541: Believers of Deep Space

Amid the clamor.

Dumbledore's actions carried an overwhelming sense of authority.

He raised a hand and gently pressed it downward. It was a simple gesture, yet it seemed to possess invisible magic, instantly silencing the noisy office.

Everyone felt an inexplicable pressure and involuntarily closed their mouths. Then Dumbledore spoke. His voice was not loud, but it was clear, steady, and firm. Every word seemed carved from ice, striking the ground with undeniable force and echoing through the suddenly deathly silent office. "Gentlemen."

His azure eyes, like polar ice, slowly swept over the crowd.

"I came here to submit this application."

"It is a notice."

He paused slightly, allowing the weight of the word "notice" to crash heavily onto every heart.

"Not."

"A discussion."

As his words fell, the office became utterly silent. Only the crackling of burning wood in the fireplace remained, along with the suddenly heavy, disbelieving breaths of several officials.

As they looked into Dumbledore's calm eyes, which seemed to contain a storm, they understood for the first time with such clarity what kind of unyielding will and power lay deep within the old wizard known throughout the world for his wisdom, gentleness, and Chocolate Frog cards.

To be fair.

Dumbledore rarely displayed such an authoritarian side.

However.

For that "Raven," for that unknown variable that might have come from the "future" or another world, for the horrifying prophecy Grindelwald claimed concerned everyone's survival, Albus Dumbledore did not hesitate to reveal the forceful side he had hidden for so long—a side powerful enough to make the entire wizarding world take notice. Dumbledore's words—"a notice, not a discussion"—were like a freezing spell, instantly chilling all the uproar and anger within the International Confederation of Wizards' Emergency Affairs Office.

"You..."

The shock and fury on several senior officials' faces