Those who are able to enter the Department of Mysteries.
They are all among the best of the Wizard.
Such a person is undeniably intelligent.
Therefore, the Black Robed Woman immediately understood the hidden meaning in the old Saruman's words: he was simply losing his reason due to the pollution.
Not wisdom is lost along with it.
As the elderly Saruman finished speaking, the Black Robed Woman suddenly raised his head. Although Saruman couldn't see him, he stared intently at his teacher's excessively calm face.
A terrifying thought flashed through his mind like lightning.
"Teacher—" the Black Robed Woman ' voice became shrill with excitement, "You—you must have—already figured out something?"
"About this place, about the pollution, about that closed loop—even about—your own end?! You just said it was part of the plan—what have you been planning? You—you seem to—really want—" He wanted to say, "You seem to really want to die," but the word stuck in his throat, and he couldn't get it out.
at the same time.
The Black Robed Woman also couldn't understand how his teacher, after his death, could reverse the regrets. How to put it? Although he was a powerful Wizard, he wasn't Legend, and many things were indeed difficult to comprehend.
This is a puzzle related to his students' ears.
Saruman did not answer immediately.
He simply nodded slowly and very slightly. The movement was so subtle as to be almost imperceptible, yet it carried the weight of a thousand pounds, confirming the most unbelievable guess in the Black Robed Woman's heart.
"Yes, I need a death." For the first time, the old Wizard's wrinkled face revealed an extremely complex and indescribable expression in front of the Black Robed Woman.
In that expression, there was the weariness of having experienced a thousand years of vicissitudes, a mockery of the shackles of fate, a resolute determination to try the unknown, and also a trace of strange anticipation—as if one were finally about to reach the end of a long road.
The air in the Chamber of Secrets instantly became somewhat subtle. Fragments of the truth collided wildly in the Black Robed Woman's mind, yet he could never piece together a complete picture. But he knew that he had probably touched upon his teacher's most core and most insane plan, hidden beneath a thousand years of time and countless secrets.
And all of this seems to hinge on the "mission" he is about to undertake.
"Go ahead, child."
The voice of the elderly Saruman echoed in the deathly silent Chamber of Secrets, calm and undisturbed, as if he were speaking of something unrelated to himself, as simple as brushing dust off a sleeve.
But these five words, though seemingly light and airy, sounded more jarring to the Black Robed Woman than R'lyeh's most insane utterances, and heavier than any Killing Curse.
His knuckles were white as he gripped the wand, and his entire arm trembled slightly. In the shadows beneath the hood, the man's distorted face revealed a pair of vertical pupils that contracted sharply, churning with pain, struggle, disbelief, and a hint of desperate rage.
"Teacher—" the Black Robed Woman said with great difficulty, "I—I can't—"
He couldn't do it in the end, because whenever he raised his wand to his teacher, he couldn't help but think of the past, of the beautiful things he could no longer feel.
now.
This beautiful memory was invaluable for maintaining his stability, and something he cherished dearly. How could he possibly destroy his own precious memories?
The man in the Black Robed Woman was trembling slightly.
"You can't?"
Saruman's empty eye sockets "stared" at him, a barely perceptible, almost disappointed sigh in his voice, "You're still the same, child. You always hesitate when you need absolute reason, to sever all emotions to make a choice. Back in the Northern Europe, when faced with that villager 'completely corrupted' by the living curse, about to erupt, you hesitated too, resulting in the deaths of two Auror who rushed to investigate."
"When you were hunting down that dark Wizard was researching forbidden Flesh and Blood Magic in the North Sea, you hesitated for a second because of his feigned pleas at the last moment, giving him the opportunity to unleash a suicidal plague of corruption—your kindness and sentimentality are your strengths, but on this path, at certain crucial moments, they will become your most fatal weaknesses, killing more people, including—yourself," Saruman said softly.
The old Wizard's words were like a cold scalpel, precisely dissecting the old wounds deep within the Black Robed Woman's heart that he least wanted to face. Those failures and sacrifices caused by hesitation and soft-heartedness had always been the source of his midnight nightmares, and one of the Inner Demon that accelerated his self-corruption and erosion.
The Black Robed Woman trembled even more violently, not from fear, but from the pain of being hit where it hurt and his own self-loathing. His face kept changing as he hissed, "This is different! Teacher! This is different from those missions!"
They are the enemy, the source of pollution! But you—you are—"
That brings us to this.
The Black Robed Woman looked pained.
What am I?
Saruman interrupted him, his voice rising abruptly, carrying an undeniable penetrating power, "I am an old monster who has lived for over a thousand years, blind, my soul and body deeply entangled with the corruption of R'lyeh, guarding the gates of this world's greatest source of danger!"
"My very existence is the biggest destabilizing factor! No one knows how long I can maintain this clarity, no one knows when the dormant pollution within me will completely erupt, dragging everything here, along with the outside world, into madness!" His words were like a heavy hammer.
It was pounding on the Black Robed Woman's reason.
This could also be seen as adding weight to the other party's decision to take action.
The tone became increasingly stern.
It was all to motivate his students.
"Look at yourself!" Saruman's voice turned stern. "Do you think I don't know about the corruption within you, the struggles and pain in your heart? Every time you carry out a 'purge' mission, your hands are stained not only with the blood of those prisoners, but also with your own ever-eroding sanity and humanity!"
"You are on the verge of collapse, and my existence, my secrets, the potential contamination within me are the final straw that breaks the camel's back! Eliminating me is your duty, and also—give yourself a chance to breathe and find relief from this endless torment!"
Saruman's words may be somewhat alarmist.
However, there is still some truth to it.
Of course, he continued to pressure his students to take action.
They provided the other party with a sufficient reason.
"No, no, that's not it." The Black Robed Woman staggered back a step, leaning against the cold stone wall, his breathing rapid. Saruman's words shattered all his self-deceptive excuses. Yes, he was afraid, he was in pain, and he struggled daily with the whispers of madness and the changes in his body.
Eliminating the teacher—the "source" and the greatest potential danger—is, from a cold-blooded sense of duty, the most correct choice. But—that's his teacher!
"At least—at least tell me why!"
The Black Robed Woman abruptly raised his head, his voice filled with a desperate plea, "Teacher! At least tell me, why—why do you seem—to be... expecting this? Why do you say this is part of the plan? Why don't you resist, why don't you try other methods? This—this can't possibly be some kind of contamination that would drive you mad just by looking at it, can it? Give me a reason! A reason that will allow me—a reason that will allow me to act without completely going insane!"
His words were almost a shout, echoing in the Chamber of Secrets. Hip-hop artist Ao Ren needed an anchor, a sufficiently strong reason that transcended personal emotions to support him in carrying out this act of murdering his master.
Saruman remained silent.
He "heard" the student's voice, filled with near-collapse and pleading. He knew that without an explanation, the Black Robed Woman would either be unable to carry out his plan, causing it to fail, or he would force himself to do it in extreme pain and guilt, only to be completely consumed by this sin, accelerating his own downfall, and possibly even leading to worse consequences.
After a long silence, the old Wizard's stern tone softened, replaced by a deep weariness and—a hint of secret fanaticism.
"Very well—" He sighed deeply, a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand years, "Since you want to know—since you need a reason—then I'll tell you something—about what I've been truly researching all these years. Something—that might overturn everything you know."
The Black Robed Woman held his breath, all his attention focused on what his teacher was about to say. He knew he was about to uncover his teacher's deepest secret.
"You've studied history, child," Saruman began slowly, his voice becoming as if he were lecturing on a profound subject. "You know the iron law of time—it's irreversible and unchangeable. The past is solidified amber, the future is spreading mist. This is common sense, one of the fundamental rules governing this world, isn't it?"
The Black Robed Woman nodded subconsciously, even though he knew his teacher couldn't see him.
"For the vast majority of beings, and for the smooth operation of this world itself, this is indeed an ironclad rule," Saruman said, changing the subject.
"But—are ironclad rules truly absolute? When power reaches a certain level, when cognition touches upon certain hidden truths, when you have the opportunity to access—tools from outside the rules of the world, or rather, above the rules—" he lowered his voice.
It possesses a bewitching, Magic Power.
"I spent seven hundred years traversing forgotten ruins, deciphering forbidden texts whose very names could drive ordinary Wizard mad, and even—making dangerous deals with ancient beings who were not human. I wasn't just researching how to combat the corruption of R'lyeh; I was also exploring time itself, investigating that paradoxical encounter that occurred on R'lyeh —why would Ian Prince, a thousand years in the future, appear before me, a thousand years in the past?"
"I eventually discovered that time is not as absolute as we imagine. It is more like a rushing river, but for beings that can transcend the river and stand on its banks, going with the current, going against the current, and even—altering some of the river's small tributaries—is not entirely impossible. Especially in places where the spatiotemporal structure itself is exceptionally weak, or even contains eddies and loops, such as R'lyeh."
Saruman spoke calmly.
The Black Robed Woman's understanding was severely shaken.
"Change history? How is that possible? Any attempt to disrupt time will lead to unpredictable and catastrophic consequences—this is the consensus of all Time Magic researchers!"
The Black Robed Woman was experiencing such a profound shock precisely because he knew so much. To put it simply, he didn't believe such a thing was possible—to change history.
Even Dumbledore thought it was impossible before he met Ian.
The Black Robed Woman.
Even Saruman wasn't Dumbledore, and his knowledge on a macro level wasn't Dumbledore's. It would be strange if he wasn't impressed.
certainly.
Perhaps due to some special reasons.
The elderly Saruman walked ahead of Dumbledore.
now.
He is Legend.
"Believe me, child, that's the consensus of mediocre people, a conclusion drawn from their limited knowledge and power," Saruman said with a hint of arrogance.
For true Legend, for those who hold the key, "impossible" is merely a threshold.
Deep within the Raven Ruins, I found more than just rune fragments and maps—I found revelations about the Raven itself.
Saruman brought up the name that had been a constant throughout his life once again.
" Raven?" The Black Robed Woman murmured, recalling the tone of his teacher's voice when he mentioned this mysterious being.
"That is not a living being, at least not entirely."
Saruman's voice became ethereal, as if describing something beyond comprehension. "It is a symbol, a concept, an existence that wanders the edge of time, connecting different branches of possibility. In some ancient records, lost even to mythology, it is seen as a carrier of memory, a messenger of omens, and—a ferryman of time rifts."
To be honest...
Saruman may not have known enough about Raven either.
but.
He knew more about Raven than most people.
Regarding the Raven's Strength attribute.
Saruman was a little-known person who knew the inside story.
As he spoke, Saruman slowly reached his withered hand inside his seemingly plain gray robe. When he reached out again, a feather lay quietly in his palm.
It was a feather about a foot long, entirely black.
It was an eerily black, not the kind that absorbs light, but a kind of dark darkness that seemed to devour vision, distorting and sucking in even the faintest light around it, and possessing a tangible quality.
The edges of the feathers are not neat, but rather irregular, appearing as if they have been eroded by time or some other force.
A faint, almost invisible, dark silver shimmer was flowing within it.
It contains an absolutely mysterious power.
Just by looking at him, the Black Robed Woman felt as if his soul had been gently stirred, as if he wanted to sink into endless memories and dreams.
Well, how should I put it?
Although the two people present might not know much about Raven feathers, Ian would have recognized what they were if he were here.
The object held in the hands of the elderly Saruman.
Nothing else.
It's his hair.
Or perhaps he was once Raven's feather.
It contains profound meaning.
A power powerful enough to overturn Destiny.