As the woman raised her head, golden strands of hair slid to the sides, revealing a face that, even stained with dirt and weariness, remained breathtakingly beautiful.
Her eyes were originally the color of molten gold, yet at this moment appeared somewhat dim, and her long eyelashes, seemingly transparent in the sunlight, trembled slightly, as if bearing immense pain. Then, her gaze fell upon the only other person here, carrying a touch of fragility, a hint of bewilderment, and a trace of... indescribable hope.
Then, she spoke.
Her voice was like a gentle spring in the valley, soft and melodious, carrying a force that seemed to directly strike at the audience's soul, Filch recognized it as the voice that had just sounded in his ear, "Kind... Wizard..." The woman's voice was very weak, intermittent, "Please... help me..."
Filch suddenly snapped back to reality, instinctively stepping back half a step, "Who... who are you? What place is this?" His voice altered slightly due to nervousness, and although the "victim" before him looked so pitiful, Filch still instinctively felt a slight unease, which made him grip the magic wand in his hand even tighter.
Thus, a somewhat bitter smile appeared on the woman's face, making her look even more pitiable.
"I... am imprisoned here by a powerful, evil Devil... He took away my freedom, my power... eternally binding me to this torture device..."
She struggled slightly, the chain fastened around her fair ankle making a faint clattering sound, and new beads of blood oozing from the wounds on her palm due to her movement, causing the woman to let out a suppressed groan of pain, and Filch involuntarily stepped forward two steps.
"De... Devil?"
Filch couldn't help but furrow his brows, the sharp scream of Peeves seemed to still linger in his ears—he subconsciously glanced around, all this didn't really seem like the domain of a Devil, "Where is that Devil?" He turned back, asking seriously.
"He... is not here now..."
The woman's voice carried a perfectly timed tremor, a smile causing one to involuntarily feel pity appeared on her face, "I am but a lost soul mistaken here... yet that Devil imprisoned me here..."
Filch's heart raced faster.
Her plea was so genuine, her pain so direct.
The protective urge as a man almost made him unable to refrain from stepping up to rescue this frail woman—but Filch touched an invisible wall of air.
"You are willing to help me..."
The woman spoke again, tears welling up in her molten gold eyes, about to spill over, "Thank you... kind Wizard, I feel the pure magical power fluctuation within you... You are a Wizard, please... draw the sword behind you and shatter the prison the Devil has set... I... I can't hold on much longer..."
Filch instinctively turned his head—What long sword? Is there really a long sword?
Seeing the silver-grey long sword stuck in the grass, Filch blinked somewhat bewilderedly. How hadn't he seen this thing when he just came up?
Filch stepped forward, grasped the hilt, and pulled hard. The long sword emerged from the soil, without a speck of dirt on its silver-white blade. Holding the long sword up before him, the suddenly inflated "heroism" due to acquiring magic began to grow wildly in the man's heart.
He was a Wizard now! He might... really be able to save an innocent sufferer? Like a hero in a storybook?
"What... what should I do?"
Filch's voice unconsciously carried a hint of tremor, he turned back, instinctively asking.
"Yes... just like that, kind Wizard..."
On the crucifix, the golden-haired woman weakly urged still, tears welling up in her molten golden eyes, seeming ready to fall at any moment, "Please... hurry... I feel that Devil might have noticed us, hurry! Strike down, or we will all..."
This voice, like a charm, completely dispelled the last shred of doubt in Filch's mind, he let out a low growl, as if to bolster himself, then used all his strength to fiercely strike that seemingly ordinary long sword towards the invisible barrier between them—
"Crack—"
Instead of the expected sound of metal clashing, there was a crisp sound as if the surface of a mirror being shattered instantly, the air in front of him seemingly solidified, then shattered into countless sparkling shards, disappearing into nothing in the next second.
Then, Filch found that the force that had been preventing him from moving forward vanished.
He panted heavily, his arms trembling slightly from exertion, casually tossing aside the long sword, the man eagerly stepped forward, arriving at the crucifix.
At such a close distance, he could more clearly see the wounds in the woman's palm, following the blood trails downward, the dark red traces drawing glaring patterns on her pale skin, a sudden mix of pity and a kind of indescribable emotion made him instinctively turn his head away, not daring to directly look at the nearly naked, voluptuous gorge in front of him.
Filch took a deep breath, trying to calm his wildly beating heart, preparing to fulfill his duty as a "rescuer," to remove the nails from those frail palms. However, when he finally built up the psychological resilience and turned his head again, the scene before his eyes instantly froze every drop of blood within him.
Beauty, gone.
The once fair and enticing skin transformed into rough, lifeless brown wooden planks, the soft curves replaced by rigid, stiff wooden structures, the joints having apparent ball socket connections, like a dilapidated doll abandoned by a child. The dazzling golden hair turned into dry and dull flax ropes, and that face once enchanting enough to overthrow cities...
Yet now, it is only a poorly carved, feature-stiff wooden sculpture, with just those eyeballs embedded within retaining a trace of eerie, inhuman glimmer.
"Uh... ah..."
Strange choking noises emerged from Filch's throat as fear washed over him like icy water, completely extinguishing the poor bit of heroic sentiment in his chest. He stumbled, wanting to step back, but his heel suddenly collided with something hard.
"Bang!"
It was a step, the man awkwardly falling backward, his rear harshly striking the cold, rough surface, the pain making him grimace, yet at this moment he couldn't care about this, only wide-eyed gazing in horror around him.
Sunlight, grassland, flowers, the gentle breeze, the distant swaying sea of trees... all of it, the idyllic paradise-like scene just now, vanished without a trace like the tide receding, replaced by, he found himself in a cramped, oppressive, dark enclosed space.
The low rocky dome pressed down heavily overhead, the air filled with an unsettling scent.
The walls seemed to be crudely carved rock, engraved with countless cyan runes he couldn't begin to comprehend, those runes flickering erratically like breathing, casting unsettling, pulsating glows, barely illuminating what might be less than twenty square meters of the stone chamber.
"Thank you so much, Wizard~ Master~"
A most "melodious" voice sounded behind Filch.