As the four people watched with surprise and uncertainty, Allen slowly raised the wand in his hand, his movements unhurried, even with an almost unhurried rhythm.
The eyes beneath the purple-striped fox's mask were half-closed, as if listening to something others couldn't hear.
The countdown for James Potter's character card was still ticking on the system panel, but he ignored it for the moment.
The knowledge of [ Gale Spell ] flowed from the title, like a riverbed that had been dried out for too long being refilled with water.
All his insights into the wind, his judgments about the direction of airflow, and his tricks for manipulating the airflow over the largest area with minimal loss of magic power were laid out in his mind.
At the same time, James's understanding of the [ Patronus Charm ] also emerged.
But these two things are like two parallel lines that never intersect.
But what if we let the wind carry the light, instead of letting the light face the wind? The wind is the carrier, and the light is the content.
The wind itself has no direction; it carries whatever you pour into it. But what if what you pour into the wind isn't air, but rather the layer of silvery-white spiritual light condensed from the Patronus Charm?
The moment Allen had that thought, it seemed that the two parallel lines would eventually intersect.
Of course, these thoughts flashed through his mind in the blink of an eye. From the outside, the man wearing the fox mask simply closed his eyes and opened them again, then slowly uttered a string of incantations.
The string of incantation syllables was dense and long, one syllable overlapping another, carrying a certain rhythmic cadence. It didn't sound like chanting a spell, but rather like singing a long song without lyrics.
Ron's mouth opened slightly as he turned to look at Hermione, his voice extremely low. "What is he reciting?"
Hermione frowned, her lips pressed into a thin line, and after several seconds shook her head. "I can't tell."
"You also have spells you can't recognize?" Ron was a little surprised, his voice even carrying a hint of inappropriate astonishment.
"I don't know everything." Hermione's tone was not good, but her eyes never left the wand.
"I've never encountered this syllable structure before; it's not in any books, and it's not one of the Standard Book of Spells."
Harry listened to their conversation while racking his brains to recall what they were saying.
He attended classes at Hogwarts for over two years, and he had some recollection of the spells Professor Flitwick had taught, even if he didn't know them, they at least sounded familiar.
But this was the first time he had ever heard this string of words; the way the syllables were strung together didn't match any of the spells he had ever learned.
"Maybe it's some obscure ancient spell?" Ron guessed again, his tone uncertain.
"No." Hermione shook her head decisively. "Ancient spells have very obvious traces of Latin or Ancient Greek roots in their syllables, this sounds more... smoother?"
Black stood diagonally behind Harry and remained silent from the moment Allen began to utter the first syllable.
His gray eyes were fixed on the figure in the trench coat, his expression complex, as if many thoughts were swirling within him, and he was unsure whether he should focus on one of them.
Harry noticed that Black's lips moved, and he whispered two words, his mouth movements appearing as if he were repeating the first few sounds of the spell.
"You can tell?" Harry asked in a low voice.
Black didn't answer immediately. He paused for two or three seconds before speaking in the same low voice, with a strange hesitation in his tone. "I have some guesses."
What guess?
Black's gaze remained fixed on Allen; his lips moved, then closed again.
Finally, he simply shook his head slightly. "I'm not sure. And if it's really what I think, then the whole thing is too..."
He didn't say the word, but Harry saw his fingers curl unconsciously.
Black was indeed guessing.
He came from a family that had the pride of Pure-blood etched into their very bones. From a young age, his mind was filled with not only tedious rituals and family genealogies, but also a wealth of secrets and rumors about Ancient Magic.
He had heard his elders mention Composite Spell; they were a realm that required extremely deep accumulation of knowledge and a kind of inspiration akin to innate talent.
The incantation he had just heard had a double-nested structure in its syllables, with the two sets overlapping rather than appearing one after the other. This meant that the caster was simultaneously infusing a spell with two different magical properties.
He dared not think any further. If that were the case, then what this fox-masked guy was doing was combining two high-level spells into one.
That was simply... horrifying!
The Dementor surrounding them paid no attention to what they were guessing.
Those gray-black cloaks slowly pressed in from three sides, step by step.
They didn't react to the incantation; after all, they only recognized emotions and couldn't understand what the wizard was chanting.
But they could sense that the silvery-white stag was darkening; the light on its antlers had shrunk to a thin layer, like frost on a windowpane in winter melting away in the sun.
The chill grew stronger.
Harry's breath began to turn white again, his fingertips went numb, and the buzzing in his head grew louder once more.
His mother's screams were like a rope soaked in ice water, tightening around the back of his head.
Ron's teeth began to chatter, making a soft, cracking sound as his upper and lower teeth clashed together. He clenched his teeth tightly to suppress the sound.
Hermione's hand holding the wand was trembling, and most of the silvery-white mist at the tip of the wand had dissipated. She bit her lip and stubbornly held on.
Black took a step back; his face, already pale, was now even more bloodless, but he didn't mention rushing in again.
He glanced at Allen's back, which remained motionless, his wand-holding posture as steady as if carved into stone.
Meanwhile, the tip of Allen's staff grew brighter and brighter.
That shine was different from the silvery-white of the previous stag.
At first, only the silvery-white light inside the tip of the wand thickened a bit, then the light spread upwards along the wand, turning the entire Jianmu Magic Wand into a silvery-white stick.
Then, the edges of the light began to spill outwards, scattering out in wisps, swirling around the tip of the staff, as if stirred by something unseen.
wind.
First, the withered leaves at Allen's feet turned over slightly, then the hem of his trench coat fluttered upwards, and then the thin layer of dust beneath his feet began to lift off the ground.
After the circle of silvery-white light emanated, it was enveloped by an invisible airflow and spread outwards, spreading slowly but very thoroughly.
The Dementor slowed their advance by a beat.
A few short, indistinct hissing sounds came from beneath the gray-black cloaks, as if they themselves were unsure what this thing before them should be.
The silvery-white light contained their most hated scent, but the scent was carried away by the wind, unlike ordinary Patronus Charm which condense into a blockage in front of you. Instead, it was evenly dispersed in the air, making it impossible to avoid.
Allen was still chanting the incantation.
The string of syllables grew faster and faster, becoming more rapid from its initial long and drawn-out sound, one syllable after another, like winding something up, turning it round and round.
Finally, when the Dementor were about seven or eight steps away, Allen uttered the last syllable.
All the magic pierced through the tip of the staff in a single instant.
He was enveloped in a layer of light emanating from within, and the hem of his trench coat was stretched off his legs by the air currents emanating from his body, fluttering backward.
The eyes revealed beneath the Purple-Patterned Fox-Face Mask shone with a blazing white magical light, like two lamps turned on at their brightest setting.
[ Gale Spell ] × [ Patronus Charm ]!
"Then let's call it..." Allen said softly, his voice slightly distorted by the surrounding wind, "[Complex: Silver Breeze Thunder]."
The storm erupted the moment the words left his mouth.
At first, it was just a ring of air close to the ground, which ripped up the layer of soil and dead leaves under Allen's feet.
Immediately afterwards, the silvery-white beam of light shot out from the tip of his staff. The airflow inside it swirled violently after traveling two or three zhang (approximately 6-9 meters) and then began to rise.
The wind didn't travel in a straight line; it twisted around the silvery-white pillar of light, forming a storm, each circle enveloped in a thick layer of silvery-white protective aura.
The Dementor were overturned when the first wave of air swept over them.
The closest cloaks flipped backward into inverted umbrellas, and the phantoms beneath them were swept away by the whirlwind wrapped in silver light, flying backward without even having a chance to utter a sound.
The others tried to run away when they saw this, but the wind wasn't just heading towards them anymore; it spread across the entire forest clearing.
The storm roared, its sound unlike thunder, which strikes and then ends.
It stretches endlessly, wave after wave crashing upwards, each wave growing thicker and rising even higher with each surge.
Silvery-white light radiated outwards from the storm, not shining straight out, but rather flying outwards in concentric circles along the spiraling airflow.
The storm grew rapidly, reaching the canopy of the old oak trees in the Forbidden Forest in just a few seconds, bending the centuries-old branches to their sides.
Some of the thinner branches were broken off by the weight, snapping with a crack and then being swept upwards by the wind.
Further up, the crest of the storm had already pierced through the forest canopy, reaching the cloud-covered sky above the Forbidden Forest.
From a distance, it looks like a silver-white pillar rising from the middle of the forest, so tall that it almost touches the sky and the earth, with rings of silver light and wind patterns rolling upwards around its body.
The entire Forbidden Forest was illuminated as brightly as day.
The centaurs who had been hiding deep in the forest stopped and looked up at the pillar of light that shot into the sky from the forest clearing.
Several young centaurs instinctively took a half step back, lowering their longbows.
The offspring of the Acromantula huddled under the tree roots, their eight eyes fixed on the silvery-white light of the sky, motionless.
The circle of Dementor surrounding Allen had practically disappeared by now.
As soon as the storm spread, they scattered and fled in all directions; the faster ones had already disappeared into the depths of the forest.
Those that ran slowly were swept by the silver light and tumbled backward, rolling twice before getting up and continuing to run. The silver light stuck to the edges of their cloaks and wouldn't fade for a long time. As they ran, they made a hissing sound like a broken bellows, sounding even more urgent than before.
And the storm is still rising.
After the spiral reached its limit, it began to expand outwards, and silvery-white light emanated from the pillar, like water overflowing from the rim of a bowl.
Wherever the light spread, the wind picked up, and the swirling twigs and pebbles tumbled in the light, every line and groove clearly visible.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a whole row of low shrubs was flattened by the wind, lying flat against the ground as if someone had pressed them down with their palm.
Allen stood in the very middle of the storm, his wand raised high, its tip still emitting light.
The hem of his trench coat was pushed sideways by the airflow emanating from him, his hair was blown back, and the entire mask, except for the two eye holes, was illuminated by the silvery light.
Ron has stopped trembling.
He stared, mouth agape, at the endless, silvery-white storm before him, not even realizing when his wand had fallen.
His expression was as if someone had set off a whole box of fireworks in his head, exploding so loudly that he couldn't even utter a coherent sentence.
Hermione's lips moved, and after several seconds she managed to squeeze out, "Where did he learn that from...?"
Harry didn't reply.
He stared at the storm, his mind blank, filled only with a simple, overwhelming shock, as if he'd been struck by a hammer right in front of him.
He had previously thought that the silvery-white stag was already quite remarkable, but compared to this thing in front of him, the stag was like a child's paper lantern.
Black stood at the very back, and the way he looked at the storm was different from the way the three children did.
His lips moved slightly, as if he was going over something in his mind over and over again. Finally, he let out a soft breath, a breath that carried an indescribable complexity.
Composite Spell, and it's definitely something created by combining Patronus Charm with another high-level spell.
He had lived for decades and spent twelve years in Azkaban. He had heard of and seen all kinds of Dark Magic and white magic, but he had only heard snippets of Composite Spell from his elders and had never seen anyone cast one himself.
I actually saw it today; it was even composited using the Patronus Charm as a base.