Hogwarts Raven

Chapter 322 (321): Across Time and Space! Raven God Forging!

Ian didn't expect this.

After witnessing a past event, the world shattered, and I stood once again on the earth beneath my feet. It was still a past event, the past in which Death forged the Three Holy Relics of Death.

The idea that possessing the three Deathly Hallows would make one "the master of death" is clearly incorrect. Modern facts have clearly demonstrated that the Deathly Hallows were merely a conspiracy by the Grim Reaper.

As for the purpose of the conspiracy...

Ian didn't know.

All he knew was that Death had indeed placed a curse on the Trinity of Death artifacts.

He has seen the true past.

That past that has never been written into any book.

The truth hidden behind the black and white world.

Unlike the description in "The Tales of Beedle the Bard" where Death casually breaks off a branch and picks up a stone, it is clear that Death still needs to follow the laws of alchemy to create magical artifacts.

Also normal.

After all, The Tales of Beedle the Bard are just fairy tales, and the author of The Tales of Beedle the Bard was just a 19th-century wizard.

It's already quite impressive to know some of the truth; of course, it's impossible to elaborate on the Grim Reaper's conspiracy—however, it's clear that the Trinity Deathly Relics did not bring good fortune to their wielders.

This can be seen from the fate of the three brothers in "The Tales of Beedle the Bard," and in fact, the wizards had already vaguely realized that there was something wrong with the Deathly Trinity.

It was lost for a period of time afterward.

presumably.

There is a reason for this.

If a wizard had the well-being of all living beings and did not want future generations to suffer the effects of the Three Sacred Relics of Death, then perhaps the Four Great Wizards, and other brilliant wizards, would have found them.

The story of Voldemort.

God knows if it's because of the appearance of the Deathly Trinity.

"In any case, I reckon when I get back I'll have to borrow the wand from the old headmaster to study it and see what Death has done with the Deathly Hallows."

Ian stood on the edge of the volcano, looking at the silent black and white world after Death had left.

Deathly Hallows...

Why does Death want to recreate them?
Whom is He hiding from?

Just as he was pondering, the sky stirred again. He had thought everything was over, but just as he was about to turn and leave, searching for a way to escape this "past" and reach the true, bewildering illusion, a deep rumble echoed from the sky once more. The sound seemed to emanate from the depths of time.

It carries an indescribable sense of majesty and mystery.

He looked up and saw a dark shadow pierce the gray sky, moving at great speed, swooping down like an arrow.

It's a raven.

It reappeared, its wings spread wide, blotting out the sky; its feathers were as black as ink, still standing out starkly in the black and white world. Its eyes were deep and abyssal, tinged with scarlet.

It gleams with a wisdom that is not of ordinary birds.

His wisdom is now on par with Ian's.

The raven was clearly not there to seek death.

This time.

It did not come alone.

Behind it.

Hordes of Dementors were slowly flying in.

Their forms, like tattered cloaks, flutter in the wind, yet find no support. They have no faces, only empty hoods concealing a being that devours all light. They wander among the ruins, like a group of ghosts lost beyond time, but now, they are no longer free wanderers.

They were doing hard labor. Dozens, hundreds... swarms of Dementors gathered from all directions like dark clouds, floating around the volcano, their pale arms extending from beneath their rotting cloaks, holding all sorts of items—black ores, glowing skeletons, cursed metals.

They were actually transporting materials for the ravens?
Ian's pupils contracted slightly. In his mind, Dementors were Death's minions, the guardians of Azkaban, creations of dark magic that devoured pleasure. Yet now, they were silently serving the ravens like laborers. So, the Dementors' servants were never Death, but the ravens?

Or perhaps the entire Dementor race was created by the ravens?

Or perhaps a servant snatched from the clutches of death?
The raven flapped its wings, swooped down, and, with an indistinct object in its beak, precisely tossed it into the boiling volcano. It then landed on a protruding rock in the crater, its red eyes scanning the surroundings before it suddenly spread its wings and let out a piercing shriek. Immediately, the Dementors sprang into action.

Including those Dementors that used to roam the foot of the mountain.

They transported all sorts of strange materials from all directions—broken wands, shattered runestones, fragments of souls corrupted by dark magic… In this black and white world, Ian sometimes couldn't even discern the materials' appearances. Each item was thrown into the volcano, turning into billowing black smoke that filled the entire space with an eerie atmosphere.

The entire volcano trembled.

The color of the magma gradually changed from pure black to dark.

"The raven is also forging something."

Ian stood still.

His gaze gradually turned to astonishment.

He finally understood.

This volcano is not just a naturally formed geological wonder.

It is a furnace of some higher level.

A place of creation that connects life and death and reshapes destiny.

And the raven... is the true master of this place.

He recalled something that Mrs. Ravenclaw had said before:

"The former owner of this place was Death, but he was driven away by the ravens."

Now, he has finally witnessed the truth of this history firsthand. The scene he is seeing now may be from a time when the raven drove away Death and took over this place.

Lady Ravenclaw was right. Ian didn't know why Death had forged the Deathly Hallows, but he felt that Death's prestige had suddenly diminished. The mighty Death, acting like a thief, sneaking back to his former territory to secretly forge the Deathly Hallows while the Raven was away?
"No wonder I felt Death's presence so strong just now," he muttered to himself. "So He was secretly returning here while the Raven was away, using this place to forge the Three Holy Relics of the Dead."

He recalled the three sacred artifacts floating in the lava.

A sense of absurdity arose in my mind.

Death was originally the master of this place; perhaps this was Death's alchemy workshop. However, at some point, He lost control of this place.

Now, he could only sneak back, risking discovery, to reforge these sources of power. How could this not slightly diminish his awe of death?
"Death is cunning too."

Ian couldn't help but shake his head in approval.

He continued to observe the ravens' movements.

However, the raven didn't say anything more to him; it simply focused on its work, as if it couldn't see him—or ignored his presence. Each piece of material it dropped seemed to have a specific meaning, and its eyes revealed an almost pious concentration.

It is clear.

The thing being forged was very important to the raven; the volcano was boiling more and more, and the black lava was churning and roaring, as if responding to some kind of call.

Ian stood to the side, watching everything unfold, his mind racing. Why here?

Why are Death and Raven both forging things here?
What makes this volcano so special?
This is definitely a question worth considering seriously. After all, the fact that both Raven and Death chose to conduct alchemical forging here naturally indicates that this Doomsday Volcano is no ordinary place.

Its lava.

Or some of its characteristics.

Perhaps it's something necessary for certain alchemical processes? Ian wondered if Raven was currently forging something comparable to the Deathly Hallows. He curiously wanted to look inside.

Ian carefully observed the changes in the magma, trying to find a clue.

however.

He couldn't see anything floating up.

Many materials were fused together within. Ian even saw the bones of a saint, gleaming with golden light. Just then, a low, mournful sound suddenly echoed in the air.

A sudden change occurred!

The distant sky suddenly distorted, and an extremely cold aura swept in. The sound seemed to come from the depths of hell, carrying the wails and pain of countless souls.

Ian turned around abruptly.

On the distant horizon, a black torrent was sweeping in. It was the soul of a group of wizards, devoured by dark magic and sold to death. Their hair was disheveled, their faces contorted, their eyes burning with madness and despair. Countless wizard souls, consumed by dark magic and sold to death, surged towards the volcano like a tidal wave.

They are coming.

Their target is this volcano.

Or perhaps they are using the volcano to forge something like ravens. They scream and howl, yet are powerless against some unseen force, and begin to attack the ravens.

"Is Death trying to stop the Raven?"

Ian made a guess.

The once silent black and white world was torn apart by the dark energy brought by the black wizard's soul. Twisted beams of magical light ripped through the air like thunder from hell. Those souls, already corrupted and taken by death, descended from the sky, their hair disheveled, faces contorted, their eyes burning with madness and resentment.

They didn't come here to fight.

They came to destroy.

Above the crater, black mist churned.

A raven stands silently on the edge of the lava.

Her red eyes were lowered, her gaze fixed intently on the boiling liquid.

It held a crystal in its beak and slowly plunged it into the depths of the magma. The moment the crystal dissolved, the entire volcano emitted a muffled roar, and spiderweb-like patterns appeared on the surface of the magma.

It did not look up.

It didn't flap its wings, not even a slight tremor, as if the whole world had nothing to do with it. Even when the first light of the Killing Curse pierced the sky, its wings didn't tremble in the slightest.

War has broken out.

The souls of the dark wizards surged forth like a tide, floating across the ashes, their translucent bodies bound by chains of curses. Some had broken necks, others had gaping chests—these were fanatical believers who had utterly sold their souls to death in life, now returning with a vengeance of decaying malice.

"For Lord Death—"

The leader of the dark wizards raised his mangled arm, and three hundred dark spells unleashed simultaneously. Fiendfire transformed into a giant serpent, its pitch-black body tracing a ferocious path through the gray world, hurtling straight towards the lava; the light of the Killing Curse poured down like a torrential downpour, weaving a deadly net in the air; and corrosive dark magic churned and billowed.

Their passage eroded even the ash, creating honeycomb-like holes. Their target wasn't the raven, but the volcano—they wanted to destroy the casting process.

The raven still did not raise its head.

But the Dementors moved. Rotting gray shadows rose from the cracks in the rocks, swooped down from the sky, and emerged from the depths of the lava. They made no sound, no roar or howl.

They simply carried out their actions in silence.

Like a pre-programmed killing machine.

"Kill! Kill that raven! Destroy this furnace!" A sharp voice rang out in the air, as if it were a roar coming from countless throats at the same time.

Immediately afterwards, dark magic surged forth like a tidal wave. Purple, black, and dark red spells intertwined into a deadly net, crashing down upon the crater and the ravens perched upon it. Flames, poisonous mist, soul chains, cursed blades… all sorts of dark magic erupted simultaneously, as if to tear the entire space apart.

The raven did not move.

It still stands silently above the crater, its wings spread, its feathers as black as ink, standing out starkly in the black and white world. Its eyes are as deep as an abyss.

It was as if they hadn't seen the attacks coming from all directions.

It simply continues its own casting.

Perhaps it is unable to move.

Therefore, they can only rely on the Dementors to defend themselves.

Death had clearly seized the opportunity.

The Dementors in the front row opened their hollow bellies to meet the Fiery Serpent. Flames burned through their cloaks and ignited their decaying bodies, but they still held on tightly to the serpent's throat until the flames were completely consumed. Their bodies melted in the fire, dripping like candles, but this bought time for their brethren behind them.

The second wave of Dementors met the poisonous fog. They allowed the corrosive liquid to seep through their bodies, while their bony claws precisely tore at the spirits of the dark wizards. Just as one dark wizard's spirit raised his hand to cast a second curse, three Dementors simultaneously pierced his chest, their rotting fingers like hooks, tearing his spirit to shreds.

This is the power that wizards perceive.

It's not just magic.

It can indeed cause damage to Dementors.

"Get out of here! You filthy watchdog!"

An ancient dark wizard's spirit roared, his chains sweeping across, crushing the heads of two Dementors. But the next second, stark white bone claws suddenly shot out from the ground, clamping down on his legs. More Dementors crawled up the chains, engulfing him like a swarm of ants. His screams were quickly torn apart, vanishing in a wisp of black smoke.

The battle was fierce yet silent.

This is a world without color, without splattered blood, without the fiery red of flames, without the vibrant colors of magic. Only the interweaving of black and white, the collision of ashes and shadows.

The Dementors' bodies shattered in the battle, falling into the lava like rotting fruit with a silent hiss. The dark wizards' souls were also rapidly diminishing.

With each spirit that dissipates, their lines of defense weaken one by one.

The most intense clashes occurred on the north side of the volcano.

Seven souls, masters of ancient black magic, were casting spells formed from their understanding. Their incantations intertwined in the air to form a crown of thorns, turning even ashes into poisonous dust in their wake.

Thirty Dementors pounced simultaneously, only to vanish into thin air the instant they touched the crown. The Thorn Crown continued its advance, now just ten meters from the lava.

The wizards are about to succeed.

And right now.

The raven looked up.

"Why not try to take action across time and space?"

It was opening its mouth to Ian.

(End of this chapter)