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The rune on the massive gate flashed briefly.
The look in Ian's eyes sharpened. For the moment, he suppressed the pity and curiosity rising within him. The most urgent task was to find Newt and uncover the truth. Taking a deep breath, he raised his wand once more, preparing to cast a large-scale, non-lethal restraining spell. His plan was to temporarily subdue the three Ancient Spirits that had fallen into a state of agonized frenzy before deciding what to do next.
However, the instant his magic power began to gather…
Boom...
A dull, immensely heavy tremor suddenly surged up from beneath his feet, and it felt as though it had originated from the very depths of the earth itself. It carried an indescribable sense of ancientness and majesty as it spread throughout the entire deep prison.
The Sandstorm Ancient Spirit, the Swamp Worm, and even the black sludge that continuously generated illusions all froze in place, and their attacks came to an abrupt halt.
The chaotic and violent auras surrounding them seemed to be suppressed by an invisible hand, instantly shrinking back. Their enormous bodies even began trembling slightly. Yet this trembling contained something far greater than the fear they had shown toward Ian…
It was terror.
Even Ian felt his heart skip a beat.
An indescribably oppressive pressure appeared out of nowhere, enveloping the entire area. He abruptly turned his head, his gaze as sharp as a blade as he stared fixedly at the gigantic gate.
The tremor...
It seemed to have come from behind it.
Could the "important figure" the blind man had mentioned...
Have awakened?
That deep, earth-shaking rumble was like the beating of an ancient war drum. It not only caused the three Ancient Spirits to freeze in terror, but also sent a chill through Ian's heart. The being behind the gate possessed such an overwhelming presence that merely showing signs of awakening was enough for even Ian to sense it.
"What's going on?"
Yet this sudden change did not interrupt Ian's desire to investigate. Instead, it convinced him even more that the twisted state of these Ancient Spirits was inseparably connected to the mysterious "important figure" behind the gate.
After the tremor subsided, the three Ancient Spirits seemed to have their final traces of savagery awakened, or perhaps the terror buried deep within their bones forced them into a more extreme response.
No longer fighting independently, they began attacking Ian in a coordinated yet grotesque manner, as though controlled by invisible strings.
The Sandstorm Ancient Spirit no longer merely summoned blades of sand.
At its core, the crimson eye of the storm suddenly blazed with light. Countless grains of sand and scattered bones began rotating and assembling along mysterious trajectories, gradually forming the phantom of a gigantic and ferocious skeletal head.
The skull opened its hollow jaws and unleashed a silent roar aimed directly at the soul.
A powerful force that targeted the very origin of life descended upon Ian.
He could sense it clearly.
Even as a Legendary Wizard, he would be affected by this power to some extent.
"A variant of the Killing Curse? No... It's more like a primitive life-draining curse!"
Ian's expression hardened.
His wand moved rapidly, drawing complex patterns through the air.
"Protego, Counterspell Reinforcement!"
A much thicker shield of light instantly formed before him, its surface covered in ancient defensive runes.
It not only blocked physical attacks but also greatly weakened the invisible life-draining force. Even so, the shield trembled violently under the impact of the skeletal phantom, emitting a strained buzzing sound as if it were reaching its limits.
At the same time, the enormous body of the Swamp Worm Ancient Spirit arched upward before launching forward like a spring. Its horrifying mouthpart, covered in suction cups bearing agonized human faces, expanded to its maximum extent.
This time, it did not merely generate suction.
Instead, it spewed forth a stream of dark breath, thick, foul-smelling, and imbued with powerful corrosive and soul-binding properties.
Wherever the breath passed, even the air became contaminated, producing sizzling sounds.
The surrounding space itself seemed to grow sticky and sluggish.
"Aguamenti, Fountain Wall!"
"Glacius, Absolute Zero Domain!"
Pointing his wand at the ground, Ian summoned an enormous wall of water that surged upward like a giant fountain, blocking the incoming dark breath.
In the next instant, an extreme freezing charm transformed the water into a massive crystalline ice barrier that radiated bone-chilling cold.
The dark breath slammed into the ice wall.
Corrosive darkness and freezing magic clashed violently.
The ice barrier melted rapidly, yet fresh streams of water continuously replenished it and froze once more.
Deafening explosions echoed throughout the corridor.
Large quantities of foul-smelling icy mist spread in every direction.
But the most dangerous threat remained the Black Mire Ghoul.
The creature seemed to have become even more excited because of the awakening of the existence behind the gate.
It was no longer satisfied with creating illusions.
Its boiling sludge-like body began expanding violently, spreading outward like a black tide, attempting to engulf both Ian and the entire passageway.
Within the mire, the twisted illusions became increasingly realistic,
More vivid.
More impactful.
They even began interfering with reality itself.
The ground beneath Ian's feet would suddenly turn soft like quicksand.
At other moments, thorn-covered vines would emerge from nowhere and coil toward him.
And sometimes the surrounding walls seemed to come alive, extending gigantic stone hands that reached out to seize him.
"Finite Incantatem!"
Ian moved like a perfectly calibrated magical machine, his wand leaving afterimages in the air. He continuously cast the Termination Charm and Repairing Charm to counteract the Mire Ancient Spirit's distortions of reality. At the same time, he used the Reductor Curse to shatter the stone hands reaching for him and the thorny vines attempting to bind him.
Meanwhile, he pushed his Occlumency to its absolute limit. His mental defenses stood as solid as bedrock, blocking every trace of mental pollution and illusion that tried to invade his consciousness.
To be fair, facing three entirely different types of attacks simultaneously, each of them extraordinarily powerful, was by no means easy, even for him.
Though neither was it truly overwhelming.
Yet it was precisely during this high-intensity battle that Ian's perception reached its absolute peak.
His mental force functioned like the most sophisticated radar imaginable, penetrating the violent energy shells surrounding the Ancient Spirits and probing deep into the core essence of their power.
And then he saw more clearly than ever before.
Within the core of the Sandstorm Ancient Spirit, inside the skeletal phantom formed from resentment and curses, he sensed an incredibly faint presence.
Like a stubborn green plant surviving in the middle of a vast desert.
It was the rhythm that rightfully belonged to the endless sea of sand itself, the cadence of the Spirit of Sand, carrying scorching heat and profound loneliness, yet also containing the miracle of life.
But now, that rhythm had been completely buried beneath endless thirst, beneath the resentment of countless bones interred under the dunes, and beneath a forcibly imposed will of plunder and deprivation.
Deep within the Swamp Worm Ancient Spirit's corrosive and agonized dark breath, Ian captured a nearly extinguished fluctuation.
It belonged to the Spirit of the Marsh, the unique essence of muddy wetlands, a force that nurtured hidden vitality and embodied the endless cycle of life and renewal.
It should have been a guardian of decomposition and rebirth, a caretaker of all living things.
Yet now it had become a twisted monster that knew only how to devour, imprison, and spread suffering.
Its agony came not only from the souls it had consumed.
It also came from the tragedy of having its own nature forcibly twisted and reduced to nothing more than a tool of consumption.
The Black Mire Ghoul was even more complicated.
Within its boiling sludge filled with mental contamination, Ian vaguely touched upon a fragmented core representing the domains of dreams and the subconscious mind.
It should have been a Spirit of Nature that connected the dreams of living beings and reflected the truths hidden within their hearts, a mystical and ethereal existence cloaked in mystery.
Instead, it had become a source of corruption that freely wove nightmares, distorted reality, and spread madness.
Its frenzy stemmed from the tearing apart of its dreamlike essence, from being forcibly filled with countless fragments of negative emotions and fear.
"As expected... So that's the truth!"
Ian was deeply shaken.
His earlier suspicions had now been completely confirmed.
These three powerful Ancient Spirits were originally Spirits of Nature that represented the desert, the swamp, and the realm of dreams across the African continent.
They were once part of the world's natural laws.
Symbols of balance and harmony.
Some powerful and malicious external force had forcibly polluted, twisted, and enslaved them.
Their peaceful nature had been stripped away.
Their core powers had been forcibly fused with the accumulated negative energies of this land.
That was how these distorted beings had been created, creatures filled with pain and hatred, capable only of carrying out the commands to guard and devour.
The "important figure" behind the gate was very likely the mastermind behind this corruption.
Or perhaps the key that maintained it.
Thinking of this, Ian's gaze toward the three frenzied Ancient Spirits changed.
The desire to fight gradually faded from his eyes, replaced by a complicated mixture of emotions.
They were terrifying enemies.
But they were also pitiable victims.
Battling them felt as though he were fighting against three souls of the land itself, souls that had been defiled and tortured.
"What a miraculous form of life."
Even amidst the fierce exchange of attacks and defenses, Ian's breathing maintained a strange and steady rhythm.
Sweat soaked the hair at his temples. Yet his deep eyes grew increasingly brilliant, like the sharpest stars in the night sky.
The siege of the three Ancient Spirits did not force him backward.
Instead, it became the perfect catalyst for understanding their true nature.
Every block.
Every dodge.
Every counterattack.
None of them were merely collisions of magical power. They were also the ultimate extension of his mental force and perception.
The skeletal phantom formed by the Sandstorm Ancient Spirit charged at him once more.
This time, however, it was not merely draining life force. Two dark-red beams suddenly shot forth from its hollow eye sockets and they carried the power of decay and corruption at the level of fundamental laws.
Wherever they passed, even Ian's enhanced Armor Charm began rapidly losing its luster, as though it had endured a thousand years of weathering and erosion in an instant.
"Corrosion on the level of natural laws?!"
Ian was startled.
This was far beyond the capabilities of ordinary dark magic.
He no longer dared to rely on the Armor Charm to withstand the attack directly.
His figure retreated like a phantom, moving backward at incredible speed.
At the same time, his wand traced a silver rune filled with profound and mysterious power before him,
The power of temporal slowing began to emerge.
This was not an offensive spell, but rather a rudimentary application of the Law of Time, born from Ian's initial understanding of Musa's notes.
The moment the silver rune came into contact with the dark-red beam, the beam's speed visibly slowed ever so slightly. It was far from enough to stop it completely, but it bought Ian a precious instant.
And within that instant, Ian's mental force became like the finest of probes. Following the energy trajectory of the dark-red beam in reverse, it forcefully pierced into the core of the Sandstorm Ancient Spirit.
Boom…!
Ian's consciousness seemed to enter an endless desert.
What he saw was no longer the raging sandstorms and scattered skeletons visible in the outside world, but a deeper symbolic reality.
He "saw" a boundless golden sea of sand baking beneath the blazing sun.
He "felt" its solitude, vast enough to embrace all things, yet coldly indifferent.
He "heard" the grains of sand singing an ancient and desolate song upon the wind.
He even "touched" the faint pulse of life deep within the desert, plants surviving stubbornly on the smallest traces of moisture.
This...
This was what the Spirit of the Desert should have been.
Majestic.
Lonely.
Yet filled with the resilience and miracle of life.
But that peaceful vision was instantly torn apart.
Countless twisted soul fragments, overflowing with pain and hatred, surged from the depths of the desert like black pus.
They were the wailing souls abandoned within the sands.
The curses of tribesmen whose homes and lives had been stolen.
At the same time, an even more powerful, and infinitely more tyrannical, will branded itself onto the core of the desert spirit like a red-hot iron.
That will was filled with commands:
Devour.
Plunder.
Guard.
It forcibly distorted the spirit's natural rhythm.
Its solitude became lifeless desolation.
Its resilience became cruelty.
The pulse of life itself became a curse that stole life from others.
"Ugh..."
Ian groaned. His mental force was repelled by the overwhelming pollution and twisted will, sending a sharp pain through his mind.
Yet a look of understanding appeared on his face.
Now he understood.
The Sandstorm Ancient Spirit's core truly was the Spirit of Nature of the desert.
But it had been corrupted by two separate forces.
The first was the accumulated negative energy associated with the desert itself that had gathered across this land.
The second was an external force, a powerful and malicious will that had enslaved and distorted it.
Realizing this, Ian made a different choice.
When the skeletal phantom of the Sandstorm Ancient Spirit charged at him once more, he did not meet it head-on.
Instead, his wand traced an aura of vibrant green life.
He was no longer satisfied with merely defending and probing.
"All Things Revive! Hymn of Life!"
He drew upon a trace of creation power hidden within his own magic, a force born from his understanding of the essence of life itself.
Blending transfiguration magic with blessing spells, he attempted to guide the sandstorm, filled with death and plunder, toward a path that could nurture even the faintest spark of life.
The green radiance merged into the storm.
The ferocious skeletal phantom suddenly froze.
For a brief moment, several green patterns resembling tender sprouts appeared upon its surface.
Though they were instantly swallowed once more by the dead sands, that fleeting anomaly caused the Sandstorm Ancient Spirit to release an even more frenzied shriek.
Yet mixed within the madness seemed to be a trace of confusion.
"Begone, Corruption!"
Facing the Swamp Worm's dark breath, Ian maintained the ice wall while pointing his wand toward the source of the attack.
He cast a highly obscure purification spell, a variant derived from an ancient Druidic tradition.
A gentle yet unwavering milky-white beam shot toward the core of the worm's breath.
It attempted to neutralize the corrosive and binding powers within it, awakening the buried instincts of purification and nourishment that belonged to the spirit of the marsh.
The worm's massive body twisted violently within the white light.
Amid the wails of the agonized faces covering its body, there seemed to emerge the faintest trace of another emotion.
A flicker so weak it was almost imperceptible.
Like a drowning person suddenly grasping a piece of driftwood.
"Looks like there's still some hope of saving it."
As for the spreading black mire, Ian no longer relied solely on the Termination Charm and Reductor Curse to combat its distortions of reality.
Instead, he condensed his powerful mental force into a pure and stable wave of consciousness, as immovable as a pillar holding back the sea, and directed it straight toward the creature's core.
He was trying to soothe it.
Using the stability of his own spiritual strength, he sought to calm the frenzied boiling of the shattered Spirit of Dreams.
He wanted to guide it into temporary slumber rather than allow it to continue weaving endless nightmares.
The mire's expansion noticeably slowed.
The terrifying illusions flickering across its surface suddenly stuttered and blurred.
It was as though a mad painter had abruptly lost his train of thought.
Ian's efforts were not intended to directly defeat or destroy the Ancient Spirits.
Instead, he acted like a skilled physician.
Even amid fierce battle, he sought to identify the source of the illness and apply the proper treatment.
The effects were brief and weak.
Yet they were like drops of cold water falling into a cauldron of boiling oil.
The reaction they provoked was even more intense.
Not stronger attacks.
But something else.
Deep within the distorted essence of the Ancient Spirits, a faint struggle had begun to emerge.
A struggle originating from the very core of what they truly were,
Spirits of Nature.
And Ian sensed it with perfect clarity.
He knew.
He knew what he needed to do.
(End of Chapter)