The cracks widened. Finally, with a sharp snap, the artifact shattered and fell to the ground.
In the instant it broke, a vision appeared upon the fragments. Ignoring the debris on the floor, the leader focused on the scene.
It was like a third-person view of a battlefield littered with corpses. The land was scorched black. Bodies lay everywhere—wizards in robes, unknown beings in black cloaks, students in their traditional garments, and people bearing purple lotus marks on their chests. The silence was heavy, broken only by the crackle of smoldering earth.
In the center of the carnage stood two figures. They were dressed identically, their faces almost exactly the same, and each held a sword. One looked mature, the other much younger. Both possessed similar features, yet they were covered in grievous wounds.
"Who are these?" the leader frowned. The image clearly depicted a final battle, but where was Erwin? And who were these two combatants?
He scrutinized their clothing. His eyes widened in shock.
"How is this possible? Did they finally emerge?"
Above, the dark clouds slowly dispersed, revealing the sky. At the feet of the two figures lay several other corpses, distinct from the rest. These were surrounded by remnants of divine power, clutching shattered objects in their hands.
The leader swallowed hard. Gods.
These were actual deities. The shattered objects they held were remnants of divine authority.
Just then, the two figures moved. Their longswords rose in unison, thrusting toward each other. The leader leaned forward, desperate to see the outcome, but the scene abruptly cut off.
A moment later, the leader coughed up blood.
"Backlash?" he wheezed. "I saw something I shouldn't have? Is that why it caused a backlash?"
He leaned weakly against the table, adjusting his condition. Although he hadn't seen the final result, he had learned a great deal. He pushed himself upright, looking at the memorial tablet with a bitter smile.
"So, this is what you foresaw? This is the key? But are you sure? Look at the scene. Everyone is dead. Is this the inevitable outcome?"
His face was deathly pale; he seemed to have aged years in an instant. Looking at the rows of tablets, he whispered, "Where have the guardians gone? I truly don't know how to decide."
He sighed, a heavy, weary sound. He turned and left the hall. As the doors slowly closed behind him, a faint whisper seemed to drift on the air.
"Foolish child... foolish child."