Hogwarts Raven

Chapter 338, Section 337: The Awakening of Humanity
The night was dark.

The wind whistled through the broken walls and ruins, echoing with a hollow wail. The ruins of Rhodes Island fell silent after the fires died down, the air still thick with the smell of ashes and blood.

Zeus gave Kratos's blood to Ian.

"Those who do many evil deeds will surely perish, Zeus." Ian weighed the crystal bottle in his hand, the dark red blood inside swirling slightly, as if still carrying Kratos's anger and resentment before his death.

He casually tossed the bottle into the seemingly ordinary but actually infinitely spacious magic purse at his waist.

“This is none of your business; it’s just a family matter,” Zeus replied coldly, resisting Ian’s advice.

Ian wasn't the type to enjoy being ignored; he preferred to be ignored. So, seeing the situation, he didn't continue trying to persuade Zeus.

"One item obtained."

he said to himself.

“Next are… the talking rose, and the nectar of the night-blooming cereus.” This seemingly solitary murmur was actually a reminder to Zeus that he needed two other things. His lips twitched slightly as he mentioned the nectar of the night-blooming cereus. He strongly suspected that the woman Tytanklyl herself was craving it, after all, that woman had never been able to resist sweets—but he had no proof, so he still had to honestly go find it and bring it back.

to be frank.

Ian didn't really understand Tantalus Lyle. Her personality was complex and contradictory, sometimes cold and ruthless, and at other times showing deep compassion for the mortal world. She spoke seriously when presenting the list, but Ian still felt that the inclusion of the night-blooming cereus nectar seemed more like her personal preference.

of course.

Anyway, I'm not going to find it myself.

Ian was also happy to take advantage of Zeus's fear of him.

“You only need to wait a while, and I will have someone deliver the things to you. Until then, Raven, I very much hope that you will not approach our new home.” Zeus slowly descended from the sky, transforming into human form and standing on the broken wall. His eyes were still as deep as thunder, yet they also revealed a hint of weariness and vigilance.

Clearly, Zeus still vividly remembered the past displacement events, and therefore did not want Ian to approach Mount Olympus, where the gods now reside.

"Don't worry, I'm not interested in your new place, and I don't like to distort history." Ian smiled slightly; he indeed didn't like to interfere too much with the workings of history.

Who knows if I do something that has a huge impact and whether it will cause a butterfly effect in future history? History's self-correction is limited to small ripples.

For example, if some ordinary people survived in this city, their influence would be less than if a god were stabbed in the back.

“That would be best.” Zeus was silent for a moment, then finally nodded. A complex expression flashed in his eyes, as if he were recalling the days when he was banished and displaced.

He gave Ian one last deep look, said nothing more, and then transformed into a giant eagle and flew away, leaving Ian standing alone in the desolate ruins.

The whole city was eerily quiet.

Zeus's divine power had already wiped out most of the living things, leaving only collapsed buildings, shattered statues, and debris everywhere—the corpses of Spartan warriors, the severed limbs of ordinary soldiers, and civilians shattered by the aftershocks of the divine sword... The aura of death permeated every inch of the land, and everywhere was a scene of unbearable horror.

Ancient Greek soldiers, Spartans, civilians... they were once enemies, and they were once compatriots, but now they all lie quietly on this scorched earth, silent and still.

In this regard.

Zeus seemed to be quite comfortable with it.

However, Ian was somewhat unaccustomed to it.

So he also planned to bury all the bodies in the ground.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

Ian stood high above, looking down at everything. His eyes were calm, yet concealed a barely perceptible trace of pity. He slowly raised his hand, palm up, revealing his wand, and sighed softly.

This is certainly not a spell.

However, Ian rarely needs to use spells when using magic now.

As his voice sounded.

The earth began to tremble, as if awakening from a deep slumber. The land surged, cracks spread, like the open mouth of a giant beast, slowly swallowing those already cold bodies.

The earth surged like a tide, covering their faces, chests, and limbs. Broken armor and shattered weapons were also buried in the dark brown soil. There were no tombstones, no inscriptions, only the most primal way of resting—burial.

After all, Ian still values ​​an ancient custom at heart.

Even if these soldiers couldn't tell who was right and who was wrong before, war doesn't change according to the soldiers' will, so burying them all in the ground meant that the grudges had vanished.

"Although I am not qualified to say this on behalf of these people, I feel a little better, and that is enough." War is never decided by these ordinary soldiers.

They were merely pawns of fate, pushed onto the battlefield, forced to fight, and ultimately fallen in forgotten corners. Whom they served is no longer important at this moment.

Ian didn't judge their right or wrong, but only wished to grant them their final dignity. The wind blew by, carrying away the stench of blood and gunpowder, replacing it with the damp smell of freshly turned earth.

In the distance, the colossal statue of the sun god, once controlled by Zeus, finally succumbed and collapsed with a deafening roar. Its massive body crashed into the ground, raising a cloud of dust, which was then gradually swallowed up by the churning earth, eventually disappearing completely beneath the earth. Such weapons of war, whether capable of being activated or already activated, could certainly not be kept.

The entire city seemed to undergo a slow closure, burying all death, violence, and hatred in the depths of darkness—Ian put away his wand and exhaled softly.

at the same time.

Amidst this desolation, some survivors began to cautiously peek out. They were civilians secretly sheltered by Ian, whom he had magically concealed when divine punishment descended. Now, they trembled as they crawled out of the ruins, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear, awe, and… worship as they looked at Ian.

“M-My lord…” An old man with a face covered in dust knelt down shakily, speaking to Ian with expectation, “You saved us…Are you the new god?”

That's just how people are in this era.

Over-reliance on faith in deities in exchange for protection.

"Gods?" Ian raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. "No, I'm just passing by."

But these people clearly didn't believe it. In their eyes, what else could protect them from Zeus's wrath but a god? Soon, more people gathered around, some whispering prayers, others reaching out to touch his robes, as if that would grant them protection. They were civilians, the most innocent victims of this war.

Now that the storm has subsided, they look up at Ian with eyes full of awe and gratitude.

“Tell us your name!” a young man called out boldly. “We want to erect a statue in your honor and offer sacrifices! Let us remember your kindness!”

This group of people is still persisting.

They felt uneasy if they didn't do it repeatedly. The crowd gradually gathered, their voices growing louder, as if they were venerating this mysterious savior as a new deity, and also seeking new refuge for themselves.

"Hey."

Ian sighed.

He could have simply walked away, but he hated seeing humanity like this—forever searching for new gods to rely on, forever placing their fate in the hands of a more powerful being.

So he stopped, looked around at everyone, and slowly began to speak:
“I do not need your reverence, nor do I want your offerings. I am not your god, nor will I be your savior—in fact, humanity should not rely on gods.”

His voice wasn't loud, but it struck everyone's heart like a muffled thunderclap.

"What do you think gods are? Are they benefactors who bestow grace? Are they judges who bring down punishment? No, they are simply beings more powerful than you—and power is never the same as justice."

“You have always believed that only God can save you, and only great power can determine your fate. But I want to tell you that this idea itself is a shackle on you. It is because you believe in the existence of God that you have been enslaved, used, and sacrificed time and time again.”

The crowd quieted down; some were confused, some were uneasy, but no one dared to interrupt him.

“Look around you,” Ian said, pointing to the ruins. “This is the price of relying on the gods. You entrusted your fate to Zeus, and he decided your life and death at will. You knelt, prayed, and offered sacrifices, but what was the result? If he was displeased, the entire city would be reduced to ashes.”

Some people lowered their heads, while others clenched their fists.

“True freedom is not something you can ask for,” Ian continued. “You need to learn to rely on yourselves—build your own homes, make your own laws, and master your own power. Gods can give or take away, but no one can take away what you create yourself.”

“You must understand that true power is not in the heavens, but within your own hearts. It is your hands that created the city, your wisdom that ignited civilization, and your courage that protected one another. If you are willing to unite, work hard, develop knowledge, and improve yourselves, then even without divine protection, you can live a peaceful and happy life.” Ian’s words were not without reason; he was enlightening these ancient people.

“On the contrary, if you always wait for God to save you, you will always be slaves. Your fate will always be in the hands of others, and you will only passively accept whatever is arranged for you.” His voice was so loud that it made sure that the survivors hidden in every corner of the city could hear him.

This must have involved the use of some magical means.

The old principal's speaking magic is very useful in many situations.

Many people were stunned by Ian's words. A hush fell over the crowd; some lowered their heads in thought, some struggled with their feelings, and others showed expressions of sudden realization. A thin woman began to sob softly, "But we are just mortals...we have no divine power, how can we fight them?"

“Of course you don’t have divine power,” Ian sneered. “I don’t deny the power of the gods, but I believe more in the potential of humanity. You have wisdom, hands, and the strength to unite. You can learn magic, forge weapons, and build your own city-states—instead of forever kneeling and waiting for the gods’ charity.”

He paused.

His gaze swept over every face.

"Remember, the reason why the gods can rule you is not because they are gods, but because you are used to being ruled. So please stop worshipping the gods. Learn to rely on yourselves, respect one another, and establish your own order and morality. Only in this way can you truly escape suffering and usher in a bright future."

Ian's words resonated powerfully in everyone's hearts.

silence.

After a long silence, the old man who had spoken first asked tremulously, "Then... what should we do?"

“Stand up,” Ian said. “Don’t kneel before anyone anymore. Starting tomorrow, plant the first seed, build the first house, write the first book, and establish the first rule. Little by little, day by day, you will build a world that no longer needs God.”

He took a step back, and his black robe fluttered even without wind.

“Yes, I will not be your savior, nor your new god. If you truly wish to change your fate—then begin today and stop waiting for divine mercy.” As he finished speaking, his figure began to twist and blur, eventually transforming into a jet-black raven, which flapped its wings and soared into the sky.

The raven swept over the crumbling city walls, across the burned ruins, and disappeared into the endless darkness. On the ground, the survivors stared blankly in the direction he had gone.

No one knelt down.

No one is praying.

Only the mournful sound of the wind blowing through the ruins seemed to witness the budding of a new era. In their eyes, there was no longer only fear and despair, but also a glimmer of light they had never seen before.

That was hope, and the beginning of awakening.

Zeus stood on a cloud, his golden pupils reflecting the crowd in the ruins below.

He did not truly leave.

As the King of Gods, he was all too aware of the dangers of allowing humanity to awaken—once faith collapses, the authority of the gods will be shaken. Ian's words were tantamount to throwing a spark into dry tinder.

"Humans should not rely on gods," Zeus repeated in a low voice, his knuckles turning white as thunder silently brewed among the clouds.

He slowly raised his hand, and the phantom of the Sword of Olympus appeared in his palm. With just one strike, the entire ruins would be reduced to scorched earth, and those humans who had just begun to have hope, along with their ridiculous thoughts, would be reduced to ashes.

"Father."

A golden light blocked his path. The sun god arrived riding his sun chariot, its dazzling radiance piercing the dark clouds. His face was hidden behind the blazing sun, but his voice was exceptionally clear: "Enough."

Zeus's sword paused slightly.

"Do you want to bring that raven back again?" the sun god whispered.

"Are you questioning me?" Zeus's voice suddenly turned icy, and a thunderstorm erupted in the clouds, illuminating his grim face with lightning.

The sun god did not back down, but simply shook his head slightly. The flames of his chariot flickered slightly, as if infected by some invisible fear.

“I was just…” he paused, his Adam's apple bobbing, “…afraid of the bird.”

For a moment, the air froze.

Zeus's pupils contracted, and lightning flickered at his fingertips. He
I recall the disaster that happened countless years ago—Ian, transformed into a raven, circled above the Sky City, his black wings obscuring the sun and moon, and when he landed, half of the palace on the ground collapsed.

The burnt smell from my memory seems to linger on my nose again.

after all.

Zeus ultimately chose to compromise.

Although he was old and senile, it was clear that his greatest fear was always the raven.

(End of this chapter)