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Acting on pure instinct, Merlin immediately cast a spell, banishing the entire Yellow River flood along with Ian's post-explosion sludge to some unlucky place far, far away.
Only then, inside the now-empty dormitory, Merlin finally displayed the power worthy of the so-called King of Wizards. In a single second, he fired off dozens of spells in rapid succession, each one a modified scouring charm, aimed at both the room and himself.
One glance was enough to tell: if Merlin had a game-like system, this spell would no doubt have been maxed out long ago.
And yet, even so, Merlin still trembled. He dared not let the scouring charm stop for even an instant. Perhaps it was better to call it a purification charm, after all, its invention had once helped him quell multiple plagues.
At that very moment, "You're just not ruthless enough. You don't dare pick your materials for clones the way I do," came a jaunty voice from the corridor.
Ian's true body strolled leisurely inside.
"Oh, and you're also nowhere near as clever as me." The Ian wore the smile of a victor. Yes, the "Ian" who had walked into the dorm earlier was nothing more than one of his usual clones.
When Ian realized that Lirim was actually Merlin, he had already taken precautions. Anyone who often carried a guilty conscience would understand, it was a kind of foresightful vigilance.
And because of that, Ian chose caution.
Sure enough, The facts proved that his caution had been absolutely the right call.
Merlin wanted to play dirty with him.
But Merlin didn't know, Ian could be even dirtier. Since Ian was well aware that Merlin loved keeping his prophecy ability active for no reason, he had already prepared against the possibility that Merlin would foresee him coming to expose his identity.
And sure enough.
Looking at Ian's smug face, Merlin felt anger, helplessness, and even a trace of confusion.
"You… when did you… hide yourself?"
He really had been cheating with prophecy, just like the kind of peeping Grindelwald once delighted in. And after the lesson Grindelwald had given him, Ian had long been on high alert against people like that.
"Of course, the moment I decided to come looking for you with the two professors," Ian replied with a wink. He glanced around, hoping to exchange looks with Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel.
But those two were already gone, They had silently withdrawn to a far-off distance, as though terrified Ian might once again toss another "Oh-lee-give" at Merlin.
"…"
Ian was speechless.
He could only turn his gaze back on Merlin.
"Archmage, I already expected you to ambush me, so I made a few preparations in advance. Well? Surprised?" Ian had indeed anticipated Merlin's pettiness.
He simply hadn't expected Merlin's revenge to take this particular form. Still, that didn't change the fact that Ian had already decided from the start how he would greet Merlin with his own version of "long time no see."
"Fine, fine, fine!" Merlin gritted his teeth in fury, yet could not refute him. All he could do was lie there, still retching, swearing silently in his heart that one day he would reclaim his dignity.
"To deceive my prophecy ability… looks like you really are clever!" Merlin spat through clenched teeth. His words alone were proof that he had indeed tried to use prophecy to foresee Ian's return and arrival.
Of course, Ian had simply out-predicted the predictor.
"This just confirms my theory," Ian reflected aloud. "As long as you can deceive everyone, it counts as deceiving the world. And that, in turn, directly influences the foresight of you so-called prophets."
He was still summarizing the lessons he had gained.
But,
"Tell me… what on earth did you put into that clone?" Merlin asked at last, his voice trembling, more desperate than demanding.
Merlin truly hadn't expected it, his carefully planned revenge had not only been effortlessly seen through by Ian, but Ian had even turned the tables, discovering in the process the greatest weakness of all prophets.
But for Merlin, that wasn't the important part.
What he truly feared, was Ian's foul creations.
"Uh…"
Faced with Merlin's trembling question, Ian hesitated for a moment. He was mindful of how he might appear in Dumbledore's eyes, so he didn't say it outright. Instead, he lowered his voice and asked Merlin in a roundabout way:
"Archmage… do you know cauliflower?"
He kept his tone as soft as possible, But even so, Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel, watching from a distance, caught every word. Their faces turned indescribable. Perhaps only Merlin had yet to realize.
"What… do you mean?"
Merlin's voice carried the sound of gagging.
"My meaning is… Archmage, you'll never have to worry about running out of cauliflower again. Soon your whole body will be covered in it, sprouting fast, crop after crop."
"Originally, I even wanted them to bloom in all sorts of bright colors. But unfortunately, I added just a touch of magic immunity into the strain, which meant I had to give up on the idea of making the cauliflower bloom gorgeously."
"A pity, really." Ian truly was conducting magical research into viruses and bacteria, results of a kind that could never, ever be published in any journal.
"!!!???"
Merlin, who had just managed to get to his feet, froze solid at those words. His face turned deathly pale as he looked toward the doorway where the Ian stood. And then, without warning, thud, he dropped to his knees.
Of course, this was no act of surrender.
His legs had simply given out.
"You bastard… fine, you win this time!" Merlin gritted out, face white as paper, but still refusing to beg. He was tough, if nothing else.
"Archmage, I've won again," Ian said softly from outside the room.
"…"
Merlin gave no reply.
The Ian took his silence as tacit admission.
Watching this, Albus Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel, already conflicted, felt their emotions grow even more tangled. Each recalled what the Ian had once said about defeating Merlin.
So this… this was what he meant by "winning"?!
"This… this is what a duel between legendary wizards looks like?" Nicolas Flamel murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief. He wanted confirmation from the other legendary wizard at his side.
But, Dumbledore only covered his face with his hand.
Silent.
Even he was starting to doubt life. Neither of them could believe it, let alone imagine it, that a clash between legendary wizards could be this primitive, this stripped down to sheer raw filth.
Not even as children had they fought like this!
"To be honest, I never thought Merlin… could be reduced to this," Nicolas Flamel sighed. The image of the great wizard he had carried in his heart had now completely shattered.
"Perhaps he's been influenced by some… abnormal factors," Dumbledore said helplessly, shooting Ian a sidelong glance. Truth be told, he hadn't even noticed when Ian had set all of this up.
By normal logic, such a brilliant student should have filled him with pride. But right now, recalling Ian's smooth, natural, almost casual way of orchestrating this scheme, Dumbledore really wanted to ask: Ian Prince, Hogwarts' most outstanding student, was his growth perhaps… veering just a little off the proper path?
"At least he didn't throw his… creations into the Slytherin dorms that offended him." As Hogwarts' Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore felt at least a flicker of relief.
Still, this method of attack made even his scalp tingle.
He wanted no part of it.
More magical than magic itself, scarier than the Imperius Curse, it was, truly, a spiritual attack. Just look at Merlin! If even the King of Wizards couldn't withstand it, then what hope could anyone else possibly have?
Could even the Unforgivable Curses boast such a record?
(End of Chapter)