Hogwarts Raven

Chapter 358, Section 357: The Mystery of the Temple
The wind in the alley swirled dust and blew the hem of Ian's robe.

The old man—or rather, Nakt—still clutched the so-called "fragment of Ra's Eye" tightly, his turbid eyes flashing with a final stubbornness.

"You're saying...it was all a dream?"

"The revelation of Ra... is it fake?" Nakt's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping. The old man's already hunched back now appeared even more distorted. He staggered, his steps unsteady, as if each step was on cotton. His hands tightly clutched the so-called "fragment of Ra's Eye".

His lips trembled slightly, and his eyes were filled with shock and confusion.

Ian did not answer immediately.

He stared at the old man's trembling fingers; the blue glass shard glowed faintly in the dim light, like some kind of clumsy magic tool.

The young wizard nodded slowly, his voice deep and clear:
“That wasn’t a real oracle, Mr. Nactor. Someone wove a dream to make you believe you were the ‘chosen one,’ and then used you.”

As soon as these words came out.

The old man immediately took several steps back.

"A dream... just a dream woven for me by someone else? The work of a wizard." He muttered to himself, his voice hoarse and broken, his expression constantly changing.

"That wasn't a divine oracle? That wasn't Ra himself descending?" His expression suddenly twisted, first with shock, then with anger, and finally with a near-collapse-like bewilderment.

His lips trembled, as if he wanted to refute, but couldn't find any evidence to refute it. He recalled those nights when Ra appeared to him in his dreams, his majestic voice telling him that he was the chosen protector... But if even the god was a lie, then what did everything he had lost—his family, his wealth, his dignity—mean?
This is something that an elderly person who has lost everything would absolutely not be able to accept—if they accept this fact, it means that everything they have lost and their current suffering are meaningless.

The brain's automatic protection mechanism kicks in at this point.

Ian noticed the change in the other person's emotions.

However, no further explanation was given.

He simply stood there quietly, watching the old man's expression change rapidly in just a few seconds—from shock to doubt, from doubt to anger, and finally to a near-manic roar.

"Liar!" Nactor suddenly roared, shoving Ian aside and staggering backward. "You're the liar! You're just like them, trying to take it away!"

His voice echoed in the empty alley, startling a few pigeons perched on the rooftops.

Ian neither refuted nor explained. He simply looked at the old man calmly, a hint of pity in his eyes.

“I’m not here to lie to you,” he said. “I’m just telling you the truth.”

"The truth?" The old man sneered. "What do you know about the truth? You have no idea what I've lost! My home, my wife, my children... all because of this piece of metal! It changed my life! And now you're telling me it was all a dream? A dream... fabricated for me by someone else?"

His voice trembled more and more, until it almost turned into a sob.

“Yes,” Ian nodded.

"Someone used magic to enter your dreams, impersonating Ra, to make you believe you are the chosen one. They made you addicted to this fantasy, making you give up everything to 'protect' a meaningless stone." Ian was telling the truth, but in this world, the truth is always the hardest to accept.

The old man's body jolted violently, as if struck by lightning. He shoved Ian away again, the force so great that Ian also took a half step back.

"Get out of my way!" he roared, his hatred for Ian growing. "I don't need you to tell me what's right! I don't need you to destroy my last shred of faith!"

"What kind of sorcery did you use to spy on my memories? Do you think I would believe the words of a madman like you? How could something given to me by the god Ra be fake? How dare you say it was a dream?!" His movements were too sudden, and Ian didn't have time to stop him before the old man stumbled and rushed into the depths of the alley.

Like a wounded beast, he vanished into the shadows, his figure quickly swallowed by the twilight. Ian stood there, watching the old man's departing figure, motionless for a long time. He felt neither anger nor defeat. He knew that the truth was often harder to accept than a lie, especially when someone had used it to sustain half their life.

Something's not right.

Ian slowly closed his eyes, and the scene he had just seen in the old man's memory resurfaced in his mind—the "God of Ra" appeared in the dream, his tone stiff and his movements rigid, much like some kind of clumsy imitation.

But what made Ian even more uncomfortable was the “texture” of the dream itself.

It's too perfect.

It was so perfect it didn't seem like a natural dream, but rather like a meticulously choreographed drama. Every detail was just right, every line of dialogue struck a chord, as if the designer had a deep understanding of the weaknesses of the human psyche.

This is no ordinary illusion.

This is a sophisticated form of mind manipulation.

"This doesn't seem like ordinary dark magic," he muttered to himself, noticing the distorted magical fluctuations and the deliberately created "divinity" that defied interpretation.

"They're all more like some kind of...ritual."

Just as he was deep in thought.

The temperature in the alley seemed to drop suddenly.

"You shouldn't be investigating this."

A cold female voice came from the darkness. Ian's muscles tensed instantly, his fingers silently sliding towards the wand in his sleeve. He slowly turned around, his gaze locking onto the shadows at the end of the alley—a figure in black robes stood there, the hood obscuring most of the face, revealing only a pale chin and a half-smile on the lips.

"Who are you?" Ian's voice was calm, but his wand had already slipped silently into his palm. The other person did not answer, but simply took a step forward. The person was shrouded in a long, dark robe, the hood hanging low, obscuring his face. His footsteps were so light they were almost inaudible, as if he were gliding rather than walking.

Ian was not surprised; he simply turned slowly to face the other person.

The sunlight finally illuminated the mysterious figure—slender yet upright, with ancient runes faintly visible on his arms beneath the black robe, like curse marks etched into his skin.

"You'd better not investigate any further." The man in black robes spoke in a deep voice, with a hoarse, metallic quality. "There are some things you shouldn't know."

Ian smiled.

"Are you here to warn me?"

“I’m asking you,” Ian stared at her, “was the curse on that old man your doing?”

Hear the words.

The woman in the black robe chuckled softly, her voice like ice water dripping onto a stone slab.

“If it were me, you wouldn’t be standing here alive.” This statement was both a denial and a warning. Ian wasn’t intimidated; instead, he became even more interested.

Ian squinted.

"Then what do you know?"

He spoke up and asked a question.

The woman in black remained silent for a moment, seemingly weighing whether she should speak. Finally, she spoke in a low voice, her tone almost cruelly calm, "The sixteen wizards who investigated this matter all died in accidents—their souls were torn apart, their bodies turned to ashes. Do you think you can be the exception?"

This statement is brimming with cruelty.

Ian smiled.

"How will you know if you don't try?" Ian's lips curled up slightly. He was a wizard who wasn't even afraid of Anubis, so how could he be frightened by a few words from others?

Now, Ian was curious about the identity of this person who had suddenly appeared. The woman in black robes was silent for a moment, then let out a sigh filled with complex emotions.

The tone was both pity and mockery.

"A very curious wizard, isn't he?" The woman in black seemed surprised by Ian's answer. She raised her head slightly, and the sunlight finally illuminated part of her face—it looked like a young but pale face, with ancient runes seemingly engraved on her cheeks and forehead, like some kind of sacred mark.

“That’s why most wizards die.” Her tone was full of warning.

Ian's gaze swept over the runes, his brow furrowing slightly. The symbols didn't belong to any magical system he knew; they seemed more like... the marks of some kind of priest.

"Aren't you a wizard too?" he asked tentatively.

The woman shook her head, a mysterious smile curving her lips.

“I am not a wizard.” She slowly raised her arm, the runes gleaming faintly in the sunlight. “I am a servant of the great god Ra.”

He slowly raised his hand and pulled back his hood. A truly young and pale face appeared before Ian. It was a woman, who looked to be no more than twenty years old, with skin as white as ivory and black hair cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall. But what was most striking were the runes carved into her face—these runes were not tattoos, but rather intricate ancient characters embedded in her skin with some kind of mysterious metallic thread, shimmering with a faint golden light.

Ian's pupils contracted slightly.

A servant?
Not a wizard?

He stared at the runes on her face and asked in a low voice, "Priestess?"

The woman did not answer, but simply raised her hand and pointed to the distant night sky—where the spire of the Temple of the Sun was faintly visible in the moonlight.

“If you really want to know the truth,” she whispered, “go to the Temple of the Sun again tonight.”

Ian's pupils contracted slightly.

"What do you mean?"

However, the woman had already taken a step back, and her black robe suddenly billowed up—the next second, her figure twisted and deformed, transforming into a giant eagle, flapping its wings and flying into the night sky. A sharp eagle cry pierced the twilight sky, and the eagle soared high into the sky, instantly disappearing into the clouds, its figure vanishing from Ian's sight.

Ian stood there, gazing in the direction she had gone, his brow furrowed.

"The temple at night..." he murmured to himself, "What exactly is hidden there?"

The fact that a servant of a god wants Ian to go to her god's temple at night to investigate is itself strange and puzzling.

All sixteen wizards are dead?

Divine punishment?

Even the followers of Ra are wary of pirates.
obviously.

This is not an ordinary scam.

Behind all this lies a profound mystery. And that woman—she was neither an ordinary priestess nor an ordinary wizard. The runes on her face, the energy fluctuations—Ian had never seen anything like it before. Perhaps she was some ancient being. Or perhaps, she was the true guardian of the "Eye of Ra."

Just then, Ian suddenly remembered the woman's last words—

"If you want to know the truth, go to the temple of the sun god Ra at night."

These words sent a jolt through Ian.

Is she guiding herself?
Or was it a trap?
Ian was a little confused, but he didn't hesitate. He knew that the real answer wasn't on the street, or in his dream, but in the temple standing on the west bank of the Nile.

Night had not yet fallen.

And he was ready to find out the truth.

After the mysterious woman transformed into a falcon and disappeared into the sky, Ian looked up at the high-hanging sun; there were still several hours until nightfall. He stroked his chin, pondered for a moment, and decided to wander around the city first.

After all, a strange sorcerer wandering aimlessly through the streets of ancient Egypt for too long would inevitably attract attention, and blending into the crowd was the best disguise.

Thinking of this.

He put away his wand, straightened the hem of his linen robe to make himself look more like an ordinary traveler from a foreign land, and then strode toward the bustling market of Memphis.

The streets were bustling. Memphis's streets were always lively. The wide cobblestone streets were packed with stalls, and vendors shouted their wares at the top of their lungs, their voices rising and falling. The air was thick with the aroma of roasting various things, spices, and Nile silt, so rich that you could almost hold it in your hand.

It is a metropolis after all.

It was just as crowded as cities like New York, London, and Shanghai in later generations.

"It brought together travelers and merchants from all over the world."

Ian strolled leisurely, his gaze sweeping over the dazzling array of goods—Nubian merchants' goldware gleamed in the sunlight, Phoenicians hawked deep purple dye, and several vendors pushed wooden carts, calling out fresh wild fruits and coconuts. In the distance, a group of children chased and played, laughing and frolicking.

She almost bumped into him, then giggled and ran away.

Ian didn't take it to heart.

He stopped in front of a barbecue stall, where lamb skewers sizzled over charcoal, dripping fat and kicking up a cloud of smoke. The stall owner, an old man with a wrinkled face, grinned when he saw Ian stop, revealing a set of uneven, yellow teeth.

"Want a skewer? Top-quality lamb, marinated with desert spices, I guarantee you've never tasted anything so delicious!" Whether in ancient times or later, vendors all know how to hawk their wares and make exaggerated claims.

"alright."

Ian pulled out a few local copper rings and handed them over, then took the skewer and took a bite. The meat was tender, and the flavor of the spices exploded on his tongue, spicy with a hint of sweetness—truly unique.

"Not bad," he nodded in approval.

The old man smiled smugly: "Of course! It's a family recipe passed down through generations, even the Pharaoh's royal chefs have come to steal it!"

This was clearly another boast, but it was understandable for promotional purposes—just the oldest form of advertising. Ian raised an eyebrow, smiled noncommittally, and continued walking. Turning a corner, the sound of drums and flutes caught his attention. A group of people had formed a circle, with a juggler in the center performing fire-eating and acrobatics. His bare upper body was covered in paint, and his movements were as agile as a snake, drawing cheers from the onlookers.

Ian stood at the edge of the crowd, watching with interest. After the performer finished his round, he picked up a ceramic bowl and circled the area asking for a tip. As he passed Ian, their eyes briefly met. The performer's eyes shone with an unusual amber hue in the sunlight, like a cat's pupil, carrying a certain wariness and scrutiny.

Ian casually tossed in a few brass rings, the performer nodded slightly, and then turned to the next audience member.

"interesting……"

Ian muttered to himself.

He discovered, of course, that the performer was also a sorcerer, and not even an ancient Egyptian one, and wondered what his purpose was in traveling so far to perform.

However, everyone was the same; the eldest brother didn't criticize the second brother, and Ian didn't have the foolish idea of ​​reporting him. He was a top student, but he only liked to tattle occasionally. Ian continued to wander aimlessly until he passed a narrow alleyway and overheard several men talking in hushed tones.

"...She's gone missing again, this time it's a young woman."

Shh! Keep your voice down! Do you want to die?

“But this is too strange! This is the third one this month…” The discussion among these people was still quite loud, so Ian paused and pretended to adjust his boots.

In reality, he was listening intently.

Just listen.

"I heard they all disappeared at night, without leaving a trace."

"I heard... someone saw a dark figure near the temple..."

The people's comments were also very informative.

(End of this chapter)