"Damn monster! Poor Ferrell's family died from your curse!"
"A fellow who sold his soul to the devil—my wife must have been bewitched by him!"
"Burn him!"
"Burn this evil wizard!"
The cacophony of voices entered his ears, and as his vision gradually cleared amid the rising and falling curses, Evans casually scanned his surroundings.
Then, instead of paying much attention to the increasingly angry shouts, he closed his eyes to examine his current body.
'The body has changed. Magic power has regressed to the level of a normal Hogwarts graduate, and... it's a bit strange.'
'The talents are still working, and there's nothing wrong with my mind. If only the magic power is problematic, it's still within acceptable range.'
'And Carl is still here, just not making any movement. Hmm... there are probably too many people around, so his social anxiety is acting up and he's playing dead.'
'But this scene... it's too realistic.'
The scorching summer sun hung overhead, its blazing light making him somewhat breathless, while the annoying shouts around him kept entering his ears, making his head dizzy.
'This effect definitely couldn't be achieved by magic like a Pensieve. If I couldn't still vaguely sense the fluctuations of memory magic taking effect, I'd think I had transmigrated again.'
'But this opening isn't very good.'
Listening to the increasingly noisy shouting around him and feeling the magic power in his body that was like stagnant water, Evans helplessly curled his lips.
His hands were currently tied behind his back, and his entire body was firmly bound to a thick wooden post with several thumb-thick hemp ropes.
Bundles of firewood were piled at his feet—this was a standard execution by burning. Judging by those people's expressions, the execution was probably about to begin.
And besides being about to be burned to death, he faced another somewhat troublesome problem.
Until now, he couldn't mobilize the magic power in his body.
From the moment those lines of text disappeared, Evans had sensed something was wrong with the magic power in his body.
Although it existed, it wasn't active at all and wouldn't respond to him—like it was asleep, lying motionless in this body.
He had never experienced such a situation. Magic power was the core of a wizard's strength. If unable to mobilize magic power, then no matter how high a wizard's mental threshold was, they couldn't cast any spells.
It was like having a full mana bar but with the skill bar locked.
But he had never heard of ways to restrict a wizard's magic power. Even in modern times, the greatest restrictions on wizards were depriving them of their wands and exhausting their mental energy—he had never heard of suppressing magic power as a method of restriction.
Moreover, why could an execution by fire initiated by Muggles restrict a wizard who had already graduated from Hogwarts?
'Are these ropes the problem? But they look exactly like ordinary hemp rope, nothing special.'
Glancing at his body, several seemingly unremarkable ropes bound him to the stake. They looked no different from ordinary hemp rope, but besides these ropes, Evans didn't sense anything else suspicious on his body.
'Then... is it because of those people?'
Evans raised his head again and carefully observed his surroundings.
This was a small square, crowded with people around its perimeter. Their faces all bore anger, and even the eyes of several children among them were full of hatred. Only at the edge of the crowd, one person's movements were somewhat sneaky, his gaze also shifty, but without any guilt.
This should be the Muggle who reported this body's owner.
Further away, wooden houses sat on both sides of the street. Near the wooden houses, several heavily armored knights holding lances were scattered around.
But strangely, they weren't wearing helmets or riding horses, so Evans could clearly see their uniformly deep black pupils.
Looking at those pairs of deep eyes, Evans felt somewhat surprised.
Although Europe also had black pupils, having all knights with black eyes was still quite rare. Moreover, this black was deeper than ordinary black pupils—after staring for a few moments, Evans felt his spirit becoming somewhat dazed.
These knights were wrong.
He didn't sense any magic power fluctuations, but the fairy's talent sensed some danger from them.
Although that bit of danger wasn't enough to threaten him, the fact that Muggles could make him sense danger was quite telling.
This was the... special situation mentioned in the Bellance family manuscript?
If it were an ordinary wizard, under circumstances where magic power was sealed, this danger would be enough to kill them.
Fortunately, his talents could still be used, otherwise this opening would be too hellish.
But if it were an ordinary wizard who couldn't teleport, how should they break out of this situation?
Did this damn seal consider such circumstances? Or was the dungeon in this historical segment also random, and he was just unlucky enough to draw the worst opening?
Not necessarily. Wizards who could pass those previous perverted tests definitely weren't ordinary people—they should all have some means, right?
Or if worst came to worst, die a few more times and eventually think of a solution.
While Evans was thinking, a middle-aged man in white robes, holding a book, walked onto the execution platform and looked at Evans with a serious expression.
"Wizard Kevin, you colluded with the devil, sold your soul to become a wizard, and committed countless unforgivable crimes. Today, under the Lord's witness, I will let flames burn away your sins."
"But before that, you can still repent."
"Are you willing to confess?"
Hearing the white-robed bishop's words, Evans disdainfully curled his lips.
Contract with the devil? Sell one's soul?
If it were really that simple to become a wizard, there would have been no difference between Muggles and wizards in this world long ago.
Those grandiose charges from the witch hunt period, no matter how many times he heard them, always made him feel sick.
They just wanted to find a reason to execute wizards, and sometimes, they weren't even executing wizards.
After all, where were there so many wizards in this world for them to burn?
More often, they were just poor people falsely accused of being wizards.
Evans actually didn't care much about the differences between wizards and Muggles. In his heart, everyone was human, and wizards were just people who mastered another kind of power.
Some wizards who weren't good at protective charms might not even be able to beat a human holding a gun.
This thing was much more useful than a wand.
But some people weren't very worthy of being human.
Looking at the bishop in front of him, holding a book with a high and mighty appearance, the contempt in Evans's eyes became even more obvious.
Seeing the evil wizard's arrogant appearance, a flash of annoyance passed through the bishop's deep blue pupils.
He didn't know why this evil wizard showed no fear on his face and dared to look at him with such eyes.
Did he think his evil witchcraft could work under ropes soaked in holy water?
Naive! Under holy water, no devil's tricks could take effect. All that awaited him was being burned to ashes!
Only then would these wizards' evil souls be completely destroyed!
Thinking this way, he no longer looked at the evil wizard's provocative gaze, but lowered his head and began his pre-execution prayer with concentration.
Listening to the white-robed bishop reciting the judgment, Evans wasn't in a hurry to leave. Instead, he looked around with interest, analyzing what era he was currently in.
Judging by the architectural style, it should be after the 15th century. This town didn't look large, and the flashy bishop in front of him was obviously parachuted in—even a diocesan bishop wasn't something such a small town could accommodate.
And the architectural style of remote villages and towns in the Middle Ages generally lagged behind by about 100 years. Combined with the people's hatred... it should now be the 17th century.
Or the late 16th century? The margin of error shouldn't exceed fifty years.
But how long was this guy going to keep chanting?
He had originally wanted to hear what kind of rhetoric was used in trials of wizards during the witch hunt period, but now he was losing patience.
"Forget it, stop chanting."
Finally, Evans spoke again, his tone carrying some boredom.
"And you over there with the torch, put your hand down too. Don't waste the firewood."
Hearing the evil wizard's words, anger flashed in the eyes of the praying bishop, but before he could speak to rebuke him, his eyes instantly widened.
The scattered black-eyed knights around aimed their lances at the platform at the fastest speed, wisps of ethereal gray light floating from their bodies.
But no matter how fast, they couldn't be faster than a Swooping Evil's teleportation.
Under everyone's gaze, the evil wizard transformed into a silver-white arc of light and disappeared, leaving only one sentence.
"Too boring. If there's a chance in the future, I'll let you experience what real judgment is."
[Chapter Complete]
***
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