Death was arrogant. He knew the taboos of Britain well. Even when all the practitioners were alive, they understood that outsiders were forbidden entry. But Death also knew that the current dragon vein—the magical core of the land—was critically weakened.
It possessed less than a tenth of its peak power. This was why Death dared to wield his authority here.
All of this was because the current dragon vein was incomplete. The British magical world originally possessed ten interconnected dragon veins, but the others were sealed. Only the Changbai Mountain range vein was active, isolated and struggling to recover.
Erwin needed this very weakness. Even he couldn't conceive of a way to bind a complete dragon vein.
The white dragon had no desire for conversation. Its duty was to obliterate any entity wielding unauthorized authority within Britain. It charged directly at Death, surrounded by blinding white light.
Death swung his scythe. The power of divine authority surged, but instead of striking the wizards, it pressed down upon the white dragon.
The white dragon raised a claw and swiped. Erwin, though unable to see the energy, felt it tear apart with perfect clarity.
His guess was correct. Dragon veins possessed a unique capacity to restrain and tear apart divine authority—a power no other force in his knowledge could match.
Death seemed to anticipate this. The reason gods feared dragon veins was because their power surpassed divine authority itself. After severing the divine strike, the white dragon lunged. Five beams of white light, shaped like claws, shot toward Death.
Death swung his scythe again. Streams of black divine power erupted, clinging to the blade as it slashed through the white claw-marks, slicing them clean in two.
Meanwhile, the other wizards attacked relentlessly, bombarding the Reaper. Erwin, however, stood motionless. He glanced from Death to the dragon-shaped phantom. The weakened dragon vein was straining, but it was enough. Erwin never expected it to defeat Death alone; he only needed it to buy time.
He looked around at the assembled wizards. He would have to use his final contingency.
Death weathered the assaults, battling the dragon vein. But as the fight dragged on, a problem became apparent. The white dragon-shaped phantom was flickering, fading.
"We're losing!" a wizard cried out.
"If that phantom falls, we'll face Death's full power directly!"
The wizards tensed. Death's abilities were terrifyingly obscure. The white dragon's attacks grew weaker.
"Even this land of dragons is feeble when its vein is compromised," Death sneered, his voice echoing like a tomb. "You have run out of tricks, haven't you?" He locked his gaze on Erwin, promising oblivion.
But suddenly, Death felt the authority he held begin to tremble—an abnormal, violent stirring. Startled, Death stared at Erwin, who simply smiled back.
"What have you done?"
Death didn't wait for an answer. The authority vibrated with increasing violence. The boy had prepared too much. Even Death felt a chill of uncertainty. He feared not the wizard, but the unknown variables this human had engineered.
Death channeled his authority into a desperate strike against the dragon vein. The vein blocked it, but its energy reserves plummeted. And upon using his authority again, Death felt the restlessness escalate into a roar.
Before he could comprehend the shift, he saw them: countless souls. Only Death could perceive them, as they were his domain. Yet these souls were not Western spirits. They were Eastern souls, bound to a different cycle.
They didn't flee; they surged toward him. Thousands of translucent figures flew into Death's scythe, burrowing into the weapon.
Instantly, an immense, crushing force pressed down on Death. The black mist surrounding him dispersed violently, revealing his true form—a skeletal figure radiating terror.
"What have you done?" Death shrieked.
Erwin's smile was icy. "It isn't what I did. It is the nature of your authority. You are Death, and your duty is to guide souls to the afterlife. In the West, that is your domain. But this is the East."
He gestured to the ancient landscape. "The Eastern gods may be gone, but their authority remains intact, manifesting differently. Fengdu—the City of the Underworld—was formed from the authority of the Eastern deity who governed the dead. Now your authority conflicts with theirs. Do you truly believe Britain's defenses rely solely on a dragon vein?"
Death's eyes widened as understanding dawned. The souls weren't attacking—they were claiming jurisdiction. Two divine authorities over death, clashing in the same space.
And Erwin had lured him directly into the trap.
---
What if the most dangerous wizard in history actually became a... good teacher?
My new fanfic, Hogwarts: I, Tom Riddle, Am a Good Teacher, is officially live! I've taken everything I learned from my last book to make this one even higher quality.
Are you ready to see a different side of Riddle? Head over, add it to your library, and let me know what you think in the comments! Let's push this to the top!
— MrGrim