Hogwarts Raven

Chapter 418, Section 417: A Love's Last Words

Hearing the old man's words.

Ian gasped. A major taboo in time travel is bringing back items from a timeline that doesn't belong to your own! This could trigger unpredictable causal chaos!
Well known.

There are many taboos surrounding time travel.

First, one must not interfere with or alter known major historical events, as this could lead to a collapse of the timeline or a reconstruction of reality. Second, one must not encounter one's past self—an encounter between the past and future "self" could trigger mental breakdown, energy conflicts, or time paradoxes.

You cannot travel back to the same point in time repeatedly, you cannot save the dead, you cannot create a closed time loop, you cannot peek into or change your own destiny—and bringing future technology, weapons, or knowledge back to the past may lead to technological explosions, power imbalances, or historical distortions, and you cannot bring things from the past into the future.

These are all taboo rules for time travel, truths recognized by many alchemists. However, the old man in front of him has clearly not only violated a few taboos.

It's not just about bringing back things.

There are also multiple instances of time travel within the same period, as well as interactions with his past wife, and all of her efforts ultimately aim to fulfill that eternal taboo.

One cannot save the dead.

If all other taboos have already been challenged, frankly, it's hard to say whether this taboo will be challenged and completed; it is also a goal pursued by Albus Dumbledore.

"But one of the taboos of time travel is that you can't bring back items that don't belong to this time and space! How did you manage to do that?" Ian pressed.

This involves the deepest realm of time magic.

For the first time, a hint of technical pride flashed in Musa's eyes, though this pride was quickly overshadowed by a greater sense of loss.

“You’re right, the ‘effect’ of time cannot be completely avoided. My technology is not perfect, and I can’t truly bring things from fifty years ago ‘intact’ to fifty years later. Any item I bring back, no matter how ‘fresh’ it was at the point in time I traveled back to, will have the effects of time’s passage instantly superimposed once it successfully crosses the time barrier and arrives in the ‘present’.”

"In other words, a bottle of vodka produced fifty years ago, if I bring it back, will immediately become a bottle of spirit that has been aged for fifty years. The cans will rust, the food will spoil. They will show the marks of time that they 'should' have. My technology only 'deceives' time and space to a certain extent and completes the transfer of matter."

He paused, his tone growing even lower: "I did have selfish motives. I fantasized about whether, if the technology were advanced enough, I could... bring my wife and children back. But it turns out that it's almost impossible. Once they're forcibly taken from their point in time and brought to the present, what kind of impact will the rules of time have on them? Will they age by decades instantly, or turn to dust? I... dare not take that risk, and I can't do it."

obviously.

The old man also had thoughts about taking away his wife and son from the past before they went to that place. When a person is in despair for too long, they might try anything.

but.

He hasn't gone completely mad yet; he still maintains the caution and rationality expected of a wizard.

Although the other party looked annoyed, Ian was thrilled. Despite Musa's own belief that the technology was immature and flawed, to Ian it was an achievement bordering on divine! Being able to perform relatively stable time travel, and even bring matter back, far exceeded the scope of ordinary alchemy!
Through the ages.

Similar abilities have only ever appeared in him, the reincarnation of a raven. This is a forbidden zone for gods, a realm that mortals cannot easily tread.

of course.

Ian wasn't offended by this. He wasn't a petty person, and he always knew that knowledge shouldn't be monopolized. He was genuinely surprised that someone had been able to develop such a method.

“This…this is already incredibly amazing, Mr. Musa!” Ian didn’t hold back in expressing his feelings, exclaiming from the bottom of his heart, “You are almost single-handedly challenging the laws of time in your own way! This is simply a miracle in the history of alchemy!”

Musa looked at the undisguised admiration on Ian's face and could only smile bitterly, a smile filled with endless loneliness and emptiness. He slowly shook his head, his gaze returning to the pot of stew that was still bubbling, as if looking through the rising steam towards a more distant and unreachable place.

From the moment Ian came in.

It was all stewed in the small courtyard.

Perhaps it wasn't just simmered for a day or two.

"No matter how powerful they are... so what?"

His voice was as soft as a sigh, yet it struck Ian's heart with a heavy blow.

“I glimpsed a corner of the river of time, I touched fragments of the rules, and I could even use them to make a fortune and make the wine ferment more fragrant... but I still couldn’t save my lover and child. I didn’t even know what they had gone through, whether they had felt hunger and cold in the darkness beneath that icy plain.”

Silence fell once more in the farmhouse courtyard. The aroma of stewed meat was still rich, but it could no longer bring any warmth. All the skills, all the wisdom, all the perseverance seemed so pale and powerless in the face of the cold, unchangeable past, in the eternal regret of losing a loved one.

Ian looked at the old man's hunched back. That back did not carry the halo of a time alchemist who had created miracles, but the eternal regret of a husband and father who had lost his family and searched alone for decades in the endless corridors of time, yet could not find even a trace of the truth.

That pot of carefully prepared stew, which I will never eat, seems to be the most melancholic footnote to this regret.

Ian remained silent for a long time.

The evening breeze swept through the fields, carrying the faint fragrance of unknown flowers from afar, which mingled with the aroma of meat still rising from the earthenware pot, yet it could not dispel the heavy, almost stagnant air that permeated the space between the two.

He looked at the old man before him, the culinary alchemist who had poured his life's blood, endless regrets, and a sliver of hope into the mysteries of time and a stove.

That unfathomable sorrow is not a surging wave, but rather a quiet, omnipresent undertone, like the soil in this courtyard, permeating every moment.

Ian understood.

All of Musa’s research, all his attempts, and even now, as he sits here, revealing his deepest pain to this “outsider,” are not for the sake of that seemingly impossible “salvation.”

Time had taught him that some losses, once they occur, are like spilled water—impossible to recover even with the power of time. What he sought was no longer a miracle to reverse cause and effect, but an answer. An answer that could bring peace to his soul, an answer that could put an end to this long and painful quest… the truth. Ian took a deep breath, breaking the silence. His voice was clear and steady in the twilight: “So, Mr. Musa, what you need me to do is not to help you save them… but to go into that place for you, find out the truth behind their disappearance, and give you an answer. Is that right?”

Upon hearing this pointed question, Musa finally nodded slowly and solemnly. The deep pain in his cloudy eyes seemed to have subsided.

Instead, there was an almost calm resolve, and a sense of relief at being entrusted with a heavy responsibility.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” His voice no longer trembled, though it was still old, it carried a clarity that came after the dust had settled. “I know my own body. My lifespan… is running out. I am no longer fixated on the impossible, so please give me a clear answer.”

Musa leaned forward slightly, his withered hand gently pressing on the rough wooden table, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. "You, a wizard who, in this age of declining magic, can still step into the realm of 'legend' through your own power... your strength, your insight, may be the only key to unlocking the secrets of that place."

"The obstacle that I have been unable to overcome in my life may not be a dead end for you. I believe that if you are willing, you will be able to penetrate that chaotic space and find the clue that I have been searching for for hundreds of years without success." This is a formal request, and the most solemn and final entrustment that a desperate old man can make as the candle of his life flickers and is about to go out.

Ian met his gaze but did not answer immediately. He could feel the weight of this commission; it was not just an adventure, but also carried the decades-long obsession and final expectation of a soul.

"Let me think about it."

He pondered the unfinished business on the African continent, and after a moment, Ian nodded, his tone calm and firm: "I understand, Mr. Musa. I accept this commission."

Seeing the gleam in the old man's eyes, he added, "However, I still have some things to take care of that I agreed to do here in Africa."

"Once I've finished these things, I'll immediately head to the coordinates you mentioned." Ian gave a heads-up, as he genuinely didn't know how much longer the other person would live.

Every wizard has their own methods for prolonging life.

Upon hearing this, Musa's face showed a relieved expression, and he nodded quickly: "Of course, of course! Sir, I am already very grateful that you agreed. I am not in a hurry... after all, I am not going to die tomorrow."

The old man tried to lighten his tone, but it only revealed a sense of helpless desolation. "This old man probably has a few more years to wait. I've endured all these years of lonely waiting, so what's one more?"

His words carried a calm acceptance of life and death, yet also implied a definite understanding of the end of life.

Ian looked at him and solemnly promised, "It won't take more than a few years. It could be as short as a few days or as long as a few months. I'll set off as soon as I've finished dealing with the urgent matters at hand."

“I will bring you news as soon as possible.” To Ian’s surprise, Musa did not propose signing any magical contract or written agreement to bind the commission. In the wizarding world, especially when it involves such an important and potentially dangerous exploration, a magically effective contract is a common safeguard.

However, Musa's next move was completely beyond Ian's expectations.

The old man stood up shakily and went inside. After a while, he came out carrying a thick stack of notebooks. The notebooks were of different styles; some had hardcovers that were worn so badly that the writing was illegible, while others were just ordinary paper books bound with rough hemp thread, their pages curled and tinged with varying shades of yellowish-brown.

They were piled together, exuding a mixture of old paper, dried ink, and a faint herbal scent.

Musa carefully placed the notes on the table in front of Ian with a dull thud. He gently patted the stack of books that contained countless hours of hard work, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable force: "Your Majesty, these... are all I have learned in my life."

"And here are my sketches of all the known areas of the internal structure of that former Soviet underground project, as well as my speculations about its spatial anomalies."

"Now they are all yours."

The old man actually gave the payment upfront.

Ian was completely stunned. He looked at the stack of priceless notes in front of him, then looked up at Musa, who had a calm expression, and was speechless for a moment.

This reward... no, it can no longer be called a reward; it is the culmination of a researcher's lifetime of wisdom!

“Mr. Musa…you…” Ian was unusually moved and couldn’t help but remind him, “You’re handing all this over to me now? Without even signing any contract? Aren’t you afraid…I’ll take this and then run away, not keeping my promise?”

This is simply illogical. Such invaluable knowledge, paid for in advance so casually? What kind of trust does this require, or rather, what kind of... desperate gamble?
Musa, seeing the genuine astonishment on Ian's face, instead offered a faint, detached smile. He shook his head, his gaze deep.
"Fear? Of course I've been afraid. But, sir, I choose to believe. I believe that a powerful person who, in the age of the end of magic, can achieve a legendary status without relying on bloodline or external things, solely through his own understanding and perseverance of magic, possesses a character and pride that are far beyond the reach of treacherous villains."

“Your promise is more trustworthy than any magical contract.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over the stack of notes, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes, but ultimately turning into relief: “Besides… even if, I mean, in the unlikely event, you really do ‘run away,’ so what? This knowledge, left here with me, will eventually turn to dust with my death, or be burned as waste paper by some ignorant descendant.”

“I entrust them to you, a living legend, and perhaps they will shine in your hands with a brilliance I could never have imagined. At least… I have given everything I could in seeking the answers. I… did my best.” As he finished speaking, his voice gradually lowered, and a trace of undisguised weariness appeared on his face.

It wasn't just physical exhaustion, but also immense mental depletion after years of fruitless pursuit. Entrusting his life's work to someone else seemed to have also drained a part of his strength.

Ian looked into the old man's eyes and felt a deep sense of awe, a mixture of trust, entrustment, weariness, and a hint of relief. He stood up, offering no further grand promises, but instead bowed slightly to Musa, solemnly indicating that he would certainly solve the mystery for him.

About your own strength.

Ian has always been very confident.

This wasn't the first time he had created a secret realm.

Musa nodded, seemingly saving the energy to speak, expressing his gratitude and trust only with his eyes.

Seeing the old man's growing weariness, almost to the point of leaning against the table, Ian knew it was time to take his leave. He carefully put the heavy stack of notes into his magical bag—the bag's surface flashed with light, and the vast treasure trove of knowledge was incorporated into its expanded internal space.

these things.

It is truly far more precious than potion ingredients.

They may be the final masterpieces of wizarding wisdom, which would have been lost to the river of time if Ian hadn't come, and contain a story about "love".

(End of this chapter)