The boy's voice echoed in Saruman and Karg's ears.
Absolutely crystal clear.
Just then, as if sensing something, or perhaps just by chance, the figure crouching on the ground suddenly stopped moving, and then—slowly turned its head.
Time seemed to freeze at that moment.
Saruman and Karg's pupils suddenly contracted!
They saw a face.
A face that was extremely young, even somewhat childish. Fair skin, a high nose bridge, and lips with clear, slightly aloof lines. But what was most striking were his eyes.
Those weren't the clear eyes a child should have, but rather like the deepest, coldest pool, reflecting no light whatsoever, only an unyielding composure as if it had endured endless years and death. A few strands of black hair fell across his forehead, making his face appear almost eerily handsome, yet also as cold as a marble carving.
His excessively handsome face blended with the Legend aura emanating from him—a aura that seemed to merge seamlessly with the surrounding death and madness.
This created an extremely strange yet harmonious unity.
The other person, with those deep eyes, calmly and seemingly without any emotion, swept over the direction of the giant pillar where Saruman and Karg were hiding.
It's obvious.
The boy spotted Saruman and the others. In an instant, Saruman and Karg felt their blood freeze! It was as if they had been glanced at by a sleeping ancient beast; the oppressive feeling stemming from the vast difference in their life levels and the essence of their power made them hold their breath!
"Is this what Legend is all about?!"
Young Saruman was filled with horror.
The shock emanating from the boy's calm turn of his head, his bright eyes sweeping across the direction of the giant pillar, was not limited to the young Saruman and Karg in the memory.
Inside the secret underground Chamber of Secrets of the African Ministry of Magic, a thousand years later.
The Black Robed Woman, who had been engrossed in watching this ancient memory, was suddenly struck violently as if by an invisible bolt of lightning the moment Ian's face became clearly visible!
"This—how is this possible?!"
He gasped in shock, his voice filled with disbelief and horror, even drowning out the faint sounds echoing from the memory. The man from the Department of Mysteries instinctively took a step forward, as if wanting to get closer to the illusory light and shadow, to see it more clearly, revealing the intensity of his inner turmoil.
His hood slipped slightly as he moved, revealing a distorted face covered in gray-green scales, twisted in extreme shock.
"We live in the Wizarding World, child." The old Saruman turned his empty eye sockets toward him. Although he had no sight, he seemed to be able to clearly "sense" the student's intense emotional fluctuations at that moment.
"Teacher----"
The Black Robed Woman's voice trembled noticeably as he stared intently at Ian's young, cold, and unusually handsome face in the memory. "This face—this clothes—he—he is—"
He suddenly recalled a scene he had glimpsed not long ago when he was chasing those who had escaped from the upper prison levels. In the fragments of the prisoners' memories, he had caught a glimpse of a boy in a black robe, with a youthful face but cold eyes. In a way they couldn't understand, the boy ignored all the ancient protections and spatial blockades and walked straight into the deepest forbidden zone of the ruins like a ghost. That's why he recognized the face!
At the time, he thought it was just some arrogant genius who didn't know his own limitations and had mastered some special ancient teleportation technique, or a collective hallucination caused by corruption and distortion.
He hunted down and executed all possible witnesses in an effort to completely bury this secret. But now—
In this forbidden memory belonging to a thousand years ago, to the teacher's own experience, he actually saw the same face!
The same youth! The same black robe! The same—that chilling, icy aura!
This is no coincidence!
"Teacher—this person—this person who just broke into the deepest part of the ruins we were guarding—" The Black Robed Woman turned his head with difficulty, looking at the motionless elderly Saruman, his voice as dry as sandpaper, "You—you saw him a thousand years ago?! How is that possible?!"
This completely overturned his understanding. How could a person traverse a thousand years without any change in appearance, clothing, or even temperament? Did this person live from a thousand years ago to the present? Or—is the timeline deep within these ruins truly so chaotic that it can connect different eras?
"Hmm." Facing the student's horrified and confused questioning, the blind Saruman slowly nodded. His wrinkled face showed no surprise, only a deep calm, as if he had seen through some cruel truth, and a trace of imperceptible weariness.
"Yes, I've seen him. The first time was at that moment, in the square in the center of R'lyeh City, when he turned back to look at where we were hiding."
The old Wizard's voice was calm and weathered.
"It was from the moment I saw him again that I began to vaguely understand some things—about this ruin, about time, about—where we might all be located."
The blind old Wizard's voice was deep.
"You knew he would come all along? Today?" The Black Robed Woman asked anxiously.
"No, it's not about knowing," Saruman shook his head slightly, "It's a kind of inference based on observation and logic. When you touch the edge of certain fields, when you personally experience the anomalies of time, when you repeatedly ponder every detail of those years—some guesses that were originally impossible will gradually become clear."
He paused, as if organizing his thoughts to explain an extremely complex concept.
"In R'lyeh, when I, as a young person, saw his face and felt the power emanating from him that was completely beyond the comprehension of my time, I was overwhelmed by confusion and shock. But later, after experiencing more, losing some things, and gaining some 'knowledge' that I shouldn't have received, I began to realize—"
His voice grew deeper, carrying a sense of resignation as if he had a profound understanding of fate.
That wasn't a Legend from ancient times. It was a visitor from the other side.
R'lyeh, or rather the ruins themselves, has an unusual, folded spatiotemporal structure. It doesn't simply connect the past or the future, but under certain specific conditions, it forms a temporary, closed loop.
"Closed loop?" The Black Robed Woman repeated the word, feeling that his thoughts were not quite keeping up.
"A Möbius strip in time," Saruman used a more vivid metaphor, "The beginning and the end are connected, cause and effect are intertwined. The younger me saw him in R'lyeh, which is an effect."
And yet, a thousand years later, he stumbled upon this place, somehow returning to " R'lyeh —perhaps this is the cause." Or perhaps, cause and effect are inherently one, occurring simultaneously.
The Black Robed Woman felt dizzy; Time Magic was one of the most profound and forbidden realms, and Saruman's description was beyond his comprehension. "So—you didn't stop him from entering the deepest part because—you foresaw it? You believe his arrival was—predestined?"
"It wasn't exactly predictable." Saruman gave a self-deprecating, bitter smile. "It was more of a resignation to the situation after being powerless to change it. When I sensed his arrival through my ' Mind's Eye,' when I felt that same, yet more refined and profound, aura of death emanating from him, I knew that stopping him was futile, and might even be—a mistake."
His empty eye sockets seemed to be looking into the distant past, or perhaps staring at the wall of Chamber of Secrets so close at hand.
"Furthermore, a Legend who could single-handedly wipe out countless ancient remnants in a place like R'lyeh —a person who left such a profound mark a thousand years ago, and then reappears in the same form a thousand years later—"
"Let me, with my crippled body, stop him?" Saruman shook his head.
His tone carried a deep sense of awe and a complex emotion that was difficult to describe.
"Moreover, I understand some things better now than I did back then. Fifteen years old—ha, Legend at fifteen. Back then, I wondered if he used some secret method to stay young; now—I think I understand. For some beings, age is never a measure of power."
The word "impossible" is inherently irrelevant to them.
Saruman's spirit was indeed different from when he was young. That was normal, and the Black Robed Woman was also shocked.
"Fifteen years old— Legend— " the Black Robed Woman murmured repeatedly. Even though he had long been corrupted and his willpower was far stronger than that of ordinary people, he couldn't help but feel a tremor and a sense of absurdity from the depths of his soul.
He guarded this secret, fought against pollution, and knew all too well the price that would be paid to make even the slightest progress on this path.
And that person, at the tender age of fifteen, actually reached the Legend realm that countless Wizard dreamed of, and even thought to be long gone?!
"In this era—with the tides of Magic Power waning and Proof of Legend practically becoming myths—how could such a thing possibly be born again—" The Black Robed Woman still couldn't accept it.
"There are always some beings who are different, child." Saruman's voice carried a calmness born of experience, as if stating a fundamental law of the universe.
"The rules of the world may be ironclad for most people, but for a very few individuals, those rules are toys that can be broken, surpassed, and even redefined. The word 'impossible' may have lost its meaning from the moment they were born."
"Our knowledge, our experience, seem so pale and powerless in the face of true anomalies." The old Wizard's words carried a hint of resignation that the Black Robed Woman had never heard before. The ambitious, confident genius in his youth who was able to uncover all mysteries seemed to have had his spirit worn down considerably after experiencing a thousand years, the fall of his dearest friend, his own sacrifice, and witnessing horrors beyond comprehension.
Instead, there is a deeper, and more helpless, clarity.
"Is that so?"
The Black Robed Woman remained silent for a long time, digesting this astonishing information.
Looking at his teacher's blind yet all-seeing face, a heavier question, more concerned with the meaning of their own existence, surfaced in his mind.
"Teacher—" the Black Robed Woman's voice was somewhat hoarse, "If—if his arrival is part of this time loop, if it's destined—then what about us? We, the Department of Mysteries, have guarded this place for generations, cleaning away the pollution, keeping secrets, even—like me, ultimately becoming like this—is our purpose merely to ensure, at this moment, that he can successfully 'return to the past? Return to the R'lyeh you remember?'"
This question goes straight to the heart, filled with doubts about the value of one's own Destiny.
Saruman gazed at the student silently for a long time before slowly nodding and then shaking his head.
"Yes and no." His answer carried a mystical meaning. "Ensuring the integrity of this cycle, letting what is meant to happen happen, may be part of our duty, a necessity to maintain a fragile balance. But—" He changed the subject, and a faint glimmer of light seemed to appear in his empty eye sockets.
"Fate may exist, but it is by no means immutable. A perfect, seamless closed loop means endless repetition and despair. But what if a variable is inserted at some point? A variable that shouldn't exist in the first place, or whose impact has been underestimated?"
"A variable?" The Black Robed Woman perked up.
"I have devoted my entire life to studying sealed knowledge, exploring the mysteries of time, and even risking taboos and sacrificing my soul—not just to prolong my life or simply to protect secrets." Saruman's voice was deep and firm, as if he were suppressing some obsession that had accumulated over thousands of years.
"I'm searching, or rather, I'm trying to create" that variable—someone or something that might tear a crack in this seemingly predetermined cycle, bringing different possibilities.
The elderly Saruman was extremely serious.
"What variable is it?" The Black Robed Woman pressed, feeling as if he had touched upon his teacher's deepest secret.
Saruman did not answer directly.
He merely raised his withered hand slightly, and the eerie blue magical light at his fingertips became active again, swaying gently as it pointed towards the unfinished memory.
"Read it first, child," the old Wizard's voice regained its calm.
After reviewing everything that happened back then, after seeing that closed loop, what role did we play, and what price did we pay? Then, you might understand what the "variable" I'm referring to is, and—why I need you, and everything you're doing now.
His words carried an undeniable air, yet also contained a deep sense of expectation. The Black Robed Woman took a deep breath, forcing himself to suppress the countless questions churning within him. He knew the answer lay at the end of that yet-to-be-revealed memory. He turned his gaze back to the pale blue light of the memory floating in the void.
In the scene, Ian had turned his head away, seemingly no longer interested in the distant spy, and focused his attention once again on the complex magic circle on the ground. Meanwhile, the young Saruman and Karg remained hidden behind the giant pillar, holding their breath and not daring to make the slightest move.