The air in Dumbledore's office was so still it seemed almost frozen.
Ian Alvin's earlier discourse on "Wizarding Civilization" still echoed between every portrait and every candle flame.
Even the portraits of the former headmasters were unusually silent.
Their expressions were complicated—there was longing, but also fear. Such a grand Wizarding World, filled with order and power, was almost mythical.
At last, Phineas Black could not resist speaking. He sneered, "Ha ha, Professor Ian, only a highborn pure-blood noble like you could dream up such a 'perfect' civilization."
No sooner had he spoken than Headmistress Dewent in the neighboring portrait frowned in displeasure and shot him a fierce glare.
Ian merely smiled faintly, his gaze as calm as a lake. "In the world I envision, the word 'noble' will still exist, but it will no longer be tied to bloodline. Nobility will not be the privilege of birth, but a symbol of ability and contribution.
Powerful wizards, great researchers, heroes who protect the world—they deserve to be revered.
But if their descendants are incompetent, lazy, and merely occupy the family estate—then they deserve to inherit wealth, not status.
If they still accomplish nothing after three generations, even bloodline will lose its meaning."
His voice was calm, yet it carried an irrefutable rationality.
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, a complicated light flickering in his eyes.
"The ideal is beautiful," he said softly, "but building such a civilization will inevitably be accompanied by bloodshed and war. History will not fulfill dreams gently."
"And," his tone shifted slightly, "what about Muggles? In the world you envision, what will become of them?"
Ian lightly tapped his teacup with his fingertips, firelight flickering in his eyes.
"You are right, Professor. If Wizarding Civilization truly rises, it will indeed commit countless atrocities.
But please tell me—what great civilization in this world was not born from war and sacrifice?"
Dumbledore did not refute him. He merely sighed.
"Then, do you intend to start that war?"
Ian suddenly smiled, his voice low and calm.
"No. I have already given up."
At that moment, every portrait in the room revealed surprise. Phineas was so startled he nearly jumped out of his frame.
"You gave up?!" he cried.
Ian took a sip of tea, his expression indifferent.
"Yes. I gave up because I understood—the true end will not be initiated by wizards."
"What do you mean?" Dumbledore's tone became grave.
"I often thought later on: if human civilization continued developing like this, what would its end be?
The answer I reached was—war would eventually erupt.
And this war would not be started by wizards, but by Muggles."
Phineas scoffed. "Nonsense! How would Muggles dare declare war on us? A few Imperius Curses would be enough to make their leaders kneel and beg for mercy!"
Ian turned to look at him, his gaze calm.
"Do you know? More than twenty years ago, Muggles had already landed on the moon."
"Landed... on the moon?" Phineas frowned, looking somewhat bewildered.
"Yes," Ian said softly. "They crossed the sky with science and steel. That was only the beginning.
Their technology is advancing at a speed even magic cannot match.
You may mock their weakness, but you cannot deny their intelligence.
And what about wizards? We still use medieval laws and copy scrolls with quills.
What has been our greatest achievement over the past several centuries? The Philosopher's Stone? That was created six hundred years ago.
We have Space Magic, yet we have not even gone to the moon.
Meanwhile, Muggles have already begun exploring the stars."
He slowly raised his head, his tone sharpening. "We pride ourselves on being mysterious and noble, but in truth, we have long since become stagnant.
The Muggle world is racing forward, while the wizarding world rots in place."
His words brought different expressions to the portraits. Some were furious; some were deep in thought.
Dumbledore alone remained quiet, though the concern in his eyes deepened.
Phineas said furiously, "As long as we control their rulers, everything can be solved! Imperius Curse, Confundus Charm, Obliviate—more than enough to make them slaughter one another!"
"Not entirely correct." Ian shook his head faintly. "Those with strong wills can resist the Imperius Curse, and their numbers far exceed ours.
Seven billion—a number we do not even dare imagine.
How many can you control? A hundred? A thousand?
Wars are not won by spells, but by will and systems.
When their weapons cover the skies, when machines need no sleep, when information travels faster than magic—
Any spell will be drowned beneath a storm of metal."
Phineas opened his mouth, but could no longer say a word.
Ian looked at Dumbledore, his expression calm. "If Muggles and wizards ever go to war, wizards will surely lose."
The air froze. Some in the portraits cursed in rage, while others sighed in grief. Dumbledore alone merely continued to watch him silently.
"But you just said—you had already given up those ambitions. Then why raise such an apocalyptic theory?"
Ian's fingers lightly rubbed the rim of his teacup.
"Because I want to tell you—wizardkind's destruction does not mean the end.
If we lose, we may instead welcome a new awakening.
The collapse of the old order is the starting point of a new civilization.
Muggle science will force wizards to reconsider the essence of magic, to understand the unity of energy, matter, and soul.
We will be forced to change, to move from secrecy toward reason, from mystery back to true knowledge.
Destruction and rebirth are two sides of the same coin."
Dumbledore said softly, "You believe war might instead save wizardkind?"
"Perhaps." Ian laughed quietly. "History is never gentle, but it is always fair.
It will clear away decayed souls and leave behind the race that can adapt to the future.
I no longer fantasize about the glory of ruling the world. I only hope—
When the flames burn away the old world, someone will still be able to pick up the light among the ashes."
The firelight swayed, illuminating the faintly shadowed profiles of the two men.
It was a collision between ideals and reality, faith and reason.
The wind outside gradually rose, like the whisper of distant ages.
Dumbledore slowly rose to his feet, his gaze profound. "You remind me of what Grindelwald was like in his youth."
Ian smiled softly. "The difference is, I know when to stop."
Before you continue