r18novel Chapter 482, Page 491: The Broken Cycle 1
Chapter 482, Page 491: The Broken Cycle 1
Chapter 482, Page 491: The Broken Cycle 1
Those who are able to enter the Department of Mysteries.
They are all among the best wizards.
Such a person is undeniably intelligent.
Therefore, the black-robed man immediately understood the meaning subtly revealed in the old man Saruman's words: he was simply losing his reason due to the pollution.
Not wisdom is lost along with it.
As soon as the old man Saruman finished speaking, the man in black robes suddenly raised his head. Although Saruman couldn't see him, he stared intently at his teacher's overly calm face.
A terrible thought flashed through his mind like lightning.
"Teacher—" the black-robed man's voice became shrill with excitement, "You—you didn't—have already figured out something?"
"About this place, about the pollution, about that closed loop—even about—your own end?! You just said it was part of the plan—what have you been planning? You—you seem—you really want—" He wanted to say "you seem to really want to die," but the word stuck in his throat and he couldn't get it out.
Simultaneously.
The man in black robes also couldn't understand how his teacher, after his death, could reverse the regrets. How to put it... although he was a powerful wizard, many things were indeed difficult to comprehend for someone who wasn't a legend.
This is a perplexing issue regarding the ears of his students.
Saruman did not answer immediately.
He simply nodded slowly, very slightly. The movement was so subtle it was almost imperceptible, yet it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds, confirming the most unbelievable guess in the black-robed man's heart.
"Yes, I need a death." For the first time, the old wizard's wrinkled face revealed an extremely complex and indescribable expression in front of the man in black.
In that expression, there was the weariness of having experienced a thousand years of vicissitudes, a mockery of the shackles of fate, a resolute determination to try the unknown, and also a trace of—a strange anticipation as if one were finally about to reach the end of a long road.
The air in the sealed room instantly became subtly tense. Fragments of the truth collided wildly in the black-robed man's mind, yet he could never piece together a complete picture. But he knew that he had probably touched upon his teacher's most core and most insane plan, hidden beneath a thousand years of time and countless secrets.
All of this seems to hinge on the "mission" he is about to undertake.
"Go ahead, child."
The voice of the elderly Saruman echoed in the deathly silent chamber, calm and undisturbed, as if he were talking about something unrelated to himself, as simple as brushing dust off his sleeve.
But these five words, though seemingly light and airy, sounded more jarring to the black-robed man than R'lyeh's most insane utterances, and heavier than any killing curse.
His knuckles were white as he gripped the wand, and his entire arm trembled slightly. In the shadows beneath the hood, the man's distorted face showed his vertical pupils contracting violently, churning with pain, struggle, disbelief, and a hint of desperate rage.
"Teacher—" the black-robed man's voice was extremely hoarse, "I—I can't—"
He couldn't do it in the end, because whenever he raised his wand to his teacher, he couldn't help but think of the past, of the beautiful things he could hardly feel anymore.
now.
This beautiful memory is invaluable for maintaining his stability, and it is something he cherishes dearly. How could he possibly destroy his own beautiful memories with his own hands?
The man in the black robe was trembling slightly.
"You can't?"
Saruman's empty eye sockets "looked" at him, a barely perceptible, almost disappointed sigh in his voice, "You're still the same, child. When faced with choices requiring absolute reason and the severing of emotions, you always hesitate. Back in the Norse, facing that villager completely corrupted by the 'living curse' and on the verge of eruption, you hesitated too, resulting in the deaths of two Aurors who rushed to investigate."
"When you were hunting down that dark wizard who was researching forbidden flesh magic in the North Sea, you hesitated for a second because of his feigned pleas at the last moment, giving him the opportunity to unleash a suicidal plague of corruption—your kindness and sentimentality are your strengths, but on this path, at certain crucial moments, they will become your most fatal weaknesses, killing more people, including—yourself," Saruman said softly.
The old wizard's words were like a cold scalpel, precisely dissecting the old wounds deep within the black-robed man's heart that he least wanted to face. Those failures and sacrifices caused by hesitation and soft-heartedness had always been the root of his midnight anguish, and one of the inner demons that accelerated his self-corruption and erosion.
The man in black robes trembled even more violently, not from fear, but from the pain of being hit where it hurt and his own self-loathing. His face kept changing as he hissed, "This is different! Teacher! This is different from those missions!"
They are the enemy, the source of pollution! But you—you are—”
Speaking of it.
The man in the black robe looked pained.
"What am I?"
Saruman interrupted him, his voice rising abruptly, carrying an undeniable penetrating power, "I am an old monster who has lived for over a thousand years, blind, whose soul and body are deeply entangled with the corruption of R'lyeh, and who sits guarding the gates of this world's greatest source of danger!"
"My very existence is the biggest destabilizing factor! No one knows how long I can maintain this clarity, no one knows when the dormant pollution within me will completely erupt, dragging everything here, along with the outside world, into madness!" His words were like a heavy hammer.
It was eroding the black-robed man's reason.
This could also be seen as adding weight to the other party's decision to take action.
The tone became increasingly stern.
It was all to motivate his students.
"Look at yourself!" Saruman's voice turned stern. "Do you think I don't know about the corruption on you, the struggles and pain within you? Every time you carry out a 'purge,' your hands are stained not only with the blood of those prisoners, but also with your own ever-eroding sanity and humanity!"
"You are on the verge of collapse, and my existence, my secrets, the potential contamination within me are the final straw that breaks the camel's back! Eliminating me is your duty, and also—to give yourself a chance to breathe and find relief from this endless torment!"
Saruman's words may be somewhat alarmist.
However, there is still some truth to it.
Of course, he continued to pressure his students to take action.
They provided the other party with a sufficient reason.
"No, no, that's not it." The man in black robes staggered back a step, leaning against the cold stone wall, his breathing rapid. Saruman's words shattered all his self-deceptive excuses. Yes, he was terrified, he was in pain, and he struggled daily with the whispers of madness and the changes in his body.
Eliminating the teacher—the "source" and the greatest potential danger—is, from a cold-blooded sense of duty, the most correct choice. But—that's his teacher!
"At least—at least tell me why!"
The man in black robes abruptly raised his head, his voice filled with a desperate plea, "Teacher! At least tell me, why—why do you seem—to be...pregnant with this? Why did you say this is part of the plan? Why didn't you resist, why didn't you try other methods? This—this can't possibly be some kind of contamination that would drive you mad just by looking at it, can it? Give me a reason! A reason that will allow me—that will allow me to act without completely going insane!"
His words were almost a shout, echoing in the enclosed room. The hip-hop icon needed an anchor, a powerful enough reason that transcended personal emotions to support him in carrying out this act of patricide.
Saruman remained silent.
He "heard" the student's voice, filled with near-collapse and pleading. He knew that without an explanation, the man in black would either be unable to carry out his plan, causing it to fail, or he would force himself to do it in extreme pain and guilt, only to be completely consumed by this sin, accelerating his own descent into depravity, and possibly even leading to worse consequences.
After a long silence, the old wizard's stern tone softened, replaced by a deep weariness and—a hint of secret fanaticism.
"Very well—" He sighed deeply, a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand years. "Since you want to know—since you need a reason—then I'll tell you something—about what I've been truly researching all these years. Something—that might overturn all your understanding."
The man in the black robe held his breath, all his attention focused on his teacher's next words. He knew he was about to uncover his teacher's deepest secret.
"You've studied history, child," Saruman began slowly, his voice becoming as if he were lecturing on a profound subject. "You know the iron law of time—it's irreversible and unchangeable. The past is solidified amber, the future is spreading mist. This is common sense, one of the fundamental rules governing this world, isn't it?"
The man in black robes nodded subconsciously, even though he knew his teacher couldn't see him.
"For the vast majority of beings, and for the smooth operation of this world itself, this is indeed an ironclad rule," Saruman said, changing the subject.
"But—are the ironclad rules really absolute?" His voice lowered. "When power reaches a certain level, when cognition touches upon certain hidden truths, when you have the opportunity to access—some tools from outside the rules of the world, or rather, above the rules—"
It possesses a bewitching, magical power.
"I spent seven hundred years traversing forgotten ruins, deciphering forbidden texts whose very names could drive ordinary wizards mad, and even—making dangerous deals with ancient beings who were not human. I wasn't just researching how to combat the corruption of R'lyeh; I was also exploring time itself, investigating that paradoxical encounter that occurred on R'lyeh—why would Ian Prince, a thousand years in the future, appear before me, a thousand years in the past?"
"I eventually discovered that time is not as absolute as we imagine. It's more like a rushing river, but for beings that can transcend the river and stand on its banks, going with the current, going against the current, and even—altering some of the river's smaller tributaries—is not entirely impossible. Especially in places where the spacetime structure itself is exceptionally weak, or even contains eddies and loops, such as R'lyeh."
Saruman spoke calmly.
The man in the black robe's understanding was severely shaken.
"Change—history? How is that possible? Any attempt to disrupt time will lead to unpredictable and catastrophic consequences; this is the consensus of all time magic researchers!"
The man in the black robes was experiencing such a profound shock precisely because he knew so much. To put it simply, he didn't believe such a thing was possible—to change history.
Even Dumbledore thought it was impossible before he met Ian.
The man in black robes.
Even Saruman wasn't as gifted as Dumbledore, and his knowledge on a macro level wasn't as extensive as Dumbledore's. It would be strange if he wasn't shocked by it.
of course.
Perhaps due to some special reasons.
The elderly Saruman walked ahead of Dumbledore.
now.
He is a legend.
"Believe me, child, that's the consensus of mediocre people, a conclusion drawn from their limited knowledge and power," Saruman said with a hint of arrogance.
For true legends, for those who hold the key, "impossible" is merely a threshold.
Deep within the Raven's Ruins, I found more than just rune fragments and maps—I found revelations about the Raven itself.
Saruman brought up the name that had been a constant throughout his life once again.
"Raven?" the man in black murmured, recalling the tone of his teacher's voice when he mentioned this mysterious being.
"That is not a living being, at least not entirely."
Saruman's voice became ethereal, as if describing something beyond comprehension: "It is a symbol, a concept, an existence that wanders the edge of time, connecting different branches of possibility. In some ancient records, so ancient that even myths have been lost, it is seen as a carrier of memory, a messenger of omens, and—a ferryman of time rifts."
Say something.
Saruman may not know enough about ravens either.
but.
He knew more about ravens than most people.
Regarding the Raven's Strength attribute.
Saruman was a little-known person who knew the inside story.
As he spoke, Saruman slowly reached his withered hand inside his seemingly plain gray robe. When he reached out again, a feather lay quietly in his palm.
It was a feather about a foot long, entirely black.
It was an eerily black, not the kind that absorbs light, but a kind of dark darkness that seemed to devour vision, distorting and absorbing even the faint light around it, and possessing a certain texture.
The edges of the feathers are not neat, but rather irregular, appearing as if they have been eroded by time or some other force.
A faint, almost invisible, dark silver light flowed through it.
It contains an absolutely mysterious power.
Just by looking at him, the man in black felt as if his soul had been gently touched, and he had a feeling of wanting to sink into endless memories and dreams.
Well, how should I put it?
Although the two people present might not know much about raven feathers, Ian would actually recognize what it was if he were here.
The object held in the hands of the elderly Saruman.
It's nothing else.
It's his hair.
Or perhaps he was once a raven's feather.
It contains.
A power powerful enough to overturn destiny.