"My Lord" strolled leisurely through another towering wall of the "Soul Maze." Seeming to sense something, he slowly came to a stop.
"Such intense fear. You seem ashamed of it. Why?" There was not the slightest trace of mockery in his tone; he was merely stating a fact.
"You should feel honored. After all, you are clearly a being of a lower order, yet the magic you cast can genuinely obstruct my actions."
"The material composing these high walls..." He spread his palm as if sensing something. "Personal experiences?"
"A wide variety of experiences... rich, yet cluttered." He traced the air with his hand as though flipping through an open book. "You connected yourself to many people to achieve this. It truly is interesting."
This somewhat casual evaluation, as though he were commenting on homework, filled Voldemort with even greater horror.
"My Lord's" guess had been entirely correct. The "Soul Maze" he had constructed, after constant refinement, had already incorporated the memories of the Squib Army's members.
It was precisely because he had improved the "Soul Maze" to this extent that he had been confident that, should he ever have the chance to touch Wizet's soul, he could crush Wizet's "Soul Maze" in one stroke.
As if he knew what Voldemort was thinking, "My Lord" said in his usual indifferent tone, "You are mistaken. I did not guess. The magic you cast is plainly visible to me."
"This magic that protects 'spiritual awareness' was also first created by me. The magic you used earlier was likewise based on prototypes I bestowed upon you."
"Most of the extensions and improvements you have made have not departed from the framework I created. Still, your application of 'spiritual awareness' surprised me."
His tone remained unchanged, as if he were simply stating facts.
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