"You're not Lucius, are you?"
The white-bearded old man looked at Voldemort, who had taken Lucius's appearance, and said this straightaway.
"No, but I can't reveal anything more about my identity, for certain reasons."
Voldemort wasn't surprised.
His manner was completely different from Lucius's, and he hadn't made any effort to change it.
So it was hardly surprising that he'd been found out.
Besides, the director standing before him could see the aura of death, which made it even easier to tell him apart from Lucius.
"I have no intention of prying into your secrets, but you'll need some kind of name. Calling you Lucius would feel very strange, since I happen to know him."
The white-bearded director shook his head as he spoke, leading Voldemort into the Death Hall.
"Silvester. You can call me that, Director."
After a moment's thought, Voldemort had given himself the name.
In Latin, it meant "from the forest."
Voldemort felt that this represented the part of his consciousness that came from Lin Zuo.
"Silvester?"
The white-bearded director froze. Then he turned to Voldemort in shock.
But the latter paid him no attention, merely surveying the room before him.
The Death Hall was much larger than the Time Hall he had visited before, measuring nearly half a football field.
The room was dimly lit and square, with a sunken center that formed a huge stone pit.
Stone steps surrounded the entire room, descending tier by tier like stone benches and making the Death Hall look like a lecture theater.
In the center of the pit stood a raised stone platform, upon which stood an ancient-looking, dilapidated archway.
The archway had no walls supporting it. A tattered black veil hung from it.
There wasn't a breath of wind in the cold air, yet the veil swayed