I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 380 I think he is far inferior to Dumbledore!

"Oh my God!"

Numerous witch doctors followed closely behind.

When they entered the room, no matter how much they had prepared themselves mentally, everyone was still shocked by the scene before them, which resembled an alien hell.

Suddenly, a thick tree, as thick as a person's waist, rose up from the hospital bed.

The rugged branches and leaves unabashedly display their form.

The area in front of me resembled a tropical rainforest.

Apart from the fact that these branches and leaves were covered with various human tissues, as well as tumors and hard horns, everything was so harmonious.

"vomit!"

Finally, upon witnessing this scene, even the witch doctors, who were all doctors who often dealt with injuries, couldn't help but vomit.

Even Bill, who had been digging graves for years, couldn't suppress the churning in his stomach and started gagging.

The only one who remained unfazed was the great magician Merlin.

He extended his cane and casually tapped the ground. The next second, all the plants in the room turned into petals, including the flesh and blood.

Pink petals rose up like a cold wind, captivating most eyes.

Afterwards, they were calmed down for a moment.

Wilma Lawton, the witch doctor, stared dumbfounded at the room covered in a sea of ​​flowers, and the patient buried in crimson—his figure was no longer visible, only the outline of the bed could be used to roughly determine that someone was beneath him.

"The land of flesh and blood can no longer nurture a soul; his body will turn into flower petals. In that case, all we can do is hope that he can find peace."

Merlin whispered, his left hand slightly open.

A pink flower bud slowly opened, revealing a deep blue, glowing stamen and large petals, resembling a lotus flower.

The flowers floated slowly, eventually hovering above the hospital bed.

In an instant, the pale blue stamens of the flower released mist, and the blue light and mist intertwined in the air, eventually forming a painting.

That was a person.

A person about to step into some kind of curtain.

Suddenly, the person in the painting seemed to sense something and turned around abruptly, revealing an extremely young face.

Just then, a young intern therapist walked in through the door.

She was drawn to the petals drifting out of the room and came over to see what was happening.

As an intern therapist, she was at the lowest level in the hospital.

In the magical world, a trainee healer is a well-rounded wizard who has received systematic instruction in a school. Hmm—that sounds pretty good, but what this means is that such a person only has a rudimentary foundation. She still needs to undergo several years of training at a magical hospital to acquire a broad knowledge of all things related to magical medicine and magical injuries.

Afterwards, one would enter a specific department and study for several years under a witch doctor who was at least the deputy director of the department, before one could be formally given the title of healer—what is called witch doctor in Egypt.

It takes at least six years from graduating from magic school to officially obtaining a license to practice medicine independently.

This year marks the sixth year for this young intern therapist.

In September, she will be able to become a real therapist.

Ms. Wilma Lawton, the head of the Magic Disability Department, would not allow a newcomer to come here.

And the moment she stepped into the ward and looked inside.

Then he bumped into the illusory shadow's glance.

She froze.

His eyes were blank, his gray pupils filled with disbelief.

Then her cheeks twitched uncontrollably a few times, her lips trembled and pressed together, her brows furrowed, and in an instant, her eyes, which had been weary for weeks, became clear, and hot tears were squeezed out from her tear ducts and flowed into her eyes.

"No—no—no!" the witch screamed. She rushed forward desperately, raising her hands high, trying to grasp the ethereal illusion.

"Minnie, Minnie! Oh! My sister!"

But the witch named Minnie only glanced at her reluctantly before turning away and drifting off.

No—no.

She rushed towards nothing, tears streaming down her face. She collapsed against the windowsill, staring at the withered flowers, and burst into tears.

The trembling body was like a fallen leaf shivering in the cold wind.

The cries were like a heart being torn apart, filled with pain and despair. Every note was filled with sorrow, cutting the heart like a knife.

No one could bear to listen to such heart-wrenching cries without being moved. Everyone left the house, leaving the poor man alone in the room.

"Was that a Spirit Blossom just now?"

Stepping out of the room, Bill spoke again, his expression grave.

"Huh? You recognize him?" Merlin looked at him with great surprise.

"There was a Ming Dynasty shaman in the previous archaeological excavation team. As you should know, Egypt has a very rich mythology about life and death, which influenced the overall design of the underground palace, following certain rules. We sat down and chatted about these things before."

Bill's face showed a nostalgic expression. "Legend has it that when the Spirit Blossom Flower blooms, it is the moment when souls look back, and the departed souls will return to the human world when the Spirit Blossom Flower blooms."

"I never imagined the legend was true."

"It disappeared because it was real," Merlin said gently. "Even if it had no effect whatsoever, the mere hope of seeing the deceased one last time would drive this magical plant to extinction."

At that moment, a therapist went into the next room, and then an argument could be heard coming from inside.

"Oh my god! Stop it!"

"Stop! Stop!"

Then, like an inflating balloon, a figure was heavily pushed out of the ward.

The vines were sprawling all over the room, even climbing out of the room and into the hallway.

The wizard was just blasted away by these suddenly expanding vines.

"Hey—it's all your fault—I could have succeeded, but you suddenly barged in and interrupted. You're responsible for his death!" Owen's soft voice immediately rang out in the room. He quickly seized the moral high ground and then pointed fingers at the intruding therapist.

"Enough!" The therapist staggered to his feet, glaring angrily at Owen, who had crawled out from under the bed. "Get out of here!" he roared.

Irving responded with an even louder roar, "Fine, get out!!! Why are you yelling so loudly?!"

After he finished speaking, the people outside saw a four or five-year-old boy with neck-length hair and a delicate face like a porcelain doll come out carrying a stool.

After glaring fiercely at the therapist, he rushed to the next ward without stopping.

"you!"

"Stop!"

This only fueled the therapist's anger even more.

It looked like someone had poured a bucket of gasoline on the fire.

The flames burned, even distorting her face.

Unfortunately, Owen didn't give her a chance this time. The moment he entered the ward, he waved his wand and placed several protective spells on the door.

They just casually block people from entering through the door.

"Open the door!"

"Bang bang bang!"

"Open the door!"

The therapist outside the door shouted, and then—a moment later—the door actually opened.

Irving crawled out carrying a stool, with the corpse of the Child of Ominous behind him.

The person in the hospital bed has changed.

"Don't look at me," Owen said stubbornly. "That guy—well—if the King of Hell wants him to die at midnight, he'll be gone by midnight. His main skill is not embarrassing his boss."

He looked at Merlin, his eyes sparkling with innocence.

"Oh—it's alright," Merlin chuckled. "You can continue."

He slowly walked into the ward filled with vines, and then turned everything into flower petals.

However, this time, Editor Mei did not send out a single Spirit Blossom Flower.

Because there were no relatives of the patient around.

This time, no one stopped Irving.

At some point, all the therapists in the area stood frozen in place, as if a pause button had been pressed.

I fell into a deep hallucination.

Unbeknownst to everyone, when the vines transformed into petals and drifted out from the second ward to obscure their eyes, the world they saw had already changed in the next second.

Irving—didn't notice any of this; he was indulging in the pleasure of mastering the game.

Contrary to Merlin's guess, with the third patient, he figured out the technique and successfully extracted the mutated energy from the wizard's body, transforming it into something else, such as a green grassland.

However, he wasn't very skilled at it and failed a few more times. After leaving the tenth patient's room, he had completely mastered this deeper application of the fundamental principles of ancient magic.

And less than ten minutes had passed.

"I really am a genius!" Irving wiped the sweat from his forehead and exclaimed.

Guiding the mutated abilities within other people is no easy task; it requires constant caution and is extremely mentally taxing.

With his current energy level, ten people is his limit. If he continues, there is a possibility of injuries or deaths due to his own mistakes.

"It's good to rest for a while." Merlin returned from the quarantine area next door.

There, the ominous signs have already changed.

The hospital keeps them there, partly in the hope of finding a way to restore their humanity, and partly to conduct magical research.

"I've put them all to sleep," Merlin said calmly, meeting Owen's eyes.

"It's fine," Irving replied listlessly, leaning the stool against the wall and then resting his entire body on it.

"Reality is full of suffering; I hope they can have sweet dreams," he said.

"It will be a good dream." Merlin reached out again and ruffled Owen's hair. The long silver hair flowed through his pale, almost frighteningly white fingers, and suddenly he felt a pang of heartache. Not for the ominous signs, but for the person before him.

"I truly hope your story will be passed down, and that we will meet again in the distant future."

"Oh--"

"I think so, we won't see him again," Owen said, rolling his eyes at him. He was powerless to stop Merlin's audacious touch; let him touch, so what if he goes bald? "You lousy editor, you'll get caught by the Outer Gods sooner or later and beaten to a pulp. Pshaw—if you stand by the river long enough, you're bound to get your shoes wet, right?"

"Well, well—that's quite a good ending." Merlin remained smiling, as if no other expression could appear on his face. "Oh—I suddenly remembered that idiot Arthur."

"Oh!" Owen immediately became interested. "Tell me, tell me your love story, I can't wait!"

"Heh—that guy is just like you." Merlin lowered his head, looking at Owen. "He says, 'A king must be rational, unconventional, and cold to people,' but in reality, he loves that land more than anyone else. He loves the people of that land."

"No way—I don't like that, buddy. I'm French," Owen muttered. "If Britain ever sinks, I'll clap my hands in approval and curse it as a good death."

"Hehe." He continued to rub the boy's hair, but his eyes had already seen the ending of the story.

Under that clear blue sky.

Business as usual.

"Hey, hey—how long are you going to let them stand there in a daze?" At this moment, Owen finally noticed the abnormality of the therapists.

Without even guessing, he knew it must have been the work of the high priest beside him.

"Oh—I forgot." With that, Editor Mei tapped the ground lightly with her cane, creating an invisible ripple.

Time seemed to turn around all around us once again.

The therapists' dazed eyes cleared again.

However—they didn't seem to realize they were under a curse, and went about their own business.

The healer who had been yelling at Owen ignored him after seeing Owen sitting obediently against the wall, panting heavily, and hurried off to another location.

Wilma Lawton, the witch doctor, also turned her gaze over. She herself had a great deal of resentment towards Merlin. She could probably guess that Owen was extraordinary and was definitely not a four or five-year-old wizard. Perhaps he was cursed by some kind of magic and would never grow up. But even if Owen was an adult wizard, she still harbored some resentment.

An immature treatment method should be more conservative, starting with simple patients and gradually working on specific areas, even if only half of the curse is cleared at a time. At this stage, accumulating experience is the most important thing.

Instead of immediately conducting human experiments.

Even though these people who died were terminally ill and could not be saved even with treatment, as therapists we should still respect them and respect life.

Yes—the magical abilities of these two unfamiliar wizards are probably unparalleled in the world, even comparable to legendary wizards like Mr. Dumbledore. Even if their overall strength is slightly lacking, they can certainly hold their own in healing magic alone.

In this magical world where the underlying code still reveres the strong, Wilma Laughton greatly admires them, but they lack the noble character of Mr. Dumbledore.

They—especially that mysterious young male wizard with silver-pink hair.

He is far inferior to Dumbledore.

Wilma Lawton left, whispering a few words to the therapist behind her before hurrying off to other wards.

The therapist who had received her instructions walked up to them with a forced smile and said, "If you two feel tired, you can go to the rest area on the first floor and rest for a while."

You have the means to save these patients. Dr. Wilma Lawton will come down to the first floor to speak with you shortly. Please do not leave the hospital during this time.

"What? You want to put us under house arrest?" Owen raised an eyebrow and asked dismissively.

"No—no, of course not." The female therapist continued to wave her hands with a forced smile, her strangely accented English making Owen, the old Londoner and eternal enemy of the Union Jack, feel extremely uncomfortable.

It's like having an ice cube in your mouth, unwilling to spit it out, yet also reluctant to swallow it.

"The Ikul Magical Disability Hospital is willing to pay you two a huge sum of money if you are willing to help us treat our patients," the female healer continued. "All nations are currently helpless against this curse, and with your future achievements, receiving a First Class Merlin Medal is a certainty. The International Wizarding Federation will personally present the award to you two."

"Wow! The Order of Merlin!" Owen nudged the editor next to him with his elbow.

What do you think?

"Me?" Merlin shook his head. "Do you want one? I'll personally award it to you?"

"Uh—Merlin personally awarding me the Order of Merlin, tsk tsk—that sounds weird, like a dead man crawling out of his grave. You should just lie back down," Owen said disdainfully. "Besides, I already have a Second Class Order of Merlin, I don't need a second one."

"Oh! By the way, before you disappear in a daze, could you get me some autographed photos? Wow—autographed photos personally signed by Merlin are definitely worth a lot of money, at least a few hundred Galleons each, hehe—don't say I'm greedy, it's just that these things are limited edition, there hasn't been one in over a thousand years."

Irving, whose mind was once again dominated by the golden gallons, had a gleam in his eyes.

He said to the therapist, "Don't worry, we're definitely not leaving. It's stupid not to make money! We can talk about how much you're willing to pay per person you save, but let me make this clear: my appearance fee is very high. Less than two hundred Galleons and I'm leaving!"

"Of course, I'll definitely give you a satisfactory number." The female therapist said with a smile, then quickly walked away as if avoiding some kind of plague.

These two wizards are indeed highly powerful.

He's not quite lucid.

Merlin chuckled—did they think they were Merlin reincarnated?

It's ridiculous.

Seeing the little witch leaving in such a hurry, Owen naturally guessed what was going on.

But that's fine then!

He doesn't have the time to explain things to every single person he meets.

Meanwhile, on the other side, Bill Weasley, after experiencing so much, couldn't help but have an absurd thought when his serious gaze fell on Editor Mei.

The young wizard before me, with his waterfall-like silver-pink hair, wearing an ancient white robe adorned with various strange ornaments and petal-shaped earrings, could he really be Merlin?

Legend has it that Merlin is the son of nightmares.

He possessed boundless magic and longevity, and it is known that he lived for over a thousand years.

If he's still alive now, that's understandable.

Could it be—could it be!

"Sir!" He stepped forward, came to Merlin's side, and stared at him solemnly.

"Are you... are you really Merlin?"

(End of this chapter)