After the internet was disconnected, I connected to the magic world.

The next day, Grindelwald practiced his Wizard Hands until he could hold a quill pen steadily.

He straightened his wizard robes and hurried toward the alchemy room.

When the door was opened, McGonagall was indeed wearing her usual black wizard robes embroidered with silver patterns.

A pointed wizard's hat pressed down on his graying sideburns as he stood before a bubbling bronze cauldron.

Holding his oak wand, he slowly stirred the deep purple potion inside. The demonic fire licked the bottom of the cauldron, casting a long shadow.

"Teacher, I'm here." Grindelwald stood respectfully at the door, not daring to disturb him as he brewed the medicine.

McGonagall grunted in agreement, stirred the cauldron three more times, and with a flick of her wand, the flames beneath the cauldron extinguished automatically.

A mage carefully placed the cauldron onto the wooden shelf beside him before turning around and wiping the potion residue from his hands.

"I originally intended to send you to a wizarding academy to learn the basics."

McGrath sat down on a wooden chair and gestured for him to sit in the seat opposite him.

"But those old folks at the academy are xenophobic and won't accept outsiders, saying that you people from heaven are unstable."

I've seen your talent; it's far superior to my three previous foolish disciples. Sending them there would only be a waste of your potential. I'll personally teach you from now on."

Grindelwald felt a warmth in his heart and quickly stood up: "Teacher, I'm willing to learn from you forever!"

McGonagall's lips curled into an almost imperceptible smile, clearly pleased with his attitude. She tapped her fingers on the table and asked the question for the first lesson:

"Since you're willing to learn from me, let me ask you: in your heart, what is a wizard?"

The moment the question arose, Grindelwald's mind immediately conjured up the image of that noseless, bald, black wizard.

And then there are those scenes in movies where people fly around on broomsticks; without thinking, I blurted out, "Avada Kedavra eating a melon?"

He froze as soon as he said it.

The alchemy room fell silent instantly. McGonagall raised her graying eyebrows as she looked at him, her wrinkles revealing her confusion.

"Avada Kedavra? What's that? Grindelwald, I'm giving you your first lesson, what nonsense are you thinking?"

"I'm sorry, teacher! I was wrong!"

Greenleaf wished he could disappear into a crack in the ground and quickly waved his hands to explain.

"I was just lost in thought and thinking about things from my hometown!"

In our world, ordinary people have never seen a real wizard; wizards and supernatural beings are all just fantasies.

They also made a lot of things called movies, which are basically stories projected onto a screen for people to watch.

The wizards in movies are all figments of our imagination. Avada Kedavra is the killing curse used by the dark wizard in the movie; I just slipped up and said it without thinking!

Afraid of upsetting McGonagall, he quickly added, "I'm a travel anchor; I've traveled all over the world. I know a little about the myths and legends about wizards and gods in different places. If you're interested, teacher, I can tell you about them!"

McGonagall, who had been keeping a straight face, became interested upon hearing the word "myth," leaning back in her chair and raising her chin slightly.

"Oh? Then tell me, how do people in your world teach us spellcasters?"

Grindelwald breathed a sigh of relief and quickly told her everything he knew:

He began by recounting medieval European legends about wizards, who rode brooms, brewed potions, and cast spells with wands.

They also talked about runes in Norse mythology, saying that Odin, the king of the gods, wanted to gain wisdom.

He hung upside down on the World Tree for nine days and nine nights, sacrificing one of his eyes, before finally obtaining the runes that carried the rules of the world.

Finally, the story goes on to describe Chinese mythology, about the gods who can ride the clouds and summon wind and rain, move mountains and fill seas with a simple hand gesture, fly through the sky and disappear into the earth, and whose punches and kicks possess immense power.

McGonagall listened intently, leaning forward unconsciously. When she heard about runes and Chinese deities, she tapped her fingers lightly on the table.

After Greenleaf finished speaking, he nodded, his tone tinged with emotion: "What you said wasn't entirely made up."

According to ancient scrolls passed down from the Western Continent, the world was originally ruled by gods.

The Chinese immortals you mentioned are actually more like the cultivators from the Eastern Continent. Their power system is different from ours, but they can also fly and move freely, and their words can become law.

Back when the two continents still had contact, I met innate cultivators from the Eastern Continent.

"Just like the immortals you described, they fly through the air and can shatter small mountains with a single palm strike."

"The ancient scrolls say that the words of God are spells, words that bring about the law. God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light."

He said, "Let there be fire," and fire broke out on the earth; such power could not be overstated.

The runes we use now were not invented by anyone.

These are fragments that ancient shamans extracted from the language of the gods and the rules of heaven and earth; every stroke corresponds to the rules of the world.

"So you have to remember, wizards aren't like the ones in the movies, who can cast spells by waving a little stick and chanting a couple of rhymes."

The essence of magic lies in the magic power within yourself and in runes; a wand is merely a tool.

It's a pen used to guide the magic within you, to write runes in the air. Without runes, even if you exhaust all your magic, you won't be able to cast a single spell.

"Yes, teacher, I understand." Grindelwald sat up straight and nodded earnestly.

"Watch closely, I'm going to demonstrate some of the most basic magic."

McGonagall stood up, picked up her oak wand, stood in the open space, and flicked her wrist.

Dark red magic flowed from the tip of the staff, leaving a faint red mark in the air. He wrote and read aloud as he did so.

"Wind, shaping, sharpening."

Three simple runes lined up in the air, and with a wave of his wand, the runes lit up instantly.

A half-meter-long transparent wind blade grazed Grinleydo's ear and flew out, so fast that it made a whooshing sound.

With a "crack," it struck the wooden door of the alchemy room, cutting a deep gash in the half-foot-thick oak door, with wood chips falling down in a flurry.

The wind blades whipped up the hair on Grindelwald's forehead, and he could even feel their sharpness. A cold sweat instantly broke out on his back.

If it were even slightly off-center, he would have lost his ear.