The Holy Grail

Isolt Sell was a 17th-century witch, three hundred years ago.

Not only is she from a very long time ago, but she was also a legendary wizard who founded the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

This kind of witch can hide things very easily, making them difficult for others to find.

In fact, the Gaunt family was still trying to retrieve Slytherin's Wand until their demise.

Of course, the later part was purely a case of extortion; the impoverished Gaunt family wanted to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for a large sum of gold so they could return to the lavish lifestyle their ancestors had enjoyed.

Making money by staging accidents is shameful!

But this kind of staged accident should, of course, involve something actually "breaking."

For the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a down-on-their-luck individual like Gaunt is like the waning Great British Empire encountering the rising Beacon of the Nation.

I'll smash your head in, and then I'll make you whine and cry!

Inside the room, Nicolas Flamel continued speaking.

"After failing to find the magic wand, I set my sights on Death's goblet."

His eyes were bright and piercing, radiating a mysterious light.

"This cup left behind more clues than Slytherin's Wand, but because there were so many, it was difficult to distinguish between the real and the fake."

Later, through my continued investigation, I discovered that this goblet has another name, which you should have heard of— the Holy Grail.

Nicolas led William slowly toward a certain room.

They walked through a grand, marble-paved hall and into a beautifully decorated room where Victoria lamps with tassels cast a soft glow.

The air had a slightly dusty smell—a mixture of paint, incense, and earthy scents emanating from the stone buildings.

William looked up and saw that the walls of the room were covered with various murals and paintings, all by famous artists.

Nicolas walked ahead, smiling, and said:

"In Muggle stories, Jesus had a meal with his twelve disciples the night before his crucifixion."

Jesus took the goblet and passed it around among his disciples, sharing the wine.

The cup didn't need to be filled; it would automatically flow with delicious wine. Jesus rose again on the third day after his death.

"A goblet, a cup that produces fine wine, resurrected after three days—doesn't this story sound familiar?" Nicolas's voice echoed in the room.

William nodded slightly; he had indeed heard the story of the Holy Grail.

In my past life, when I was in an orphanage, the elderly woman next door who lived alone would often go to a single elderly pastor on Sundays to pray, and she would pray all day long.

William often heard stories about the Lord from her.

But William is more familiar with the "Holy Grail War," and... Rin.

Wait a minute, both are magical worlds, so why doesn't this world have mana replenishment?! The kind where liquid exchange works.

Hateful!

Nicolas didn't notice William's distraction; he walked through several floor-to-ceiling windows toward a corner.

"After Jesus died, Joseph of Arimathea buried him and brought the Holy Grail to Britain. You've probably heard the story of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table."

Galahad, one of the Knights of the Round Table, once used the Holy Grail's magical power to heal the dying deposed king.

Later, Galahad gave the Holy Grail to Merlin.

Nicolas finally stopped; before them lay a giant painting.

"This is Merlin, he's standing in the center of this painting," Nicolas explained.

"Did you see him? He's wearing a white robe, and twelve Knights of the Round Table stand beside him. Next to Merlin is a rough wooden goblet."

"Is this the Merlin Memorial Hall?" William asked, looking at the hall in the giant painting.

He had attended the Order of Merlin award ceremony here during the summer vacation, so it left a deep impression on him.

Nicolas smiled. "That's right, Merlin hid the Holy Grail here, but it disappeared again later, and I... I pretty much know where it is."

Nicolas conjured two chairs and sat comfortably on them. "My story is almost over. If you have any questions, ask me."

"The Death... where is he?" William asked curiously.

"Kid, your question has stumped me," Nicolas chuckled. "But I do have a guess about how to find Death."

For example, the Siren are Death's most loyal servants; finding the island where they live might lead to finding Death.

"So we're going to the Merpeople tribe?" William blinked.

"William, here's a piece of advice: never try to find Death." Nicolas's smile faded, and his expression turned serious.

"Why?"

Before answering that question, let me ask you a few quick questions.

William nodded.

Nicolas asked, "In the stories you've heard, how many people actually saw Death?"

"Three Brothers."

"Very well, so, after they received Death's gift, how many of them survived?"

"One..." William frowned, "You mean, to see Death, three people must set off together, and only one can survive?"

"William, this is just my guess," Nicolas sighed softly. "The bridge represents the trial of Death; once the trial is completed, you will see him."

The Three Brothers represent that there are only three people in the trial, and these three people are either related by blood or as close as brothers.

Either way, would you be willing to sacrifice two people for a so-called Deathly Hallows?

William shook his head without hesitation. "No!"

He certainly wouldn't want to trade his sister Anne, or the lives of Hermione, Cedric, Cho, the twins, or others, for the so-called Deathly Hallows.

"So I'd rather you never find Death," Nicolas said with a satisfied smile.

"Then what is your purpose in searching for the Deathly Hallows?"

"No one is without desires, Albus," Nicolas sighed. "He too is searching for one of those things."

"I collect the Deathly Hallows not to become the master of Death, nor do I desire great power; I simply want to decipher the Book of Abraham and then live a good life."

"Didn't you already forge the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Child, the story has already told us that the Philosopher's Stone doesn't grant immortality," Nicolas laughed. "It's merely an essential magical ingredient in the Elixir of Life."

"Furthermore, the Philosopher's Stone cannot be used indefinitely. When a stone runs out of magic, a second one must be crafted."

However, the creation of the Elixir of Life was not without its costs.

William pondered Nicolas Flamel's words. It turned out that the Philosopher's Stone wasn't a panacea after all. He had thought that soaking the stone in water would allow him to mass-produce the Elixir of Life.

He hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Do you wish for immortality?"

"No one can live forever, except Death." Nicolas stared blankly at the night sky outside the window.

"But I hate endings, anything related to endings."

I usually don't read the endings of novels, I never watch the finales of Muggle TV shows, I won't send off a friend on a long journey, and I certainly won't attend someone else's funeral...

But I don't want my story to end here yet; I just want to take another look at this world.

Nicolas slowly closed her eyes.

Albus often said that death is also a great adventure.

"That's right, of course, but I haven't seen enough of these sights yet, and I don't want to leave now."

"Experiencing things you've never experienced before—isn't that the meaning of life?" William retorted.

William shook his head. "Nicolas, to be honest, I still haven't figured out the meaning of life."

The old man didn't speak, because he was asleep.

William conjured a robe, draped it over the old man, and then quietly left.

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