"Are you sure this is the final resting place of that wizard?" Allen plucked a slightly yellowed blade of grass, popped it into his mouth, and stared curiously at the fox.
He had never heard of the changes in wizarding markets before, but what did that have to do with a tomb?
Who builds a grave in the middle of a vegetable market?
Wouldn't they worry about people dancing on their graves every day?
Thankfully, this was the wizarding world. Otherwise, in ten or twenty years, this wizard might be looping "Most Dazzling Folk Dance" every day.
"Of course—it's definitely here." The fox's eyes were serious, without a hint of jest. She had invested heavily in this operation and wouldn't risk joking about something as fundamental as location—it would be utterly irresponsible.
"In reality, the true tomb isn't here. It lies hidden by magic about three kilometers away, within a mountain. This market exists because it was frequently visited by the guardians of the tomb."
"According to my intelligence, three wizards and their descendants originally formed three branches to protect the tomb from outsiders. Unfortunately, two of those branches have disappeared into history."
"The heir of the third branch still existed three hundred years ago. But they were already impoverished and had to trade in places they normally would disdain to survive. During one such trade, the heir made a mistake."
He secretly sold a family heirloom magical artifact, gained a huge sum of Galleons, and, in a drunken moment, revealed details about his family…
"That wizard, to prevent being erased by an oath, slaughtered the heir's trading partner and all the inn's occupants—except for one child playing hide-and-seek."
Even more interestingly, the child possessed innate magical talent. Though only fragments of knowledge were revealed, he remembered them firmly, which eventually caused the tomb guardian to be erased by magical oaths.
"After receiving magical education at school, the boy painstakingly sought out the secret location. Though he knew little, a secret guarded by blood was never trivial."
"Unfortunately, during his search, he violated wizarding law and was executed. His notebook later fell into my hands, and after decades of effort, I finally determined the tomb's location."
As she spoke, the fox pulled out a notebook—handmade, worn from heavy use.
"One copy each. You can even compare it to the original, but it must be returned. That was my promise to you."
Allen and the others accepted the notebooks and began flipping through them immediately. This mission was no small matter. Information could very well save lives.
After reviewing the copies, they were returned.
The fox lightly clapped her hands. "Next, it's up to us. According to the notes and my experiments, there's no direct path to the tomb. It's laden with countless curses and protections. The only way is to follow the route the guardian took to shop and return—no shortcuts."
This show of force might have seemed excessive, but compared to the identity of the tomb's owner, it was fitting. In the Muggle world, this wizard would be considered a god.
Even shrinking his legendary deeds a thousandfold, his power remained terrifying. Although Allen knew of stronger people, it didn't lessen his awe.
Of course—he hadn't even reached the top of the wizarding world yet. Legendary figures were utterly beyond reach.
It's like knowing Jack Ma is super rich, but you'd never look down on the wealthiest person in your province—even if you're quite wealthy yourself…
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For wizards, hiding buildings wasn't difficult. If Death Eaters hadn't invaded the dark household, Harry and friends could have used it as a base indefinitely.
Similarly, a wizard who hid his tomb before death would be almost impossible to locate unless someone forced it open.
Of course, this had little to do with Allen—he was an archaeologist.
Only by absorbing ancient magical essence could the current wizarding world develop, right?
With that in mind, the group of physically unimpressive wizards trudged nearly ten kilometers to the destination.
It wasn't that the fox had misled them. On the surface, the distance was accurate—the space had been folded.
Mr. Weasley had applied spatial magic to his car, Hermione to her handbag, Allen to his pockets—and the tomb's owner had applied it to his grave in the most breathtaking way.
His tomb wasn't a mound of dirt—it was a mountain!
From afar, the mountain didn't seem high. But as Allen and the others approached along the road lined with magical traps, it rose nearly 3,000 meters.
Precisely sculpted, the mountain was carved into the wizard's most heroic deeds. At the end of the long path, a nearly three-thousand-meter-tall giant statue appeared, gripping half a sword; the rest was deeply embedded in the tail of a creature with eight blood markings. Though carved entirely from stone, it appeared as if both were alive, ready to draw the sword at any moment.
After a moment of awe, the fox retrieved a map from her pocket. "This is the last intelligence I have. If anyone is intimidated, you can wait until tomorrow. We arrived in the final three hours when the defensive spells were temporarily dormant."
The statue's majesty didn't frighten the group. Instead, they eagerly examined the map. Sometimes, information mattered more than raw strength.
Without the notebook, Allen and the team could never have navigated the path so quickly. It had taken two explorers nearly fifty years to chart it.
The fox shared her findings because she had found a blueprint in the guardian's chamber—a guide for future visitors. This road spared them fifty years of labor—but it came with a warning of just how dangerous it truly was.
She couldn't have done it alone. Success required cooperation—and now, that condition was finally met.
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