Hogwarts Raven

Chapter 340, Page 339: Let your gods face me!
Such was the era under the rule of the gods.

This can be considered a form of enslavement. The gods do not guarantee that their divine grace will extend to everyone, but by occasionally showing their divine grace, they can make people lose their ability to rely on themselves for a long time.

“However, such feudal rule will be overthrown sooner or later.” Ian walked slowly through the city, a complex emotion welling up in his heart.

Everything here is imbued with divine traces, yet it feels so close to human life. The gods are not unreachable; their will permeates every corner through priests, chosen people, oracles, and miracles.

However, this coexistence is not always harmonious.

In one corner of the market, he saw a woman accused of blasphemy and immediately taken away by soldiers; in the center of the square, a prophet was arrested for uttering the words, "Olympus will fall."

He was attacked and killed on the spot by an angry mob.

“They are afraid of the unknown,” Ian murmured to himself, “and even more afraid of losing their faith.”

This is humanity under divine rule. Even if a prophet is killed for blaspheming, no one else in the marketplace feels anything is wrong.

Someone will come to clean it up.

however.

Life goes on.

Ian strolled around the market.

"Nobody thinks there's anything wrong with blasphemy warranting death."

Ian strolled slowly down the cobblestone street, surrounded by priests in robes and garlands, warriors in bronze armor and short swords, and ascetics chanting silently with focused expressions. The air was filled with the scent of olive oil and spices, occasionally punctuated by the barking of dogs and the distant tolling of bells from a temple.

"Sir, would you like to try spinning the thread of fate?" An old woman with a veil suddenly stopped him, holding several strands of golden thread that could move on their own in her withered hands.

"A genuine artifact from the Temple of Athena can foresee fortune or misfortune within three days!" The old woman was clearly a sorceress, but she also carried some divine aura.

Perhaps it's a retired priest who's out committing fraud.

Ian glanced at the so-called "divine gifts," and his legendary status allowed him to immediately see through their true nature—they were nothing more than ordinary silk threads tainted with a trace of temple aura.

At most, it can only give people a few vague precognitive dreams.

It's still the kind that's out of control.

Of course, it wasn't without other special uses. Among the licentious gods of this era, it was also common to use such things to select handsome men and beautiful women to have secret rendezvous with these humans in their dreams.

Perhaps for many ordinary mortals this is an extraordinary encounter they could only dream of, but in the end it is just that the gods treat human society as a brothel where they can get their money for free.

If they were in a good mood, they might bestow a small favor upon the men and women they had slept with. And such deeds would be widely publicized by various temples.

Neither the gods nor the spirits are at a disadvantage.

Ian believed it must be his handsome appearance that attracted the attention of some minor deity by the roadside, but he didn't want to be slept with by some minor deity in his dream.

It's not so bad if it's a beautiful goddess, but if you encounter some homosexuals led by Zeus, that would be too shocking. Everyone knows that Zeus and his children are bisexual.

"No need."

Ian gently refused the old woman.

"I trust my own judgment more."

Even if a wizard needs a prophecy, he will still go to another wizard.

Instead of seeking help from any god.

"Hmm? No faith?" The old woman smiled, revealing her missing front tooth. "Outsider? No wonder you don't know the rules. Here, those who don't believe in God don't live long."

Whether those words were a threat or not, Ian smiled noncommittally and continued walking. After turning a corner, the scene before him became even more intriguing:

On a makeshift platform, several young people dressed in white robes were conducting some kind of "test of divine grace." They took turns touching a black stone engraved with runes, and whenever someone successfully made the stone glow, the onlookers would erupt in cheers. The losers, on the other hand, would slink away to the side, receiving pitying glances from those around them.

"Son of Alcmene, qualified!"

The priest presiding over the ceremony announced loudly.

"Grant admission to Delphi Academy!"

His voice was transmitted to the surroundings through magic.

The boy whose name was called blushed with excitement, and his parents immediately knelt down to thank Apollo for his grace. Ian noticed a faint harp mark appearing on the boy's wrist—a divine "mark of recognition."

"What an efficient means of governance."

Ian murmured to himself. Tying supernatural power to educational resources ensured the superiority of the divine descendants while giving commoners a false sense of hope. After all, who could refuse a lottery opportunity that might allow their child to "leapfrog" into a higher social class? Such methods of governance weren't limited to feudal times; they were used by many great nations in later generations.

Even Hogwarts considers family background.

Ian was deeply moved by this.

As he pondered, a commotion arose from the direction of the city gate. The crowd parted like a tide, kneeling on the ground. Ian looked in the direction of the commotion and saw a squadron of silver-armored guards escorting a floating chariot slowly into the city. Seated atop the chariot was a young girl wearing a moon crown, toying with a ball of starlight that constantly shifted shape in her hand—clearly one of Artemis's priestesses.

"Silence! The oracle of the Goddess of the Hunt!" the head guard announced loudly. "Tonight, at the full moon, all unmarked wild magic users must register at the temple; failure to do so will be considered blasphemy!"

Ian's eyes narrowed slightly.

It seems the gods don't really tolerate wild wizards.

He turned and left.

Deep in the alley, several ragged children were surrounding a wounded harpy. The beautiful creature, which should have soared through the sky, now had broken wings and was breathing heavily in pain.

“It hurts so much,” a girl sobbed. “But we can’t find a healer. The people at the temple say divine magic can’t be wasted on ‘lower beings’.”

Ian stood watching for a moment, then suddenly crouched down. To the children's astonishment, he gently stroked the hippogriff's wound; a flash of silver-gray light appeared, and the broken wings miraculously healed.

The eldest boy's eyes widened. "Are you a priest of the gods?"

"Do not."

Ian stood up, his black robes fluttering in the wind. "Just a passerby."

He looked up at the towering temple complex in the city center, bathed in golden light, the divine pressure enveloping the entire city as if it were a tangible force. But in the depths of the alleyways, amidst the joyful cheers of the children, and the clear neighing of the reborn hawk-horse—the suffering and the forgotten also lived.

"The faster life goes on."

Ian left the place.

He continued on his way and eventually came to a quiet little tavern. Far from the hustle and bustle of the city center, it was a gathering place for all sorts of wanderers, mercenaries, fugitives, and people who refused to be bound by the gods.

He went inside, ordered a glass of wine, and sat quietly in a corner, observing his surroundings. There was certainly a reason he chose to linger there.

Ian could sense that the guests here were all wizards, clearly a gathering place for wizards, who all seemed to be filled with anxiety because of the decree issued by the goddess earlier.

A thin man quietly approached him.

“Friend, would you be interested in attending an ‘academic exchange’?” the man asked in a low voice, his eyes gleaming.

Ian raised an eyebrow: "What type of communication?"

“Informal.” The man’s lips curled up slightly. “The kind without the temple’s permission.” Ian’s heart skipped a beat, and he nodded.

So, led by the man, he walked through a narrow alley, around several dilapidated buildings, and finally arrived at an abandoned, narrow alley.

At the end of the alley, a figure draped in a brown cloak was cautiously looking around. The person held a copper coin engraved with runes in their hand and tapped it lightly against the wall three times.

Boom, boom, boom.

The wall rippled like water, revealing a hidden passage.

At the end of the passage stood an abandoned barn. Several eerie blue magic lamps hung from the rough wooden beams, illuminating a simple wooden table in the center. A dozen or so figures sat around the table, some cloaked, some wearing masks, the air thick with the scents of herbs, sulfur, and parchment.

A damp and musty smell wafted over.

Although nighttime lighting was a luxury in this era, the room was surprisingly bright, with a dozen candles suspended in the air, emitting a faint blue glow.

The walls were covered with ancient rune scrolls, and the floor was covered with intricate magic array patterns.

“Welcome, new friend.” An elderly wizard looked up, his gaze deep and unfathomable. “You don’t look like a local.”

“Indeed.” Ian smiled. “I’m a traveler, and I’m very interested in your world.”

“Then join us.” The man gestured for him to sit down, sensing a trace of magic emanating from Ian. “Tonight’s theme is ‘Elemental Spirits and Soul Resonance’.”

Ian took his seat and began to listen to the wizards' discussion.

"The trading session begins tonight."

A deep female voice rang out. The speaker was a woman wearing a raven mask, who seemed to be the host of the gathering. "The usual rules—exchange of knowledge, sharing of intelligence, and no direct combat."

It appeared to be a very well-organized gathering of wizards, and Ian observed it all with great interest. The wizards varied in skill level; some had magical fluctuations as faint as candlelight, while others were barely passable. But without exception, their eyes carried a secret fanaticism—the eyes of those who, in a world ruled by gods, still yearned to control their own destiny.

“I’ll go first.” A tall, thin man stood up and took out a roll of yellowed parchment from his pocket. “This is a recipe for ‘Moonlight Potion,’ which can conceal one’s presence at night and evade the temple hounds. I would like to exchange it for a spell for ‘Fire Resistance.’”

Soon, an elderly man in a red cloak raised his hand in response. After exchanging a few words in hushed tones, the two completed the transaction.

Then, a veiled girl took out a ring inlaid with amethyst: "This ring can store a small amount of magic power, which can be used to save lives in critical moments. I want to exchange it for research notes on the 'essence of divine magic'."

A slight commotion arose in the room. Clearly, the topic of "divine magic" was extremely sensitive.

"Are you insane?" someone warned in a low voice. "Researching divine magic is a capital offense!"

The girl stubbornly pursed her lips, refusing to back down.

Just as the atmosphere reached a stalemate, a figure who had been silent in the corner suddenly spoke up: "I have what you want."

All eyes turned to the source of the voice—a man draped in a dark blue cloak, his face covered by a silver mask, revealing only a pair of sharp eyes. He took a thin notebook from his robes and pushed it to the center of the table.

"But let me remind you, the more you know, the faster you die."

The girl hesitated for a moment, then gritted her teeth, picked up the notebook, and handed over the ring.

Ian's gaze fell on the notebook, his silver-grey right eye gleaming slightly. He "saw" the contents of the notebook—it wasn't a true study of divine magic, but a dangerous spell about how to steal the temple's blessing power.

"interesting……"

Ian whispered silently.

The gathering continued, and the deals grew increasingly audacious. Some offered talismans capable of briefly disrupting divine divination, others exchanged methods for forging divine marks, and still others attempted to purchase clues about "god-slaying weapons"—though none could provide them. Beyond these transactions, their casual conversations were also extremely esoteric.

From controlling wind and fire to borrowing the power of the stars, and even theories about "split consciousness" and "dream travel," one of the young witches even demonstrated a technique called "Shadowwalking," in which her body gradually became transparent before the crowd, as if merging into the void.

“That’s fantastic,” Ian exclaimed sincerely.

Although these people did not belong to the official wizarding community under the Olympian system, the knowledge and technology they possessed were far more primitive, wild, and dangerous than what he had seen in the temple.

This was a group of oppressed and marginalized heretics, yet also true guardians of knowledge. Ian observed quietly until the gathering was nearing its end.

The woman in the raven mask suddenly tapped on the table.

“The last item.” Her voice lowered further. “According to reliable sources, the Grey Wizarding Guild is currently searching for a young wizard with ‘black robes and green eyes.’ It is said that he confronted Zeus in Rhodes… If anyone knows his whereabouts, the Grey Wizarding Guild is willing to offer ‘the Golden Spring’ as a reward.”

This is clearly a reward.

The venue fell silent instantly.

Ian narrowed his eyes slightly—oh? A local wizarding organization is looking for him?
"Don't dream about it." An old wizard with a face full of wrinkles sneered. "A being who can stand against Zeus, is someone we can afford to offend? The Grey Wizards' Guild is trying to send us to our deaths!"

“But if there really is a clue…” someone hesitated.

"No ifs!" the old wizard interrupted sharply. "We're already risking our lives hiding here researching some minor tricks; don't go looking for death!"

The atmosphere suddenly became tense.

at this time--

boom!
The barn door suddenly shattered, sending splinters flying everywhere!

A blinding, holy light shone in, accompanied by the clanging sound of armor clashing.

"In the name of Athena!"

A temple knight clad in silver armor strode in, his longsword pointed directly at the crowd.

"Blasphemers, you are under arrest!" Behind him, six fully armed knights filed in, and the last to enter was a high priest wielding a golden scepter. A cold, divine light flashed in the priest's eyes; he tapped his scepter lightly, and the magic within the entire barn instantly froze!

"Pathetic ants," the priest's voice echoed with divine fervor, "daring to deign to intrude upon the sacred realm?"

The wizards were immediately gripped by panic. Some tried to use illusions to escape, only to find their magic completely sealed; others pulled out talismans, but couldn't even light them. An atmosphere of despair permeated the air—they knew that wizards captured by the temple faced only one fate: being burned at the stake, their souls consumed by the flames.

"No...impossible!"

The woman in the raven mask trembled, "We clearly set up an anti-prophecy barrier..."

The priest simply sneered.

"Your tricks are child's play before the power of the goddess of wisdom."

His tone was full of arrogance.

The knights began to approach, their longswords gleaming coldly.

Just when the wizards were in utter despair—

"Cough cough."

A soft cough came from the corner.

Everyone paused and turned to look. There stood the unfamiliar young wizard, unlike the others; his gaze was calm as he looked at the temple's messengers and priests.

“If the goddess of wisdom does not wish for wizards, then let your gods face me.” Ian spoke calmly, but his voice carried an undeniable annoyance.

He was initially quite engrossed in listening to this ancient magical knowledge.

(End of this chapter)