Chapter 175: The Tottering Nurmengard
Just how powerful are the world's top-tier wizards?
Lockhart was now finding out.
It was important to note that this suddenly erupted battle wasn't a one-on-one between Lockhart and Grindelwald; it was a gang-up.
Lockhart, with a group of Dark magical creatures, a Swooping Evil that had once put Grindelwald behind bars, and a somewhat negligible apprentice, were ganging up on the old wizard.
He had always thought that Dark magical creatures were virtually invincible if one didn't know their weaknesses, but apparently, that wasn't the case.
It turned out that the threat of Dark magical creatures had limits; above the "mechanic-based monsters," there were even more terrifying "stat-based monsters."
There was a reason Dumbledore didn't imprison Grindelwald in Azkaban, where Dementors were the primary guards among Dark magical creatures; that place simply couldn't hold such a powerful wizard.
This was a battle of different tiers,
And Lockhart clearly hadn't yet reached the level of a top-tier wizard. Even using his most proficient and versatile Memory Charms couldn't significantly affect Grindelwald.
Just a little more, still a little more, he could feel it!
Even the Memory Charm, while effective in specific scenarios, fell short in a magical duel. It was like the difference between a 99 and a 101 score; seemingly only two points apart, yet representing two distinct levels.
Now, it wasn't just a simple gang-up; Grindelwald had a significant disadvantage: no wand!
The importance of a wand to a wizard was undeniable, just as Voldemort would immediately seize a subordinate's wand when he lost his own.
Not to mention Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and Voldemort were all obsessed with using the Elder Wand.
The master, empty-handed, faced a mob attack, but instead of being overwhelmed, he firmly held the upper hand.
Lockhart quickly found himself in a predicament.
Streams of joyful and beautiful silver light were forcibly yanked from deep within his mind. These bizarre, active, slime-like substances filled the entire cell, emitting terrifying magical power, affecting both Grindelwald and Lockhart, causing strange, beautiful, and happy smiles to involuntarily appear on their faces.
"Young man!" Grindelwald suddenly burst into laughter. "This is the first piece of advice, about magic. It's called the wonder of magic. You can't resist it. I know you're perfect for it!"
He could feel Lockhart's magic resisting, preventing him from completely taking this positive force, similar to an Obscurus but opposite in nature, from Lockhart's body. This was clearly beyond his expectation.
But it didn't matter; it was enough for him to work with.
He saw his previously raised arm, in a grasping motion, suddenly relax, his palm opening, changing to a push.
With that pull and push, most of Tom's Patronus was stripped from Lockhart's mind and squeezed directly into Lockhart's body.
Transfiguration!
This was Transfiguration!
And it was completely different from Dumbledore's Transfiguration!
Alarm bells rang in Lockhart's mind. He had thoroughly researched Dumbledore's and Grindelwald's magical notes, "Controlling Lightning," and understood the differences in their magical paths.
Dumbledore's Transfiguration was external, expressing his self-will to the world.
Grindelwald's Transfiguration was internal, pursuing ultimate control.
This control over Transfiguration even surpassed the effects of naturally talented Metamorphmagi and the Polyjuice Potion in Potions. Grindelwald could transform into another person for extended periods, disguising himself so perfectly that no one could detect it.
Lockhart had always wondered how Grindelwald guided his grand-nephew Credence in using Obscurial power, and now he realized it was through Transfiguration.
He felt extremely uncomfortable at that moment, sensing a terrifying force continuously eroding his body. His magical path had always focused on the mind, making his resistance to this aspect somewhat insufficient.
Soon, he felt parts of his body begin to break down.
His left hand, left shoulder, and even his internal organs began to be infiltrated. Tom Riddle's Patronus was resonating with his body in a state of disintegration, restructuring, and gradual integration.
That part of his body seemed to float in mid-air like slime, constantly churning and distorting, emitting vast amounts of thought-electricity.
His whole being felt light, as if experiencing the joy of breaking free from physical constraints.
Damn it!
Lockhart was enraged.
He coldly stared directly at Grindelwald. "Please cease your spell-casting on me; this is an extremely rude offense!"
"In this state, you can still speak?" Grindelwald looked at him strangely, then smiled eerily. "Young man, stop resisting. You'll find that my arrangement for you is the best. You—"
Alright, alright.
You won't listen, will you?
Lockhart narrowed his eyes, gently waved his wand, and said nothing more, letting his mind quickly enter a state of focus.
Indeed, he shouldn't have had a subconscious fondness for the characters in the original work. Everyone had their own thoughts, especially powerful wizards at the pinnacle; each was so self-centered and domineering. How could they truly care about others' good intentions?
Then...
The speed at which he waved his wand wasn't fast, but powerful magic began to surge, as if a great wind had risen, howling and shaking the stones within the room.
He was attempting an extremely dangerous spell, one he didn't even know if he could control.
Composite Magic, deconstructing and recombining the magical abilities he possessed—this was the magical path that had become increasingly clear to him since he began studying weather charms.
Boom!
Boom, boom, boom!
Bolts of lightning struck every crack and window of the prison castle, as if frantic to penetrate the cell. Subtle currents began to permeate the surrounding air, sending chills down one's spine.
This chill carried an incredibly eerie sense of dread, as if transcending the scope of normal human understanding, attempting to dismantle one's mental defenses in an unnameable state, making one terrified to move, or even terrified enough for one's body to tear into pieces and fall to the ground.
Stone walls, ceilings, and floors everywhere spewed terrifying blood. The air was thick with heat and mournful wails, wails so intense that one wished their body would split open with more mouths to scream.
Lockhart's eye sockets became nothing but swirling black smoke, as if his entire body was just a husk, a thin shell containing only an indeterminate shape of smoke.
But soon, Lockhart's figure vanished from before Grindelwald, and no further changes could be seen.
Only intuition, transmitted through his spiritual essence, frantically bombarded Grindelwald with massive amounts of chaotic information, telling him that Lockhart was right there, right in front of him, casting a terrifying spell.
"Legilimency!"
Grindelwald's mouth twitched. His eyes were full of disbelief. "This playful little magical trick, it can be used like this?"
Seriously, when they were young, Dumbledore had casually devised this spell. They had researched it for a short time and then abandoned further exploration because there wasn't much to research about it.
But...
This young man before him had actually used this spell to such an extent?
No, it wasn't just Legilimency.
He felt the terrifying aura surging around him, faintly perceiving countless top-tier magical powers within it—Bloodline Magic, Patronus Charm, Weather Charms, Imperius Curse, Killing Curse, Memory Charm, Dark Arts, Horcrux magic, Life magic, Soul magic—
Bloody hell, this young man!
Albus, don't you want to come and see? This young man you praised, he's completely on the path of a Dark wizard!
Oh, to use modern magical terminology, it sounded a bit better: Defense Against the Dark Arts.
But was Defense Against the Dark Arts not Dark Arts?
Nonsense, that stuff was originally Dark Arts!
Boom!
With another violent tremor, Grindelwald felt as if the entire world began to rapidly distort.
He knew this wasn't a physical distortion but a cerebral illusion caused by magical power invading his mind.
No, it seemed reality itself was also distorting. Too much lightning and fire, carrying a terrifying will, seemed to tear everything apart.
This was...
Ha! It had Dumbledore's Transfiguration, and his own Transfiguration philosophy!
Grindelwald smiled, a unique kind of joy, as if celebrating the emergence of another powerful wizard in the world, the happiness of another figure joining the lonely magical path.
"Good!"
Come and try!
Let's see just how far you, young man, have come!
Grindelwald suddenly stood up, pushing his palms vigorously forward, as if propelling something.
This was the power of a Seer, pushing events towards the direction they were supposed to go.
Of course, he knew this wasn't an inevitable direction of development. "Future" itself had no such thing as inevitability; it contained countless "inevitable" possibilities.
His magical power merely propelled one of these "inevitabilities," making it a reality.
But that was enough.
He had grasped a potential path Lockhart might take in the future, realizing this path was beneficial to him, and so he pushed it.
He could feel that the force, similar to an Obscurus yet opposite in nature, which he had extracted from the young man's soul, was gradually dissolving into the young man's body, merging into his bloodline.
Magical bloodline was rooted in the soul; this was his own realization.
No matter how powerful or wondrous his individual Transfiguration spells were in the past, Dumbledore could always accurately find him.
This was because no matter how he transformed, the magical bloodline rooted in his soul still existed, and his Seer magical bloodline was exceptionally unique.
He could not arbitrarily force a magical bloodline into anyone. That he could achieve this much without a wand was thanks to going with the flow, merely facilitating the outcome of some future "inevitability."
Almost.
Just a little bit more.
But that little bit was resisted by a powerful force—the resistance of the "present" to the "future," a self-correction of time and the world.
This was also the tragedy of the Seer: seemingly driving development, yet by forcibly pushing, it unwittingly created opposing forces that resisted their efforts.
It was just like the "fairytale adventure" that Dumbledore had mentioned this young man talked about.
The role of a "Seer" was often a supporting character in fairytales, whose sole purpose was to help the "protagonist" move forward better.
But he was not content.
He also wanted to be the protagonist; he didn't want to be a supporting character. A Seer in a fairytale adventure could only ever be background scenery, and how could anyone be content with that?
Grindelwald keenly felt the impact of Lockhart's spell-casting on his mind. Too many thoughts popped out of his brain, too much weakness, previously enveloped by a hard mental shell, was now gushing forth.
He began to rage, enraged by the inability to express his self-will, self-ambition, and self-desire.
It was the pain brought by the experiences of long past years.
A pain so profound it was unforgettable.
The more weakness burst forth from his heart, the more enraged he became. Rage made his magic stronger, but he also felt the opposing force grow synchronously.
His pushing, his spell-casting, was making the force that opposed him even stronger.
He sadly looked up, finally feeling a complete and utter tear.
It was a rift in the mind, and a rift in reality.
The center of power he had built in the past, now the prison that held him, Nurmengard Castle, was tearing apart.
He saw the twisted stone walls splitting open, he saw the gloomy sky, he saw lightning flowing like an ocean, he saw a terrifying, colossal werewolf figure, swinging claws filled with dreadful light, reaching for him through the rift.
It was like digging up an ant's nest.
Just then, a figure suddenly lunged forward, shielding him, forcefully raising the Elder Wand, and a voice, ancient yet still brimming with authority, rang out—"Reparo!"
The world twisted again, turning over, attempting to restore everything to its original state.
And so, distortion clashed with distortion, and the entire Nurmengard, tottered.
In the upper half of the cracked Nurmengard Castle, the werewolf's claws in the gloomy, lightning-filled sky seemed to draw closer, then recede, the visual distortion making one uncomfortable.
But what a chance!
Grindelwald's eyes lit up. He suddenly pushed the force of joy to merge with Lockhart once more.
Dumbledore evidently realized his little maneuver. He suddenly turned around, his gaze sharp, looking at him. "Stop!"
Grindelwald didn't stop; he just burst into laughter, his messy white hair swirling with the surging magic. His wizard's robes, made even wider by his emaciated frame, flapped loudly.
He looked at Dumbledore and simply said, "Let him kill me, or help me!"
"You!" Dumbledore felt he shouldn't have rushed in. Truly, why did he always have to face such dilemmas?
Helping Grindelwald would only harm this young man, Lockhart, making it seem as if he and Gellert were ganging up on a youngster.
But if he helped Lockhart, Gellert would be harmed, and in Gellert's current weakened state, he might even truly be killed.
Dilemma...
It seemed to always plague him.
"This is bad!" Fortunately, fate always favored Dumbledore. In every dilemma, there would always be unexpected situations that completely allowed him to escape these predicaments. His expression changed, and he roared, "All of you stop! Nurmengard is going to collapse!"
....
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