Dumbledore's body was being dragged down relentlessly.
A fierce burning pain shot through his ankles. The massive spell he had cast earlier had drained too much of his magic, leaving it sluggish and difficult to circulate. The corrosive power of Dark Magic crept up from his legs, beginning to interfere with his magical core. Yet there was not the slightest panic in his eyes. Instead, all emotion gradually faded away, leaving only utter calm and resolve. He knew that he could not fight strength with strength right now. He had to stabilize himself first.
Only then could he find an opportunity to strike back.
"You're still as impatient as ever." Dumbledore took a deep breath and suppressed the discomfort within him. Rather than forcibly resisting the pulling force, he slowly relaxed his body. The Elder Wand withdrew, pointing straight at his own chest. The golden light at its tip became soft and warm, no longer carrying any aggression.
Below, Grison and the Aurors felt their hearts leap into their throats. They thought Dumbledore had given up resisting. One after another, they tightened their grips on their wands, wanting to rush forward, only to have their path blocked by the lingering shockwaves. Their faces were full of anxiety.
But the next second, Dumbledore uttered a spell no one had expected. It carried neither the sharpness of attack nor the weight of defense, yet it was filled with the determination of someone fighting their way out of a hopeless situation.
"Mend!"
Soft golden healing light flowed from the wand and slowly entered his chest. This was neither an offensive spell nor a defensive one, but the most basic—and most crucial—healing spell. The instant the golden light entered his body, it began rapidly repairing his damaged magical channels. The meridians scorched by Dark