The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 545: Who is the Dark Lord?

Darkness surged in from all directions like a tide, completely isolating this once bustling corner of the night market into an isolated island. The enveloping silence was eerie and heavy, save for Voldemort's soft, hoarse voice, sharp as an ice pick, echoing in the air. "Good evening, my dear... Professor. And two... unexpected 'distinguished guests'."

Voldemort stepped forward slowly, the hem of his black robe brushing the ground without stirring up a speck of dust. His scarlet eyes, like burning embers in the dim light, swept over Dumbledore, then lingered meaningfully on Grindelwald's face, before finally giving Ian a very brief, almost casual glance.

Then, he looked away. His gaze seemed to say: This arrogant young man, perhaps some unlucky student who wandered into this place by mistake, is not worth his time.

Raven?

What raven?

Can he defeat himself, the only legend in the world?

The opponent's characteristics can only become nourishment for him—Voldemort has already seen Ian as a sitting duck, so now he just wants to vent his anger from all these years.

That is, it is aimed at Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

What, the original Dark Lord?

Only I am the Dark Lord in this world!

"Uh..." Ian stood quietly in place, his face expressionless, but his deep, pool-like eyes were slightly narrowed, as if he were observing or waiting.

Dumbledore's grip on the Elder Wand tightened, his azure eyes filled with solemnity and vigilance. He took a half-step forward, subtly shielding Ian behind him, even though he knew the young man might not need protection at all. But as an elder, his instinctive reaction to the Dark Lord was still there. His voice was steady, yet carried an undeniable force of questioning: "Tom. How dare you show yourself so openly in Muggle territory? The International Wizarding Federation and the British Ministry of Magic will not stand idly by. Are you insane?"

"Mad?" Voldemort chuckled softly, a smile that looked particularly eerie on his pale, snake-like face. He stopped about twenty feet away from the three, a distance that would be covered in an instant for a legendary wizard. He tilted his head, a gleam of almost pleasure in his crimson eyes. "No, Dumbledore. Quite the opposite, I have never been so... lucid."

He raised his hand, the yew wand twirling gracefully between his fingers, as if playing with a beloved toy. His posture was unhurried, carrying a condescending, cat-and-mouse playfulness.

"You know, Professor? In the past, when I faced you, I always needed to...be cautious. I needed to calculate. I needed to be wary of your so-called 'wisdom' and 'power.'" Voldemort's voice was soft and soothing, as if telling an interesting story, "But now..." He paused, his crimson eyes blazing with light, and a vast, chaotic, and chillingly twisted magical energy surged forth from him without reservation!

The oppressive aura was like an invisible mountain, instantly enveloping the entire area!

"Boom!!!" The few remaining plastic tables and chairs around them were pushed backward by an invisible force, and the rubble and trash on the ground floated up silently!

Then it turned into powder!

Dumbledore's pupils contracted sharply! The intensity and quality of this magical surge, along with the eerie and chaotic nature it contained, far surpassed anything he could remember! This was no ordinary advancement in dark magic! This was… a legend?! Yet the distortion and chaos permeating that magic!

It carried an unsettling evil, as if it did not belong here!

"Now." Voldemort withdrew his magic, as if he had just displayed a trivial display of power. His face still wore that polite yet chilling smile. "I can finally... have a 'chat' with you on equal terms, my dear professor." This guy pretended to be very elegant.

His gaze shifted to Grindelwald, a genuine interest flashing in his eyes. "And you, Grindelwald. The man who once stirred up the winds of Europe. I thought you'd rot away in that tower, but to meet you here is quite a surprise." Grindelwald's heterochromatic eyes were fixed on Voldemort, his usual composed demeanor now showing a hint of seriousness. Though he had no wand, a powerful aura of magic emanated from him, subtly countering Voldemort's chaotic energy. He spoke coldly, his voice hoarse and sarcastic: "A mere upstart who's barely entered the Legendary realm and can't wait to show off. It seems 'power' can indeed make people... lose their heads."

No sooner had he finished speaking than Grindelwald made his move!

Without a wand, his deep-rooted, soul-deep magical skill allowed him to unleash terrifying dark magic with just gestures and willpower!

He suddenly spread his five fingers wide and swung them forward. A thick torrent of flames, interwoven with deep purple and pitch black, roared out of the void and rushed straight at Voldemort!

Fiendfyre! And it was a destructive Fiendfyre far beyond what ordinary wizards could imagine, imbued with Grindelwald's powerful magic and dark understanding! The temperature of this flame was enough to melt steel, and its burning nature could devour all life and magic. Wherever it passed, the air was scorched, distorted, and cracked! However, Voldemort merely raised his wand slightly and casually pointed it forward.

An invisible barrier, shrouded in chaos and distortion, unfolded before him. This barrier was no ordinary protective magic; rather, it seemed to "distort" the very space itself touched by the Fiery Blaze!

The raging torrent of purple flames crashed into the distorted barrier, as if it had encountered a spatial "fault," and was forcibly diverted and deflected, whistling past Voldemort's body on both sides!

"Splash!"

The raging fire exploded into a sky full of sparks behind him, but it couldn't harm him in the slightest!

"Forehead?"

Grindelwald's expression changed slightly.

Voldemort withdrew his wand, his crimson eyes widening with a smile that even held a hint of admiration: "As expected of Grindelwald. Even without a wand, he can unleash such power with Fiendfire. Too bad..."

He paused, his tone gentle yet brimming with overwhelming confidence: "Times have changed."

This moment.

Tom was incredibly proud and confident.

Dumbledore's heart sank to the bottom. He had witnessed the brief exchange. Grindelwald's attack, though hasty, was by no means insignificant.

Voldemort's response, however, was as easy as brushing off dust!

More importantly, the way he distorts space and deflects attacks is completely beyond the scope of conventional black magic! What power has Tom actually gained?!

"What's wrong, Professor?" Voldemort keenly caught the shock in Dumbledore's eyes. He let out a soft chuckle. "Surprised? Or...disappointed? Disappointed that your most prized 'student' has finally grown to a point where even you have to look up to him?"

He took a step forward, his gaze fixed intently on Dumbledore, his voice filled with a resentment and glee that had been suppressed for decades and was finally being released:

"Do you know, Dumbledore? All these years, I've been waiting for this day. Waiting for your ever-gentle, ever-condescending 'care' to shatter completely. Waiting for you to truly realize how ridiculous and fragile those things you've been protecting—those so-called 'love,' 'justice,' and 'order'—are in the face of me."

He raised his wand and pointed it at Dumbledore's chest, the movement as graceful as inviting someone to dance at a ball: "Tonight, right here, I will let you see with your own eyes how everything you cherish will be torn apart, bit by bit."

Voldemort finished speaking but didn't act immediately. He withdrew his wand and instead took a half step back, his crimson eyes sweeping across the magically isolated night market area, resembling a gladiatorial arena. His gaze fell on the Muggles slumped on the ground, frozen in fear—some still huddled beside overturned stalls, others lying by their own carts, their bodies twitching slightly, their eyes empty and terrified.

"Lucius." Voldemort suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, but clearly carried into the darkness behind him.

A tall, slender figure emerged from the shadows, his platinum-gold hair gleaming even in the dim light—it was Lucius Malfoy. He bowed, his posture elegant yet tense: "Master."

"Take some men and get rid of these...annoying 'spectators' around here," Voldemort said casually, pointing his wand at the Muggles. "None of them. Leave them alive. Let them experience the coming new era in endless fear and pain." Voldemort's arrogance was unparalleled.

Also normal.

After all, he was born with this arrogant and disdainful personality. Now that he has obtained legendary power, he naturally believes that he is invincible and can do whatever he wants.

"this……"

Lucius stiffened almost imperceptibly, then lowered his head even further: "Yes, Master."

He turned and waved into the darkness, and immediately a dozen or so masked Death Eaters filed out and approached the defenseless Muggles.

The tip of the wand began to flash with an ominous red or green light.

"stop!"

"Dumbledore roared, his Elder Wand instantly pointing towards Lucius, a blinding beam of magical light shooting forth! The power of this magic would terrify any Death Eater. However, the light seemed to strike an invisible wall in mid-air, exploding into countless specks of light. "That's not up to you." Voldemort remained standing, not even moving a step, simply raising a hand to effortlessly block Dumbledore's attack. He tilted his head, savoring the mixture of anger and shock on Dumbledore's face, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Professor, Professor..." His voice was as soft as a lover's murmur, yet filled with a chilling madness, "I told you, tonight, your opponent is me. As for those ants..." He glanced towards the direction of the Muggles, who had already begun to let out their first screams, "They're just appetizers. Take your time."

"You!!!" Dumbledore's chest heaved violently. He stared intently at Voldemort, his azure eyes burning with rage, but even more so with deep apprehension and worry. Just now, he had used at least seventy percent of his power, yet he hadn't even touched the hem of Voldemort's clothes! Voldemort's strength had indeed swelled to an immeasurable level!

Grindelwald stood to the side, his heterochromatic eyes scanning back and forth between Voldemort and Dumbledore. He refrained from making a rash move, instead rapidly analyzing the nature of Voldemort's bizarre power. Its ability to distort space and devour attacks... was completely different from ordinary dark magic, carrying an unsettling, inhuman aura.

Voldemort seemed to relish the tension and apprehension between the two. He took another step forward, and this time, he made an unexpected move: he placed his left hand on his chest, bowed slightly to Dumbledore, and pointed his wand diagonally at the ground with his right hand, his posture as elegant as if he were inviting a dance partner at a formal ball in the Ministry of Magic.

"Albus Dumbledore," he began, his voice carrying a solemn, almost ceremonial tone, "I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, hereby challenge you to a wizarding duel."

He raised his head, his crimson eyes burning with a mad flame, yet a perfectly polite smile played on his lips: "According to ancient tradition, one-on-one, to the death. How about it? Let me see how long your most prized 'power' can withstand true, transcendent strength."

Dumbledore frowned. A wizard duel? At a time when Muggles were being slaughtered, to issue such a challenge, imbued with a sense of classical honor? This was simply…

But he quickly realized what was happening.

This is not honor, it is the cruelest humiliation! Voldemort wants to crush his dignity, strength and life bit by bit in front of him, amidst the screams of those Muggles, through a "fair duel"! He wants Dumbledore to hear the slaughter of those he protects in his most powerless state, and to feel his own "powerlessness"!

Grindelwald sneered, about to speak sarcastically, but Voldemort swept his eyes over him with a look of contempt and warning that made him choke on his words.

no way.

As a wizard who is close to being legendary.

Grindelwald also knew why Voldemort was so smug.

The legend is indeed powerful.

He cannot provoke the other party.

"As for you, Grindelwald," Voldemort said with a hint of perfunctory politeness, "don't worry, after I've dealt with my dear professor, I'll give you a proper 'welcome.' After all, you were once... a prominent figure."

He paused, then a more sinister smile spread across his face. "Although, for now, it's just a toothless tiger."

His previous respect instantly turned into mockery, and his tone became much more contemptuous. From beginning to end, his gaze never once looked at where Ian was.

Ian didn't say a word from beginning to end.

He stood there quietly, watching Voldemort's performance—his elegant madness, his inflated confidence, his deliberately created sense of oppression, and... his blatant disregard.

His face was expressionless, but his deep, pool-like eyes seemed to grow even more unfathomable in the dim light. His gaze swept over the Death Eaters approaching the Muggles, over Dumbledore and Grindelwald confronting Voldemort, and finally settled calmly on Voldemort's pale, crazed snake face.

Ian didn't move.

There was no sound.

He simply looked at the Death Eaters.