Inside the tavern.
Listening to Ian's arrogant words.
Grindelwald understood.
He looked at Ian, his heterochromatic eyes flashing with complex emotions—shock, awe, and an indescribable... relief. This child possessed power surpassing even Legend.
He can face Cthulhu head-on.
He can freely enter and exit the Misty Illusion.
He dared to say, "You will meet again someday."
It's all because he's Raven.
Because he is the embodiment of Destiny.
"So," Grindelwald's voice was hoarse, "Your very existence in this era is..."
"It's Destiny," Ian picked up where he left off, smiling slightly. "Yes. So you don't need to worry about changing history—because I am here, and I am part of history myself." He put away the Time Machine model in his palm and looked at the two of them:
"So, it's decided? To break through to the Legend status in the future?"
Dumbledore and Grindelwald exchanged a glance.
Then Dumbledore nodded. His deep blue eyes held no more hesitation, only an unprecedented firmness. "I've decided."
He looked at Ian, his gaze carrying a complex emotion:
"I want to see if the legendary Raven can truly... control Destiny."
Ian smiled. The smile on his youthful face was exceptionally bright and confident.
You will see.
Grindelwald suddenly remembered something and asked, "By the way, where's your Time Machine? Will you take us there now?"
Ian's expression stiffened slightly.
That moment of stiffness, though only half a second, was keenly captured by the two elderly people.
"Now..." Ian scratched his head, the gesture and his current expression making him look like a schoolchild stumped by a teacher, "Well..." Grindelwald frowned. "Don't tell me you didn't bring it."
"I brought it, I brought it," Ian said quickly, then his voice trailed off, "But... it's not fixed yet."
The two old people fell silent.
Grindelwald's lips twitched slightly. "So, all that talk about time travel, breaking through to Legend, being the embodiment of Destiny, turns out... the Time Machine is broken?" "It just needs some repairs!" Ian argued. "It's not like it can't be repaired! It's just missing some materials!"
Dumbledore shook his head helplessly, a slight smile playing on his lips. "So, what materials do you need? Tell me, and Gellert and I will figure something out." Ian's eyes lit up, and he quickly pulled a piece of Parchment from his pocket —the Parchment looked ordinary, but it was densely covered with writing, some of the words constantly shifting in shape. He handed the Parchment to Dumbledore:
This is the materials list.
Dumbledore took it, glanced at it, and his expression instantly became complicated.
Grindelwald leaned closer for a look, and his expression became equally complicated.
"Phoenix tail feathers—three," Grindelwald read. "Dragon's tears—a bottle. Basilisk Fang —two whole. Philosopher's Stone —a fist-sized piece. And this..." He pointed to the last line of the list, "' Sands of Time' —fifty grams."
He looked up at Ian: "Are you serious?"
Ian blinked, his innocent expression making it hard to scold him, "Of course I'm serious."
Dumbledore sighed, folded the Parchment, and tucked it into his pocket. "Let's go, Gellert. We'll go check Gringotts." An hour later, at Gringotts, the vault keeper, an Goblin with a beard that dragged on the ground, looked at the list Dumbledore had handed him. His expression was priceless.
"Phoenix tail feathers?" His voice was shrill and grating. "We have three. But—those are treasures in Griphook's vault, he'd rather die than sell them." "Dragon tears?" He continued, "A bottle? Mr. Dumbledore, do you know how many Galleon a bottle of Dragon Tears is worth? And—there's no real stuff on the market now! They're all diluted!" " Basilisk Fang? Two whole ones?" The Goblin's eyebrows almost flew to the top of his head. " Merlin's mustache! That stuff is rarer than Dragon Tears! The last time Basilisk appeared on the market was three hundred years ago." " The Philosopher's Stone?" His voice completely changed. "A fist-sized piece? Are you kidding me? There's only one Philosopher's Stone in the entire Wizarding World, and—it's in Nicolas Flamel's hands! You want me to go ask Nicolas Flamel for his Philosopher's Stone?"
"As for the Sands of Time..." the Goblin waved his hand weakly, "That's a forbidden item of the Department of Mysteries. Forget about buying it, you can't even see it. You'd better look elsewhere." With that, he shoved the list back into Dumbledore's hand, turned, and left, muttering to himself, " Wizard these days are getting more and more outrageous..." Dumbledore and Grindelwald stood in Gringotts's Great Hall, exchanging bewildered glances.
Grindelwald sighed. "So, we didn't get any of it?"
Dumbledore nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips, "Didn't get a single one."
"What should we do then?"
Dumbledore a few seconds, just about to speak...
"Gentlemen, if you're looking for rare materials..." a clear voice came from behind, "Why don't you check your own warehouses first?" Dumbledore and Grindelwald turned around simultaneously.
Ian stood behind them, a helpless smile on his youthful face. He had clearly been standing there for a while, witnessing the entire "spectacular performance." "His own warehouse?" Grindelwald raised an eyebrow.
Ian nodded, stepped between the two, and lowered his voice:
"One of you is the headmaster of Hogwarts, who has lived for over a hundred years; the other is the Dark Lord once ruled the Europe Wizarding World, plundering the wealth of half the continent. Don't you have anything good in your private treasuries?" He blinked, his expression like that of a child reminding adults that "you are actually very rich."
Dumbledore paused for a moment, then laughed. His laughter carried a hint of self-mockery and a touch of realization.
"You're right, son. How could I have forgotten that?" Grindelwald nodded thoughtfully. "I did indeed keep quite a lot of things in my Switzerland vault. Back then..." He paused, not finishing his sentence, but a complex emotion clearly flashed in his eyes.
Ian looked at them, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Then stop standing there. Lead the way, you two 'rich people'."
Deep beneath Gringotts, the tracks meander like a maze, and the car speeds through the darkness, carrying three passengers as it plunges deeper into the darkness.
Dumbledore's vault was located at the deepest part of Tunnel 713. When the car finally stopped, Ian looked at the scene before him and couldn't help but whistle. It was a huge metal door, without any keyhole, only intricate, ever-flowing magical patterns. In the very center of the door was engraved a Phoenix with outstretched wings—the symbol of Hogwarts and the emblem of the Dumbledore family.
"Is this your private vault?" Ian asked.
Dumbledore nodded, stepped forward, and placed his hand on the door. The magical runes instantly lit up, and the Phoenix's eyes emitted a golden light. A few seconds later, accompanied by a deep rumble, the giant door slowly opened. Behind the door lay mountains of wealth.
A small mountain of Galleons, a river of Sickles, a carpet of Knut. Various rare treasures are scattered among them—magical books, Alchemy Tools, ancient scrolls, specimens of unknown Magical Creatures... Each item exudes a faint Magic Power Fluctuation.
Ian walked to a pile of clutter and began rummaging through it. His movements were quick, yet surprisingly meticulous; he would pause for a moment after picking up each item, as if sensing something. "Phoenix tail feathers..." he murmured, " Phoenix Feather... Got it!"
He pulled a slender box from under a pile of ancient books, opened it, and found three golden-red feathers inside. The feathers emitted a soft glow, and even in the dim vault, one could feel the Life Force they contained.
Dumbledore walked over and glanced at it. "These are Fawkes ' feathers. I collect some every year when it molts." "Very good." Ian carefully put the box away. " Phoenix Feather taken care of. Next..."
He continued searching. This time it was faster, because with a target in mind, his senses were more precise.
"Dragon's Tears..." he muttered, rummaging through a pile of bottles and jars. "This one's Unicorn Blood... this one's Mandrake... this one's... wait, what's this?" He dragged a dusty water bottle from the corner. The liquid inside was a deep amber color, shimmering faintly in the darkness, like solidified sunlight. Dumbledore glanced at it, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "That was a gift from a friend at a dragon sanctuary thirty years ago. Hungarian Horntail tears—it's said to be the most precious of all dragons." Ian uncorked the bottle and sniffed it gently. A strong... A sultry, almost sulfurous, scent wafted towards him. He nodded, satisfied, and put it away. "Genuine. And pure. Dragon tears, done." Grindelwald watched from the side, a complex glint in his heterochromatic eyes. He didn't speak, but his mind was already calculating—what exactly was in his vault? The subsequent search yielded a rich harvest. Ian found two complete Basilisk in a locked iron box, "souvenirs" Dumbledore had brought from the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts in his youth. From a pile of magical artifacts, he found several fragments of Philosopher's Stone of extremely high purity—though not fist-sized, better than nothing.
Finally, Ian found a crystal bottle the size of a thumb in what appeared to be the most unassuming wooden box. Inside the bottle was a small amount of silvery-white, constantly flowing sand. " The Sands of Time?" Dumbledore's voice held a hint of surprise. "When did I get this?"
Ian looked at him, a slight smile playing on his lips, "You don't remember?"
Dumbledore frowned, pondering for a moment, then suddenly realized, "It's Nicolas! The 'little gift' he gave me sixty years ago. I thought it was just an ordinary souvenir and casually tossed it here." "An ordinary souvenir?" Ian shook his head. " The Sands of Time, a single gram is priceless. Nicolas Flamel was truly generous to you." Dumbledore remained silent for a few seconds, but the glint in his eyes clearly spoke volumes.
Inventory complete.
Three phoenix tail feathers. Done.
Dragon's Tears – a bottle of pure Hungarian Horntail tears. Done.
The Basilisk— two intact. Done.
A Philosopher's Stone fragment—about the size of a fingernail. Not enough.
A tiny pinch of the Sands of Time, about 0.3 grams, isn't enough.
Ian looked at the small pile of materials in front of him, a helpless expression on his face. "It's far from enough."
Dumbledore sighed. "Looks like we'll have to check Gellert's vault again."
Grindelwald's lips curled into a knowing smile, "My vault... is far more exciting than yours." Grindelwald's vault was located in a deeper, more remote area of Gringotts Switzerland.
The track there was almost vertical, and the feeling of the car plummeting in the darkness made one wonder if they were heading to hell. When the car finally stopped, Ian looked at the scene before him and couldn't help but gasp.
It was a massive, pitch-black metal door. There were no magical runes on it, only a single symbol—the Grindelwald Family crest: a soaring eagle, its talons holding a scepter and a crown. But what was most unsettling was the aura emanating from the door.
Those were the marks left by countless powerful, dark, and twisted spells. The metal on the door, having endured the impact of various anti-spells for a long time, had become irregularly twisted and Transfiguration. In some places, there were even deep claw marks—left by some unknown creature.
Grindelwald stepped forward and placed his hand on the door. He didn't chant any incantation or make any complicated movements. He simply stood there, exuding an indescribable aura of royalty. A few seconds later, the door slowly opened.
The sight behind the door made Ian's eyes light up.
That wasn't an ordinary vault, but a vast, multi-tiered underground Palace. Each level was filled with the wealth Grindelwald had amassed over decades of plundering across the Europe continent. The top level contained gold coins and works of art —Galleons from various countries, France francs, Germany Mark, and countless precious paintings, sculptures, and antiques. The second level held magical tomes and scrolls—precious documents "borrowed" from various Ministry of Magic, ancient families, and secret organizations, piled high like mountains. The third level contained magical tools and Alchemical Materials —various wands with unique functions, magical items, and countless rare materials. The fourth level...
Ian didn't look closely and rushed straight to the third floor.
His movements were faster and more practiced than in Dumbledore's vault. Clearly, he was more familiar with the style of Grindelwald's "collector." " Phoenix Feather?"
He pulled three golden-red feathers from an iron box—larger and brighter than Dumbledore's three. "These are... Phoenix King feathers?" Grindelwald nodded. "From China. That guy cost me a fortune."
"Dragon's tears?" Ian scooped a spoonful of amber liquid from a huge crystal jar. "This... this is a whole jar? You killed a dragon?" Grindelwald shrugged.
"I didn't kill it. It died on its own. I just... happened to be passing by."
The dragons here are, of course, Half-Blood Dragon.
However, he lives alone.
Even in the Wizarding World, very few Wizard can do this.