I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 359 Gods, Wizards, Muggles, Chaos.

Silence fell, then Owen suddenly realized that Victor's current task was precisely this kind of physical modification.

Ancient magic has unimaginable parasitic effects on organisms.

He attempted to grasp the laws governing this alien species and then guide it in a better direction.

Regardless of the merits of this idea—just looking at his research process, how is it any different from the fragmented limbs scattered all over this small island?

"Could it be—"

Was he bewitched by an external god?

Owen shook his head, dismissing the thought. Victor was too calm; there wasn't a trace of madness about him. He didn't seem like a puppet possessed by an Outer God at all.

His skills must have come from someone else—who was Viktor's mentor again?

Cecil B. Heimerdinger—oops—mistakenly—um.

Irving continued to organize his thoughts.

He had some recollection of the question and knew the answer.

It seems that the mentor of the entire younger generation of saints, including his mother, was—Wenda Rozier, his grandmother.

In Irving's mind, a shooting star flashed across the dark sky, and he was about to catch it.

In reality, the muddy path beneath his feet momentarily caused Irving to sink in, his consciousness slightly lapsed. In an instant, the shooting star slipped through his fingers. The mist that was about to unravel enveloped him once more.

"Phew—" Irving shook his head. He wasn't sad about it.

Even the slightest clue on an uncertain road ahead is something to celebrate.

At least he knew that at the end of the road stood a person he knew yet was a stranger to.

They're not strangers.

It is the unknown that brings fear.

In silence, Owen continued onward, climbing the ridge covered with fungi and mushrooms until he reached the highest point of the island.

The view here is expansive, offering a panoramic view of the entire island.

The feeling of being surrounded by a storm reached its peak here.

The island is not huge; its diameter appears to be only about a thousand feet (over three hundred meters).

In less than a minute, Irving reached the flat area at the summit of the ridge, in front of the ancient obelisk.

"Whoosh—whoosh!"

He was panting heavily, forcing his head up to look at the obelisk bathed in sunlight.

It's hard for Irving to describe his feelings at this moment.

The feeling was like devout believers from Christianity, Islam, and Judaism walking to the Western Wall in Old Jerusalem.

A strange emotion welled up from the depths of his soul.

He didn't know if this feeling was unique to him, or if it was something that everyone who saw the obelisk felt.

That is--

"I—the Most High Lord! Today, I have finally—returned to Your side!"

"Huff—" Irving took another breath, but this time it wasn't because he was tired, but because he was trying to suppress the emotions in his heart.

Now he finally understood why these ancient wizards could call themselves gods.

The monument they left behind alone has such a captivating power.

And after Irving suppressed the emotions stemming from his faith.

But another emotion emerged.

I looked at the obelisk again.

The feeling he had when humanity saw the black monolith on the moon in Arthur C. Clarke's science fiction novel "2001: A Space Odyssey" was like that; fear and anxiety about the unknown began to spread through his mind and body.

"this--"

What a powerful spiritual influence!

This time, Irving quickly composed himself, no longer forcibly suppressing his emotions but instead emptying his mind.

The brain shut-off procedure was initiated.

After a long while, all his emotions left him, and Irving was finally free from the influence of the obelisk.

"Terrifying!" he exclaimed. "It can produce different psychological effects depending on the observer's different mental states—it's a bit like a Boggart; can it read people's minds?"

"These ancient wizards were really that powerful?"

"No—that's not right." He shook his head again. "This must be the culmination of the collective efforts of ancient wizards. No single wizard could possibly possess such power."

Thinking this way, Irving felt a little better.

With such magical abilities, even today, Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel could create an obelisk together.

If he can manufacture it, he won't be afraid.

What he feared was that if a primitive man found an AK, he would be amazed at how the maker could compress steel into such a shape, but he would have no idea how it could fire bullets.

This comprehensive technological backwardness is what he fears.

"Hmm—it seems someone beat me to it."

Irving circled the obelisk once, standing behind it—or perhaps directly in front; the tower made no distinction between front and back.

The dried-up bodies of more than a dozen human wizards were found at the base of the tower.

They wore brand-new clothes, but their bodies were as withered as thousand-year-old mummies unearthed from the pyramids. Their flesh twisted like vines, as if wringing burlap, with their limbs pressed tightly against the base of the pyramid.

It's like trash that someone carelessly throws away.

It was wrung dry, stripped of all its moisture, blood, and flesh, and then carelessly left here.

"These—they must be Italian anti-curse breakers," Owen muttered.

This group was likely sent by the Ministry of Magic a few months ago, before the whirlpool expanded and the island was just beginning to appear.

The whirlpools were certainly not spinning as fast back then, which is why they were able to land on the island so easily.

"What a pity." It's like lambs to the slaughter, rushing up the island without understanding its situation.

It was clear that they were bewitched by magic the moment they saw the obelisk.

They did not possess ancient magic, did not anticipate danger, and did not wear protective clothing.

These unravelers are utterly amateurish compared to the unravelers at Gringotts.

Being a spellbreaker is not a safe job. You must always be aware that there are magical traps ahead that could kill you if you touch them. This is the most basic requirement when excavating ancient ruins.

Furthermore, you must take precautions; a suit of dragon skin armor is indispensable, because you never know where a curse might suddenly shoot out from the ruins.

Dragon scales can block most spells, so they were used to make magical protective clothing.

"It truly is a divinely inspired tower!"

He placed the obelisk very close, but didn't touch it.

The tower's surface is covered with countless runic inscriptions, a mark of the divine age.

After interpreting the runes on the base, he confirmed that the spire in front of him was a divinely ordained tower erected by the gods to resist external gods.

Gazing at these inscriptions, a sense of melancholy permeates the air.

Those magical characters all represent the great achievements of the ancient sages.

The power of time is silently revealed on the surface of this tower, even though it has never been washed by the sea, it simply rests quietly here.

Thousands of years have left its surface mottled. The inscriptions carved into the stone are long blurred, with only a small portion still legible. The surface of the tower is riddled with pits and holes caused by wind erosion.

Because of its black color, it appears perfectly intact from a distance, but upon closer inspection, its surface is covered with scratches.

"It seems that even the legendary primordial magic and ancient magic could not protect the spire for thousands of years."

Irving suppressed the urge to reach out and touch the tower.

Seeing all the cautionary tales around him, he wasn't stupid.

However, since the tower is pulsating with ancient magic, he should be able to manipulate it to some extent, right?

As he spoke, Owen lightly jumped, the hand holding his wand, and ancient magic surged from within him, flowing directly into the obelisk in front of him.

And this is like a spark that ignites a torch.

The tower glowed slightly, and then countless ancient runes began to emerge from the base, the golden inscriptions rising upwards, and in the blink of an eye, the entire surface of the obelisk lit up.

Its dazzling, gilded light resembles that of a lighthouse.

"boom!"

The surrounding waves seemed to have gone out of control, and the sea god was enraged.

The whirlpool suddenly increased in speed, and seawater rushed in instantly, destroying the edge of the island.

"Boom!" Another terrifying sound echoed in the sea.

Irving had a feeling that the dilapidated obelisk was transformed from some terrible monster, and that he was walking into the monster's mouth.

The rock face beneath my feet didn't feel safe to step on; it felt like it might collapse at any moment.

Just then, a door suddenly cracked open in the obelisk.

Yes—it cracked.

The walls creaked and twisted like teeth. Owen cautiously took a few steps back. His wand was held to his chest, ready to unleash a deadly spell at the slightest sign of trouble.

The cracked hole is pitch black, like black graffiti on a wall, lacking any sense of depth or dimension.

Just as he was about to look inside, a voice suddenly rang out behind him.

Stop.

"Stop!" came another voice.

"Go back now!!!" An urgent voice rang out on a mountain road in Bianco, Italy.

The sound came along with sirens and torrential rain falling to the ground.

"Damn it! The whole city is evacuating, what are you still doing here?"

The speaker was a young traffic policeman wearing a black raincoat. The storm blew the raincoat open, revealing his uniform underneath.

"I need to find my dog. It was terrified by the thunder and hid in the bushes." In the woods beside the mountain road, a woman soaking wet was still searching for something in the bushes.

She was in her thirties, and her chest, wrists, and ankles were covered in mud, but she didn't seem to care at all.

"Madam, stop looking for your dog. The tide is coming in soon, my God! Waves over twenty meters high, the whole city of Bianco will be flooded."

As if confirming the policeman's words, a sudden rumble came from the ground.

The land was seeping out supersaturated water; despite being in a mountainous area, there were huge puddles everywhere.

This is an extremely dangerous signal.

This indicates that the groundwater level is already quite high.

If surface water cannot sink, it will break up the soil and trigger mudslides.

"Didn't you hear the announcement?" the traffic policeman shouted.

He staggered off the road and stepped onto the soft ground.

Instantly, his shoes sank several inches.

The government had issued warnings that seawater was about to flood the city weeks ago.

Because this damn torrential rain has been going on for over a month.

If you include the previous light rain, then it has been raining here for at least two months.

At first, no one paid attention to the rain. Italy was affected by Mediterranean moisture for half a day, especially Bianco, which is close to the coast, so it was quite normal for it to rain.

And the flood season is just around the corner in June.

It wasn't until the heavy rain lasted for a week that people began to feel uneasy.

Two weeks later, some people had already moved away from the coastal city and headed inland.

Three weeks later, the government issued an order for the evacuation of residents from coastal cities—by then, not many people in the cities were still holding out, except for those fools living in high-rise buildings who thought they would never be flooded.

Four weeks later—which is now—the administrative power of the entire coastal city has been rendered ineffective. Apart from a small number of patrol officers driving along the roads to search for those stubborn residents who remain at home and persuade them to leave, there are no administrative personnel left.

Just now—five minutes ago—he heard on the radio that the entire city of Bianco had been flooded by seawater.

"No—Angie is my family, I can't abandon her!" the woman screamed hysterically.

Even though the torrential rain had blurred her vision, she had no intention of giving up.

This infuriated the young traffic policeman, since he was just wasting his time there and putting himself in danger.

Standing still and looking down, the distant city was blurred and indistinct. The rain was so heavy that it obscured the view, like a curtain of water falling from the sky.

While he was hesitating about whether to take tough measures.

From the police car behind us, the radio, deliberately turned up loud, suddenly crackled to life: "Buzz—RAI Hot News, Mediterranean Hurricane—Poseidon. (In the North Atlantic, typhoons are called hurricanes, and Poseidon is the name of the hurricane.)"

The hurricane suddenly intensified rapidly, revealing a clear eye – it broke through the Category 5 hurricane (super typhoon) level in just two hours. Currently, the minimum central pressure is still rising, and the wind speed is still increasing.

This hurricane is likely to become the strongest natural disaster in modern meteorological history. Please stay home and enjoy the sunshine.

The sound from the cash register suddenly started to come out intermittently, then abruptly stopped, and static came from the speaker.

The sudden situation startled the young traffic policeman slightly.

He then immediately realized that this must have been caused by the destruction of a nearby cell tower.

The next moment, a chill ran straight to his head.

The torrential rain around him seemed to intensify, and he could barely make out the woman's figure anymore.

"Madam—" He finally stopped caring about anything and decided to forcefully take the woman away and escape from here as soon as possible.

Signal towers are usually built at the highest point in a city, and if there are mountains in the city, the signal towers will be built on the mountaintops.

As it happened, Montalto Hill was right behind him, and as far as he knew, the signal tower was on the hill behind him.

A flash flood may have occurred.

Of course, this possibility is very low, but he must prepare for the worst.

On the other side...

The Italian Broadcasting Corporation (RAI) is located in Rome.

Three experts were invited to a televised discussion surrounding this strange weather event: two meteorologists and a Vatican theologian.

"The hurricane has been lingering for over two months. (It was just a tropical storm before.)"

"This is unprecedented in the history of human meteorological observation."

"It's like a nail, firmly nailed to our sea area, which is extremely abnormal. From a scientific point of view, no force can make a hurricane stay in place without moving an inch. Only God could do that."

A meteorologist spoke solemnly to the live broadcast camera.

After he finished speaking, another person chimed in, "Yes—it's extremely difficult for a hurricane to form in the Mediterranean. Even if a hurricane did form, it wouldn't be this month. In early June, the sea temperature isn't warm enough, and the ocean area can't hold enough power. Besides, even if a hurricane did form, it would only be a tropical storm, or even a Category 1 hurricane (typhoon).

I suspect this disaster may be related to global warming.

Weather systems are an extremely complex science, and our human predictive methods are very limited; in most cases, accurate predictions are impossible. We can only observe the path and issue coastal warnings—but as in this case, the hurricane remained stationary—this is unprecedented.

The studio was filled with a serious atmosphere.

Behind the three guests, the drawing shows a satellite cloud image of the hurricane.

After the two meteorologists finished speaking, the Vatican clergyman pulled a photograph from his pocket. It was also a satellite cloud image, but an enlarged image of the eye of the storm.

From the picture, one can clearly see what appears to be a piece of land within the eye of the storm.

There are even buildings.

"You know what I'm reminded of," the priest said devoutly, holding up the photograph. "I'm reminded of Moses parting the Sea (Protestants call it: Moses parting the Sea)."

As soon as the priest finished speaking, the camera in the studio focused on the photo in his hand and gave it a close-up.

The ESA logo is prominently displayed in the photo. (European Space Agency)

Meanwhile, the photo also appeared in the offices of European heads of state.

This naturally includes 10 Downing Street.

"The only good news I've heard these days is that the Secretary-General of the Wizarding World is British."

London – Westminster – Downing Street.

Mr. Harker, who had been Prime Minister of the United Kingdom for several months, put down the parchment letter in his hand.

Those were handwritten letters—nowadays very few people write letters by hand.

The letter paper looked like something from hundreds of years ago, with a header and strange badges printed on it.

A very typical emblem, shaped like a shield in the center.

The brightly colored sculpture is divided into four parts, each composed of a lion, eagle, badger, and snake, surrounding a giant letter "H".

And the letter was delivered by an owl. It landed right in front of his office window.

Aside from a brief introduction of the writer, the letter mainly contained a request.

They requested assistance in properly handling the dozens of Europeans who had suddenly appeared in London.

The letter stated that Albus Percival Woolfrirk Brian Dumbledore, President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Wizard of Wizengamor, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, would be visiting at 1 p.m. sharp.

"Then your good mood may be coming to an end soon, Mr. Prime Minister." The Prime Minister's chief private secretary, Bernard, handed over another letter.

Or rather, a notice flyer is more appropriate; compared to the letter sent from Hogwarts, this flyer from the Office of the Minister of Magic of England is much more 'concise'.

In short, the Minister of Magic will be at 10 Downing Street at 1 p.m. sharp. Prime Minister, please disperse all unnecessary personnel and wait patiently!

"Arrogance!" The Prime Minister took off his glasses and tossed the papers aside.

The amazing thing is that the moment he let go, the paper spontaneously combusted and disappeared completely in a puff of smoke.

Mr. First of all, he didn't find this amazing; he had seen this kind of magic trick on the roadside before.

However, the magician wouldn't give him a hard time.

I checked the time—12:56.

"Bernard, have Sir Humphrey come over here," the Prime Minister said.

"Um—sir," Bernard hesitated, "Sir Humphrey is having lunch with the other secretaries."

"That's why we had to ask him to come," Mr. Huck said, clutching his stomach. "While officials are racking their brains for the future of England, civil servants are busy filling their bellies. Do you know what I ate for lunch today, Bernard?"

Facing the Prime Minister's fierce gaze, Bernard answered the phone without hesitation and quickly relayed the Prime Minister's orders to the other end.

"No!"

"I can blow up half the world, but I can't have a cook!"

"Sir, 10 Downing Street is your home; it just so happens that the government offices were located there. If you'd like to find a cook, you could try hiring one yourself?" Bernard said tactfully. The feeling of being caught between the leaders made him feel like he was walking on thin ice. He could already imagine the look on Sir Humphrey's face that afternoon as he was being reprimanded for this.

PS: (Legally speaking—Downing Street is the Prime Minister's home, and civil servants are essentially guests staying there, except they bring their own cooks, who are provided by the state. As the owner of the house, the Prime Minister naturally cannot enter the guests' dining room. If he wants someone to cook for him, he has to hire a cook out of his own pocket.)

"I don't care, I need a chef right now, and he has to come from the Cabinet Restaurant!"

The Prime Minister was furious, putting all national affairs out of his mind, and he didn't care about the mysterious whirlpool in the Mediterranean, since the storm hadn't reached Britain anyway.

Just as the Prime Minister was throwing a tantrum, there was a knock on his office door.

Then Sir Humphrey, the Cabinet Secretary, walked in carrying a stack of documents.

"What did you have for lunch? Three dishes, plus a glass of dry red wine?" The Prime Minister squeezed out the words through gritted teeth, his little mood rising.

"Oh my God! You are slandering a lowly public institution. Our work is not done in a restaurant." Sir Humphrey glanced subtly at Chief Assistant Bernard, then handed him the documents. "The cogs of this vast machine have always been at your service, Mr. Prime Minister."

"What is this?" Mr. Huck asked, frowning as he put on his glasses.

"Information on dozens of lost families, the information you provided."

"Oh! I thought it was a menu!" Mr. Huck joked, then opened the document in his hand.

At this time, Sir Humphrey was still unaware of the magical world.

He had only given these people the assignment that morning.

To my surprise, Humphrey found them all by noon.

Could it be that he really was working hard, and I had misunderstood him?

(End of this chapter)