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Under Ian's deliberate guidance, the nature of the battle was quietly beginning to change.
What had started as a straightforward clash of magic was gradually evolving into a difficult dialogue with three corrupted and tortured Hearts of the Land.
"Rain of Purification!"
Combining Transfiguration with Summoning Magic, Ian created an area of gentle flowing sand around the Sandstorm Ancient Spirit, attempting to let it experience the qualities that the desert should possess, flow and acceptance, rather than the violence and plunder that now defined it.
At the same time, he summoned a light drizzle imbued with faint life magic.
The rain fell upon the heart of the sandstorm.
It was not intended to extinguish anything.
Rather, it symbolized the precious rainfall that occasionally descended upon the desert, inevitably bringing life wherever it touched.
Ian hoped to awaken the longing buried deep within the Spirit of Nature's heart,
The desire to nurture rather than destroy.
The results were encouraging.
Not extraordinary.
But certainly not ineffective.
The Sandstorm Ancient Spirit's movements once again became noticeably sluggish and erratic.
Even the skeletal phantom trembled slightly, as though two conflicting consciousnesses were struggling fiercely within it.
Its shrieks were no longer expressions of pure rage.
They now contained pain.
And confusion.
And perhaps even the faintest trace of another emotion.
A yearning for the rain itself.
Meanwhile, the Swamp Worm's dark breath grew even thicker.
Its color deepened until it resembled liquid ink, and the soul-binding power contained within it became almost tangible.
The darkness condensed into countless pitch-black magical tentacles covered with barbs.
They surged toward Ian from every direction.
Their purpose was not merely to corrode the Legendary Wizard's body.
They sought to drag his soul into an endless abyss of suffering.
"Light of the Mind!"
Invisible layers of mental barriers instantly formed around Ian, slowing the tentacles' advance.
At the same time, the tip of his wand erupted with dazzling white radiance, shining like a miniature sun.
This was not a simple illumination spell.
The light contained Ian's own pure magic power and unwavering will.
It was his personal interpretation of Lumos.
A manifestation of a wizard's soul.
Ian considered himself an upright and honorable person.
As a result, the light of his spirit naturally possessed a powerful suppressive effect against darkness and corruption.
This was the remarkable strength of a wizard's belief and will.
Sizzle! Sizzle! Sizzle!
The moment the dark tentacles touched the brilliant white light, they melted like snow beneath a blazing sun.
Harsh crackling sounds filled the air as an even stronger stench spread throughout the chamber.
The creature had already suffered something similar once before.
Yet it still refused to learn.
Perhaps that alone demonstrated how little intelligence remained within this Ancient Spirit.
The Swamp Worm let out a howl of agony mixed with rage and discomfort.
Under the illumination of the white light, portions of its semi-transparent body revealed the twisted outlines of countless souls writhing and struggling within.
"Now's the chance!"
Ian seized the opportunity.
His mental force condensed once more, becoming as precise as a surgeon's scalpel as it pierced directly into the Swamp Worm's energy core.
His consciousness sank into an endless marsh.
At first, he felt the softness of mud.
The slow movement of water.
The natural rhythm of a wetland ecosystem where countless microorganisms decomposed fallen branches and leaves, creating nutrients that sustained new life in an endless cycle.
It carried the smell of earth and decay.
Yet it was also overflowing with vitality.
This was the balanced power of a true Spirit of Nature.
But then,
A horrifying scene unfolded.
Countless consumed and tortured souls surged upward from the depths of the mire like boiling bubbles.
Their pain.
Their hatred.
Their despair.
All of it polluted the entire swamp.
Even worse, an external force, cold, merciless, and coercive, had descended upon the marsh.
Like an enormous pump, it forcibly drained away the gentle power that represented purification and renewal.
And then,
As though guided by invisible hands, even greater quantities of darkness and suffering were poured into the void that remained.
That twisted mixture was then forged into the horrifying weapon that stood before him now.
A creature that knew only how to devour and imprison.
"So that's it..."
"Your suffering doesn't come solely from those you've consumed."
"It comes from having your own power of purification stolen and corrupted."
Understanding dawned upon Ian.
A trace of sympathy appeared in his heart.
He knew with certainty that this was not the work of the African Ministry of Magic.
Not because he believed the Ministry officials possessed particularly lofty morals.
Rather, because he understood that ordinary wizards simply did not possess power or methods on this level.
A Ministry of Magic was, at its core, merely an organization of ordinary wizards.
At best, it contained a handful of elite individuals.
It simply lacked the foundation necessary to produce someone capable of this.
"Unless..."
Of course, it was not entirely impossible.
A certain possibility briefly flashed through Ian's mind, but only for a moment.
Soon, other thoughts replaced it as his attention returned to the battle at hand.
For now, this was not the time for deep contemplation.
It was the stage of gathering information about these so-called Ancient Spirits.
Even Ian's extraordinary intellect needed a brief cooling period.
After realizing that the beings before him were all Spirits of Nature that had lost control of themselves, any desire to kill vanished from his heart.
He changed his strategy.
Facing the incoming dark breath and writhing tentacles once more,
"Begone, Corruption, Sacred Protection!"
This was an advanced version of the protective spell he had used earlier.
A gentle barrier appeared before him, woven from milky-white purification power and silver guardian light.
Unlike a conventional shield, it was not designed for absolute defense.
Instead, it carried the qualities of rejecting darkness and soothing suffering.
The dark breath and tentacles crashed against the barrier.
Although they continued to corrode and batter it, their advance slowed noticeably.
More importantly, when the agonized faces embedded within the tentacles touched the light of hope, their screams seemed to change.
Mixed within their wails was an almost imperceptible sob.
As though they had finally found a moment of peace.
Under the continuous illumination of the purifying light, the Swamp Worm's enormous body writhed uneasily.
Even its secretion of corrosive slime appeared to lessen.
For the first time, the momentum of its frenzied assault showed signs of weakening.
And perhaps...
Hesitation.
At this moment, however, the most dramatic change occurred within the Black Mire Ghoul.
Perhaps it had been stimulated by the awakening presence behind the gate.
Or perhaps Ian's earlier attempt at a "lullaby" had produced the opposite effect.
Whatever the reason, it was no longer content with simply spreading and creating illusions.
At the center of the boiling mire, an enormous tumor suddenly swelled upward.
It continuously changed shape.
Its surface was covered with countless bloodshot eyes spinning wildly in madness.
And then… Every one of those eyes locked onto Ian.
A psychic shock far greater than anything before erupted outward.
It crashed toward the core of Ian's soul like a tangible tsunami. Mixed within it was the deepest and most primal terror imaginable.
This was no longer a simple illusion. It was a direct assault intended to annihilate the mind itself.
For a brief instant, Ian felt his thoughts slow. His sense of reality began to peel away. It was as though he were about to fall into an eternal abyss of madness.
"Hah. Stronger than before, but only slightly."
Ian had always excelled at mental defense.
He pushed Occlumency to its absolute limit.
Deep within his soul, he firmly anchored several points representing his strongest convictions and most precious memories.
They stood like lighthouses amid a raging storm.
Protecting the final sanctuary of his consciousness.
Let the enemy be as strong as it wished; the clear breeze still swept across the mountain ridge.
Ian suffered no meaningful influence whatsoever.
At the same time, his wand trembled slightly under the immense magical power flowing through it.
This time, Ian abandoned all complicated techniques.
"Calm down."
He condensed his understanding of order, stability, and truth into a single beam of pure magical power.
Simple.
Direct.
Pure.
The light shot forward like a sword, piercing toward the countless frenzied eyes covering the tumor.
"Manifest Truth!"
This was not a spell for forcing someone to tell the truth.
Ian had given it an entirely new meaning.
Its purpose was to forcibly dispel falsehood and madness, revealing the most fundamental and undistorted truth beneath all distortions.
Pop!
The sound resembled countless balloons bursting simultaneously.
The instant the beam struck, the frenzied eyes contracted violently before exploding one after another.
Thick black fluid spilled from the ruptured sockets.
The Black Mire Ghoul released the most horrifying scream it had produced so far.
A shriek so sharp and agonizing that it sounded like countless sheets of glass scraping against one another.
At that very moment, Ian's mental force seized the opportunity.
It broke through the densest layers of mental contamination and plunged directly into the creature's core.
What awaited him was a bizarre and fragmented world.
There was no up or down.
No left or right.
No concept of time or space.
Only flowing colors.
Twisted shapes.
And endless whispers and screams that blended into a constant background noise.
This was the primordial realm of dreams and the subconscious possessed by all living beings.
A place that should have been filled with infinite possibilities.
A chaotic domain reflecting the truths hidden within the heart.
Within it, Ian discovered a tiny spark of spirituality.
It flickered like a candle on the verge of extinction.
This was the true Spirit of Dreams.
A being that should have freely wandered through the dreams of countless creatures, weaving strange stories and guiding the currents of the subconscious.
It possessed neither good nor evil.
It was simply part of nature's laws.
But now,
That fragile spirit had been stuffed with far too many negative fragments.
Far too many.
Far too heavy.
Countless nightmares.
The deepest fears of innumerable people.
Suppressed madness.
And… A cold will filled with the concepts of control and surveillance.
That will forcibly bound all of those negative fragments together.
It twisted the Spirit of Dreams' naturally free nature.
It transformed it into a horrific tool. A machine that endlessly produced fear and spread madness and distorted reality itself.
"Your madness… It comes from losing the right to weave dreams freely. You've become nothing more than a puppet controlled by invisible strings."
As Ian felt the tiny spark of spirituality struggling in agony beneath the crushing weight of countless negative fragments and that cold, oppressive will, a powerful feeling surged within him.
It was not merely sympathy for the Ancient Spirit's suffering.
It was profound astonishment.
More than sympathy, what Ian felt was utter disbelief at the actions of the mastermind behind all of this.
The sheer blasphemy of twisting and desecrating nature's creations in such a manner left him speechless.
He no longer attempted to dispel the madness with overwhelming light.
Instead, he transformed his mental force into an exceptionally gentle and steady wave, carrying feelings of tranquility and peace.
Like a mother's lullaby.
Slowly, he infused it into the boiling core of the mire.
This time, he encountered no fierce resistance.
The tiny spark of spirituality that remained of the Spirit of Dreams, crushed to the point of suffocation, seemed to have found a lifeline.
Instinctively, it began absorbing the peaceful intent Ian was offering.
The spreading mire slowed dramatically.
The terrifying illusions shifting across its surface became blurred and sluggish.
Eventually, the countless frenzied eyes slowly closed.
The enormous mass of sludge deflated like a punctured balloon and gradually collapsed inward.
Although it still radiated an ominous aura, its hostility diminished significantly.
It appeared to have fallen into an unstable slumber.
"Sleep... sleep..."
Ian let out a long breath.
Even for him, the continuous high-intensity mental battles and precise magical manipulation had been enormously draining.
He looked at the three Ancient Spirits that had finally been subdued, at least temporarily.
His gaze was complicated.
During this battle, he had pushed the Hogwarts style of magic to its limits.
Combined with his own understanding of fundamental laws and his creative applications of them, he had barely managed not only to conceal himself while confronting these severely twisted Spirits of Nature, but also to glimpse the cruel truth buried beneath everything.
They were not monsters.
They were fragments of the soul of this land itself…
They were torn apart.
Defiled.
Corrupted.
And the source of it all seemed to point toward the giant gate.
Toward the "important figure" slowly awakening behind it.
Ian adjusted his breathing and turned his solemn gaze back toward the massive door.
The carvings upon its surface writhed more violently than before.
The heavy tremors were growing closer.
As though something… Was about to break through.
He could clearly sense an immensely powerful will beyond the gate, but also one that was profoundly twisted.
Yet oddly enough, that was not what concerned Ian the most.
"Interesting."
The corner of his mouth curled upward.
He had noticed something unusual long ago.
What truly fascinated him was the location of the gate itself.
Of all places, it just happened to stand here.
Directly on the path he needed to take in order to find Newt.
Yes.
What kind of coincidence would be required for a massive gate sealing away the mastermind behind everything to be positioned perfectly on the only route leading to the cell where Newt Scamander was being held?
This was no coincidence.
There were no coincidences in the wizarding world.
The underground prison of the African Ministry of Magic was incredibly complex, resembling a vast labyrinth.
Yet according to the Marauder's Map and Ian's own observations, there seemed to be only a single route leading to the deepest section known as the Chamber of Silence.
And this gate stood directly upon that route.
Like a checkpoint deliberately placed there.
An obstacle that could not be avoided.
No matter which path Ian chose.
No matter how carefully he searched for Newt.
He was destined to encounter this gate.
Just as he was destined to encounter the three Ancient Spirits guarding it.
The ancient Spirits of Nature.
"Did someone know I was coming?"
The thought slithered into Ian's mind like a cold serpent.
Who?
The mysterious blind prisoner?
A hidden figure within the Ministry itself?
Or perhaps...
The thing behind the gate possessed some form of foresight or guiding power?
He recalled the blind man's warning.
At the time, the man's tone had been calm.
Yet he had accurately pointed out the dangers below and the unusual nature of the "guards."
Looking back now, while the warning had certainly contained a desire not to have his peace disturbed, perhaps it had also contained something else.
Guidance.
A subtle attempt to direct Ian's attention toward the abnormalities hidden here.
One could hardly blame Ian for thinking conspiratorially.
The situation was simply too suspicious.
So suspicious that even he found himself wondering whether the portkeys provided by the information broker had also been part of some larger arrangement.
Of course, that did not necessarily mean the broker had knowingly participated in a scheme against him.
Information brokers could be manipulated just as easily as anyone else.
Used without ever realizing they were being used.
"If that's really the case..."
"Then this Ministry of Magic is far more complicated than I originally thought."
Ian stared at the constantly shifting runes writhing across the surface of the gate.
Countless emotions rose within him.
Vigilance.
Tension.
Suspicion.
Yet strangely, not fear.
In fact, what he felt most strongly was anticipation.
Anticipation for an unknown danger.
After all… No Legendary Wizard feared a challenge.
(End of Chapter)