Hogwarts Raven

Chapter 427, Section 426: Mysterious Ancient Spirit

Does this person seem to have no bad intentions?
He looks much more benign than other heinous criminals.

"Are you using a magical method of spying to replace the function of the eyeballs?" Ian could sense an extremely subtle and exquisite mental energy fluctuation emanating from the blind man, like an invisible sonar, constructing the outline of the surrounding environment and simulating some kind of unique "vision".

"Yes."

The other party understood and readily admitted it. Being able to use magic in prison was indeed quite an achievement, considering the prison's magic-suppressing mechanisms.

Just like the pirates in One Piece who ate Devil Fruits and were handcuffed with Seastone by the Navy, wizards also have their own Seastone. At least in Africa, similar materials are relatively abundant and have been mined to pave the floors of the prisons where these criminals are imprisoned.

For Ian.

This suppressive force is of course useless, but for most ordinary wizards, it means they are powerless to resist. Those who can still use some magic under such circumstances are naturally not simple.

Ian became interested in the blind man.

"what's the situation?"

Ian didn't immediately respond to the other person's words, but instead asked a question in return. His intuition told him that this prisoner, held so deep inside, was definitely not simple. The other person didn't exude any viciousness; instead, there was a calmness that came from years of experience and wisdom, and something... that was deeply hidden.

A sense of power, like that of a dormant volcano. The blind man "looked" at Ian, a barely perceptible curve appearing at the corner of his mouth, like a smile, or perhaps some kind of self-mockery.

“The ‘neighbors’ downstairs aren’t very friendly. And… the ‘guard’ has changed.” As he spoke, he touched his eye sockets as if he had some story to tell.

This person's words were still concise, but contained a great deal of information.

"Not very friendly" is understandable; the deeper prisoners are naturally more dangerous. But what does "the guards have changed" mean? Weren't the Dementors the only guards?

Ian narrowed his eyes slightly, his mental energy acting like the finest probe, beginning to scan the deeper areas below more carefully. Previously, his attention had been primarily focused on finding Newt and evading defenses, without consciously trying to perceive the deeper layers. Now, prompted by the blind man, he concentrated.

Sure enough, a few dozen meters deeper below, he sensed energy fluctuations completely different from those of the Dementors. It was a more... primal, violent, wild, and chaotic magical reaction. They were like living, writhing darkness, exuding a nauseating stench and a greedy thirst for flesh and soul.

They were few in number, but each one posed a strong threat.

“What is that?” Ian asked directly. He could sense that the blind man seemed to know something and was intentionally trying to remind him.

The blind man remained silent for a moment, his empty eye sockets still "staring" at Ian, as if assessing something. After a while, he slowly spoke, his voice lower: "The tribe's 'ancient spirit'... or rather, something that was worshipped by various tribes, and later 'deposited' or 'exiled' here because it was too dangerous or difficult to control."

"They're more troublesome than Dementors." This involves things that are unknown to people in Europe, and this blind man doesn't know why he knows so much about them.

"Gu Ling, huh?"

Ian understood instantly. The African magical world differs from Europe; it preserves more ancient tribal traditions and beliefs. The so-called "ancient spirits" are likely totem spirits or natural essences worshipped by primitive tribes, or powerful magical entities born from the absorption of faith and magic over long periods of time.

They come in all shapes and sizes and have all sorts of abilities, but they have in common that they often possess extremely high intelligence and great strength, while also being accompanied by unpredictable dangers.

Such practices existed in Europe in the early days, but as Europeans developed, became arrogant and inflated, totem worship gradually faded away.

Naturally, there would be no fertile ground for the spirits of nature to live in.

but.

In Africa, primitive worship is even more prevalent than in India, and there are still many uncivilized tribes, so even today there are tribes that associate themselves with the spirits of nature.

Of course, Gu Ling is definitely different.

They are stronger.

The African Ministry of Magic may have imprisoned these "Ancient Spirits" here partly to control risks, and partly... perhaps it's also a unique way of utilizing these "resources"? For example.

Using them to guard the most dangerous prisoners? However, it's true that the Gulings are very easy to lose control of; even the European Azkaban didn't dare to use them, so I don't know why they dare to use them in Africa.

"Actually, if you think about it, this group of people dares to let outsiders into the Ministry of Magic. They are so corrupt that it's not impossible that they've lost their minds and done some audacious things."

"Who knows if it was some leader who slammed their fist on the table, had a sudden inspiration, and acted without considering the consequences," Ian thought to himself.

He remained outwardly calm and composed.

"Why are you telling me this?" Ian looked at the blind man. "We're complete strangers."

The blind man tilted his head slightly, his empty eye sockets seemingly gazing at the unseen dome above. His tone carried a calm indifference that seemed to understand the ways of the world: "To be able to command Dementors as servants, to make them willingly lead you this far... you have the favor of 'death' and the aura of 'the other shore' on you."

He has a considerable amount of knowledge.

They actually discovered things that even wizards couldn't see.

Ian was somewhat surprised.

The person continued speaking.

“You’re not from the Ministry of Magic, and your purpose is far from ordinary. I just don’t want to see… those ‘old friends’ who have finally calmed down riot again because of your intrusion. That wouldn’t be good for us prisoners who just want some peace and quiet.”

His explanation was reasonable, but Ian felt that wasn't the whole story. There was an air of mystery about the blind man, and his warning might have been tinged with more complex intentions.

"So, Newt Scamander, the wizard who studies magical creatures, which level is he locked up on? In the area guarded by those 'Ancient Spirits' below?" Ian asked the crucial question directly.

The blind man nodded, a gesture that seemed somewhat eerie on his part: "Yes, the bottom three floors. He's being held in solitary confinement in the 'Silent Chamber,' a place specifically for... well, rather 'special' prisoners. It's said that some kind of 'small animal' he was carrying disturbed a long-dormant big shot."

Special prisoner? Has this alarmed a powerful figure? Ian's doubts deepened. What magical creatures did Newt bring to Africa that could cause such a huge problem? Even requiring the use of imprisoned "Animals" to guard them? This wasn't just a simple case of persecution? Ian was momentarily taken aback.

"Has it truly touched some taboo...?"

Ian seemed to be deep in thought.

A moment later. "Thank you for letting me know."

Ian nodded to the blind man, acknowledging the favor. Regardless of the man's motives, this information saved him a lot of trouble and prepared him for what was to come. The blind man fell silent, lowered his head again, and resumed his cross-legged sitting posture, as if the entire conversation had never happened.

Ian took a deep breath, his gaze once again fixed on the bottomless, dark tunnel below. It seemed this final stretch wouldn't be as "peaceful" as before. He glanced at the Dementors still awaiting orders beside him and waved.

"Keep leading the way."

[A moment later...] The spirit of loyalty responded once again.

"No, I didn't ask how much longer it would take." Helpless, Ian couldn't help but slap his forehead. He knew that Dementors had limited language, but he didn't expect it to be this limited.

Ian didn't continue complaining this time; his eyes just sharpened.

He adjusted his state, conserving his magic to its limit while maintaining intense mental focus, like a beast about to enter its hunting grounds. He wanted to see just who these so-called "tribal spirits" were and what kind of "surprise" they could bring him.

Why was Newt Scamander, the magizoologist who loved life above all else, imprisoned in such a dark, primitive, and dangerous place?

"Charge! Brave Ian! Fearless!"

Ian bid farewell to the mysterious blind prisoner and continued deeper down the spiraling stone steps. After passing the level where the blind man had stood, the environment changed noticeably.

It's like they've changed contractors to do the project here.

The original rough, moss-covered, and water-stained rock walls were gradually replaced by neatly cut, polished black stone, resembling some kind of dense basalt. The passageway became wider, but these changes were accompanied by increasingly dim light, with only a few magic lamps emitting a cold, eerie blue glow.

Instead of dispelling the darkness, it made the surroundings appear even more eerie.

The cells on either side were no longer densely packed iron cages, but had been replaced by individual, heavy, and sturdy metal doors, inscribed with more complex, ominous red imprisonment runes. Each door was like an isolated fortress, separating the inside from the outside.

The air was almost stagnant, icy cold, and even the flow of magic here became viscous and sluggish, as if suppressed by an invisible force. Those imprisoned here were clearly serious criminals, beings that even the African Ministry of Magic had to keep a close watch on, and might even fear.

Ian could sense various unsettling auras emanating from behind these tightly closed doors—some like ancient ice, radiating a chilling cold that could freeze the soul; others like boiling magma, filled with destructive fury; and still others like a void, as if even existence itself had been erased.

There were no roars, no curses, only a deathly silence, but beneath this silence lay a terror powerful enough to drive an ordinary wizard mad.

of course.

Ian is different.

He was surprised by the strength of those who were imprisoned.

however.

"Those who are not legends are nothing but ants." Ian possessed the confidence of a legendary wizard, and he could sense that no matter what kind of people or things were imprisoned in those cells.

None of those things touched the realm of legend.

He is not much of a threat.

In fact, Ian didn't feel much of the oppressive feeling emanating from the Ancient Spirits. As he continued downwards, approaching the area guarded by the "Ancient Spirits" mentioned by the blind man, the Dementors who had been silently following him like his most loyal servants began to behave strangely.

It was clear that it had sensed a deeper, ancient spirit.

Their already indistinct, tattered bodies began to tremble slightly, their drifting speed noticeably slowed, and they even started to huddle together, as if seeking some kind of security. The cold, desperate aura they exuded was mixed with an unprecedented emotion—fear.

Yes, fear.

These magical creatures, which feed on pleasure and hope and are considered nightmares by most wizards, are now filled with fear. Their empty hoods constantly turn towards the deeper darkness below, and their mental fluctuations convey a strong sense of unease and retreat.

Finally, after rounding another bend, when an even larger, arched portal, seemingly leading to the gates of hell, appeared ahead, the Dementors came to a complete halt. They hovered in place, trembling, refusing to advance an inch further. Their mental fluctuations chaotically transmitted fragmented messages such as "Danger...Ancient...Devour..."

Ian stopped and looked back at the Dementors huddled together, almost shrinking into the shadows of the wall, and couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Tsk, you chickened out already?" His tone was full of undisguised contempt. "You call yourselves 'elites' who came out of the Dreamlike Realm, and this is all the courage you have? Those below are just some country bumpkins 'ancient spirits' that were raised and abandoned by the tribe, and they scared you like this? You've really disgraced your 'masters'!"

He grumbled and cursed, his tone conveying a sense of disappointment and frustration. However, he didn't force the Dementors to continue following. Their instinctive fear had already overwhelmed their obedience to the "Raven Lord's" aura; forcing them to continue would likely lead to their mental breakdown.

It might even alert what's below, causing a commotion.

"Alright, alright, you useless things, just wait here." Ian waved his hand impatiently. "If I come back up after I've finished my business and find you've run away... humph."

That final snort, carrying a chilling threat, made the Dementors tremble even more violently, but they still dared not cross the line, only desperately shrinking themselves smaller, indicating that they absolutely dared not run away.

Ian ignored the cowardly servants, turned around, and stepped alone into the huge arched portico.

Beyond the porch was not the larger prison space one might expect, but rather a relatively short, downward-sloping passageway. At the end of the passageway was a door.

A door so huge it defies imagination.

The door appears to be cast from a single piece of some dark, neither-metal nor-wood material, and is nearly ten meters high and wide enough for a carriage to pass through easily.

"Ok?"

Ian was stunned.

He felt that the design of this door was somewhat similar to the bronze door that had led him to begin his wandering through time.

However, it's become quite small.

The inscriptions on them are also different.

(End of this chapter)