Hogwarts Raven

Chapter 399 (398): The Iron Curtain World

Ian was sitting in a restaurant.

The walls were painted gray-white, and uniformly sized propaganda posters hung on them.

The Imperial President, clad in a long black robe, stands atop the tallest tower in Lin City, his piercing gaze sweeping over all living beings; a group of blond-haired, blue-eyed children hold ears of wheat, their smiles innocent, with a sign that reads "The Future of Pure Blood"; and there is also a science fiction scene depicting an alien colony, with the flag of an evil empire flying over Mars.

The president on the poster, like the president on TV, is excessively young.

Yes.

too young.

Ian's historical knowledge told him that it was the late 1990s, so the president should be a centenarian, very old.

But the person on the screen.

Although he still possessed that hysterical, fanatical temperament, he looked no more than fifty years old, full of energy, and even younger and more vigorous than he appeared in some historical photos at the end of the war!
Time seemed to slow down considerably for him.

A cold and terrifying thought struck Ian instantly, almost stopping him from breathing.

Why do presidents live so long?
Still so...young?
Ian stared intently at the television screen, his heart pounding in his chest. On the screen, the president was waving his arms, his voice passionately describing a grand blueprint for the empire's future.

Every syllable struck the nerves of the diners through the restaurant's loudspeakers.

Simultaneously.

His boundless energy also made Ian's nerves throb.

too young.

This is absolutely not the state a centenarian should be in. That vibrant energy, that face with almost no wrinkles, that powerful voice... this is not a normal aging process at all.

He couldn't help but turn to the side, lower his voice, and ask a seemingly kind elderly man at the next table, "Excuse me, don't you...don't you think His Excellency the President looks exceptionally...energetic? I mean, considering his age..."

Ian didn't dare say anything disrespectful to the president. Who knew what would happen if he said the wrong thing in this crazy country? He also didn't want to provoke those hawk-like police officers again.

His core ideology is utterly flawed, leading to an incredibly distorted social structure—even more distorted than that of a capitalist empire.

This is not.

Look at the state the people are in." The old man turned his head, a hint of confusion flashing in his cloudy eyes, which was then replaced by an almost fanatical awe.

"How could you ask such a question?" The old man's eyes gradually became wary as he looked Ian up and down.

He clearly felt that Ian shouldn't have asked such a stupid question.

Ian's heart sank, but he quickly forced a look of sudden realization and nodded in agreement: "Yes, yes, you're right! I was foolish. His Excellency the President is certainly extraordinary! I was just... just too surprised by his energy."

As he spoke, he quickly turned around and buried himself in the meager amount of food on his plate, feeling the old man's suspicious gaze lingering on his back for quite a while.

The other people in the restaurant didn't seem to find anything wrong with it at all.

As they listened to the speech, their faces radiated pride and absolute trust, occasionally erupting in low growls of approval or applause between the president's words.

Ian buried himself in his rice.

A "standard ration meal" was placed in front of him.

A grayish-brown synthetic meat patty, two wilted vegetables, and a bowl of murky bean soup. The taste was as bland as chewing wax, but he had to eat it to avoid attracting attention.

Everyone is used to eating this kind of thing.

He's not used to pretending to be that old.

Wouldn't that expose his situation?
"Ugh, this tastes awful."

Ian found the conversation dull and uninteresting, his mind already wandering elsewhere. There was no point in arguing; these deeply brainwashed people simply couldn't, and dared not, consider the anomaly behind it all.

He forced himself to calm down, pretending to focus on watching TV while his mind raced. An old-fashioned CRT television was broadcasting the news.

The screen flickered, and the static kept jumping around, but the picture remained clear.

"Today, the great President delivered an important speech at the Imperial Academy of Sciences, announcing the official launch of the third phase of the 'Millennium Project'..."

The scene shifts to a middle-aged man in a crisp military uniform, with a stern face, standing on the podium. His hair is neatly combed, his eyes are sharp, and his voice is loud and persuasive.

Ian suddenly stopped chewing.

"Destined to live forever? You're kidding me."

Ian sneered inwardly.

"It can't possibly be because he's so 'great'. This world may seem to have a slightly off-track technological development path, but the laws of biology can't be completely different..."

He has already made his own judgment.

If there are no other "demons and monsters" causing trouble behind the scenes in this world, which is completely controlled by an evil empire and where magic has almost disappeared, then the answer is obvious.

Although the president publicly declared that he had eradicated all wizards and wiped out magic, he himself probably still secretly kept a lot of "good stuff" that he had plundered from wizards!
For example... an elixir of immortality? Or some kind of magical potion that can greatly slow down aging or even maintain youth? And then combine it with some clever disguise magic or alchemical tools that can make people unable to tell their true age?
After all, Grindelwald was once his collaborator, and it's not surprising that a dark wizard of that level would possess several forbidden methods of immortality.

“Or…” Ian thought of another, even more astonishing possibility, “Could it be that the elixir of immortality, which no one in my world could truly succeed with, was researched and developed in this universe by Grindelwald or one of his potion geniuses? And then… the president reaped the benefits of immortality?”

Although the president eradicated the wizards, he inherited their legacy.

The thought sent a chill down Ian's spine. If that were true, then the president's immortality would be built upon the remains of countless wizards and the destruction of the entire magical civilization.

And if this is true.

That might also be part of the reason why the president wanted to destroy the wizarding civilization.

A dictator.

He would certainly not allow others to have as much time as he does, even an infinite number of years, as ordinary people do. Otherwise, how would the world know his greatness and invincibility?
The main idea is to create a king who is unshakeable, unquestionable, and unchallengeable by anyone. If the president wants to mythologize himself, he must also eliminate the wizard.

After all, wizards are a group of people who are fearless and daring. It's not impossible to get wizards to believe in this kind of ideology, but the object can only be another wizard.

Just like Voldemort.

“So, the wizards didn’t know that from the very beginning, the path the president took was one that couldn’t accommodate them.” After some thought, Ian’s eyes lit up slightly.

The fate of the wizards in this erroneous timeline is certainly regrettable.

however.

For Ian, the fact that the president might have confiscated all the wizards' assets might not be such a bad thing. He had originally been aimlessly searching for materials and clues to repair the time machine, but now, a clear target had emerged—the president's lair! Perhaps all the wizards' wealth lay there!

This saved Ian a lot of time searching!

You'll know if you think about it.

If the president needs to use the methods of wizards to maintain his immortality, he will inevitably concentrate his control over all the wizards' resources. The president's stronghold is the greatest treasure trove for Ian.

Even if it's just collected as spoils of war, it must contain the world's most top-tier resources, whether it's rare magical materials, deeper secrets about this distorted spacetime, or even clues about the "mysterious will" that attacked the time machine!

Ian believes.

This spacetime is definitely related to that thing that interfered with my will!
Risk is extremely high.

But the rewards could be beyond your imagination.

"Done!" Ian made up his mind. He finished the rest of the food in a few bites, paid the bill, and left the restaurant.

Stepping onto the street, the sense of oppression became even more tangible. The streets were wide, the buildings almost rigidly orderly, and huge flags hung at intervals. Most pedestrians hurried along, their expressions indifferent and weary, rarely exchanging words. Groups of members of the Youth League in uniform walked by, singing military songs, their eyes haughty.

The loudspeakers on the street corner broadcast production targets or slogans from time to time. An invisible, suffocating sense of order enveloped everything.

Based on information gleaned from the police captain's memories, Ian knew that he needed to travel to Lin City—the heart of the empire, now the largest city in the world.

He couldn't Apparate directly because he had never been to Lin City in this world, was unsure of the specifics of his destination, and the risk was too great. Furthermore, the magical environment of this world was extremely thin and unstable; his flying broom or magic carpet could easily trigger unpredictable magical disturbances.

They might just throw him off the sky.

Therefore.

Even as a legendary wizard, Ian could only travel in the "Muggle" vehicles of this world. After making inquiries, he arrived at the city's transportation hub.

There was no familiar train station here; instead, there was a huge, domed "airship hub." The station was bustling with people, but unusually quiet, with only a cold female voice announcing flight information over the loudspeakers.

"That's outrageous technology."

Ian looked up and saw the wonder of this world—huge, spindle-shaped airships hovering beside tall berths, their gasbags painted with Iron Crosses and swastikas. They didn't resemble airplanes; rather, they looked more like the airships of Qilin City in his memory, but much larger, and their technical details seemed more…bizarre. Smaller, bus-like balloons crisscrossed the lower airspace.

"In terms of civilian aviation, they actually rely mainly on this thing?" Ian clicked his tongue in amazement. This world's technology tree was indeed quite skewed. Airplanes seemed to be mainly used for military purposes, while long-distance civilian transportation was monopolized by these more fuel-efficient airships. He had heard that the president of this universe actually had a flying saucer as his presidential vehicle.

“Balloon ships are slow and have fixed routes, making them easier to control.” Ian thought this might be part of a high-pressure society, and he queued to buy a ticket. The line was long, and everyone waited in silence, no one talking. The announcement played on a loop: “Please do not bring prohibited items, cooperate with security checks, and maintain imperial order.”

When it was Ian's turn, he purchased a third-class ticket using a forged identity. The ticket inspector scanned his documents and suitcase, and after confirming everything was correct, he was allowed to pass.

After boarding, the cabin was simply furnished but clean.

The seats are made of hard plastic and are narrowly spaced. Passengers, dressed in uniform work clothes or overalls, sit expressionless, like pre-programmed robots.

The air was thick with the smell of engine oil and a strange, ether-like odor. Ian sat by the window. The spaceship slowly rose into the air, the balloon inflated, and the cabin lifted off the ground.

"That's quite unusual."

During the long flight, Ian looked down through the porthole.

The land is divided into neat squares, with clear boundaries between farmland, factories, and residential areas, exuding a cold efficiency. Natural, chaotic scenes are almost nowhere to be seen.

Those square buildings, like giant beehives, were orderly but lifeless.

During the flight, the announcement came on again:
"Dear passenger, you are aboard Imperial Sky Transport Bureau Flight 734, bound for the capital city of Lin City. The journey is estimated to take 4 hours. Please observe the following regulations:"

1. Discussions of politics, religion, and the history of the old era are prohibited;
2. Taking photos of the view outside the window is prohibited;
3. If you discover any suspicious behavior, please report it to the flight attendant immediately.

Thank you for your contributions to the Imperial Order.

Ian sneered.

Even taking a spaceship is subject to comprehensive surveillance.

such a world.

The people seem to have an even stronger will than the Americans.

They can endure a lot.

He pretended to close his eyes and rest, but actually used magic to sense his surroundings. He discovered that the entire spaceship was enveloped by a faint energy field—not magic, but an anti-magical interference wave capable of suppressing the activation of any form of supernatural power. No wonder there wasn't a single wizard left in this world.

Once discovered.

It means to be eradicated.

During the flight, a flight attendant pushed a food cart towards us. She was wearing a crisp uniform, and her smile was as perfect as if it had been molded.

"Sir, would you like some 'nutritional supplements'? They're specially made by the Empire to boost your physique and prevent viruses." She handed over a vial of blue liquid, making her sales pitch.

“No, thank you.” Ian shook his head in refusal. He dared not drink this “supplement” of unknown origin; it might be poison laced with mind-control drugs.

As a potion master.

He could already smell something was wrong inside.

outside the window.

A formation of several larger military airships swept past, their hulls armed with turrets and missiles, patrolling the border. In the distance, a massive energy barrier stretched across the sky, like a transparent wall, enveloping the entire country—the ultimate defense system of "Project Iron Curtain," capable of defending against both external enemies and internal escapes.

Four hours later, the spacecraft began its descent.

Ian finally saw Lin City through the clouds.

The sight of this imperial capital took his breath away.

It doesn't resemble a city; it's more like a giant mechanical fortress.

At the center stands a thousand-meter-tall black spire, shaped like a gesture of malevolent imperial salute, with a massive crystal sphere suspended atop it, emitting an eerie blue light—the "Presidential Eye," said to be a super-device integrating surveillance, communication, and energy. Most awe-inspiringly, several aerial fortresses hover above the city.

They resemble inverted mountain ranges, with cables and pipes hanging from their bases, connecting them to the ground. The fortresses are covered with gun emplacements and radar, clearly serving as mobile military command centers.

"This is it?" Ian murmured. For a moment, Ian even had the feeling that he had traveled through time.

This is a game that very few people have played.

(End of this chapter)