Set's whispers echoed through the wind-swept sands like resentful roars, swallowed by the relentless desert. Trapped deep within the forgotten palace and sealed off from the outside world, his fury, ambition, and anguish coalesced into invisible fluctuations that attempted to pierce the veil of reality and curse Ian.
However, Ian had already flown far away.
Transformed into a raven, untouched by any curse, he soared over the golden sea of sand.
His figure gradually faded against the horizon as if he had never existed. His potion pouch was filled with divine alchemical items, ancient manuscripts, and scrolls etched with forgotten knowledge.
He had never intended to save God by entering Set's temple; rather, his purpose was to gather materials, study magic, and push the boundaries of knowledge.
Set's howls were destined to go unheard, like whispers carried away by desert winds and ultimately fading into nothingness. Of course, Ian's journey was far from over.
His mission required collecting three artifacts, and he had only obtained one so far. Now, he needed to journey to the realm of the ancient Egyptian netherworld god to "borrow" an object: the oar of the River Styx. Technically, Osiris was the ruler of the underworld, but Anubis, the god of death and the underworld, also held dominion over the river Styx.
In ancient Egyptian mythology, the underworld was ruled by Osiris, the judge of the dead and god-king of the underworld. However, Anubis, the god of death, was the true enforcer of order and guide of souls in the underworld. He was the divine ferryman who wielded scales to weigh the hearts of the deceased and determine whether they were worthy of entering the Underworld.
"To borrow an oar, you naturally need to find a ferryman," Ian knew. Although Osiris reigned as the master of the Underworld, Anubis truly controlled divine artifacts like the oars of the River Styx.
After all, Osiris had long since ascended to a higher level of divinity and was no longer personally managing such details. As the guardian of the Underworld's gates, Anubis was the deity who handled day-to-day operations.
Hmm.
Wasn't this just another example of the difference between a civil servant and a contractor? Ian journeyed eastward, crossing deserts and wastelands until he finally reached Anubis' temple, an ancient structure straddling the boundary between life and death. Situated in the desert to the west of the Nile River, the obsidian complex gleamed coldly in the setting sun.
The temple stood atop a black basalt hill, surrounded by desolate sand dunes and weathered stone pillars. The air hung heavy with the mingled scents of spices and death, as if time itself avoided this place in reverence. A colossal, jackal-headed statue of Anubis loomed over the entrance; its hollow eye sockets seemed to pierce the soul.
Ian landed before the temple, transformed back into human form, adjusted his robes, and ascended the stone steps with measured strides. He made no attempt to conceal his purpose or disguise his identity.
He knew.
His arrival had already been detected.
The temple gates slowly creaked open, and a priest emerged, wearing white robes and a jackal-headed mask. His towering figure radiated authority, his gaze burned like twin flames, and a faint divine power fluctuation emanated from him.
"Who are you?" the priest boomed in a deep, imposing voice. "And why have you come to the God of Death's sanctuary?"
At this, Ian smiled faintly. His tone was calm and unwavering. "I've come to borrow something."
He tried his best to maintain an air of mystique.
However,
Due to his limited acting skills, he failed to convey the profound depths he sought to project.
"Living one, this place is not for you."
The priest's voice was low and raspy, like sandpaper grinding against stone. He was displeased with Ian's arrival. In fact, he wanted to urge Ian to leave immediately.
Ian smiled faintly.
"I'm going to the River Styx."
He believed in the principle that if others wouldn't give it to you, you should take it yourself.
The priest's jackal mask tilted slightly as if scrutinizing Ian.
"Only the dead may enter the Underworld." After a moment of silence, the priest slowly shook his head. "Only the dead may enter the Underworld. A living soul who trespasses there will surely be cursed."
His brow furrowed slightly.
This priest had encountered wizards like Ian before, wizards who were curious about the Underworld. However, being relatively kindhearted, he usually tried to dissuade them one by one.
"I know," Ian nodded, confirming the information he had already gathered. "But the River Styx isn't completely inaccessible. I know that the Underworld exists within the Twilight Zone, an illusory realm demarcated by the gods themselves. Within it, they've erected walls, established gates, and set boundaries. All I need is an entrance."
His argument revealed a little-known truth: the Twilight Zone, a dimension poised between reality and illusion, had become the domain of the gods, who had carved out their own territories within it and drawn power from their respective pantheons.
Under normal circumstances, Ian wouldn't be able to enter these lands claimed by the gods simply by wishing to do so. This was precisely why he had come seeking their permission.
Within the Twilight Zone, Ian ultimately lacked the highest authority.
"Hmm?"
The priest scrutinized him, his gaze tinged with a complex mix of emotions.
"You're clever," the priest said. "But clever people often die young. Throughout history, countless people have tried to enter the Underworld, yet none have ever returned alive."
The priest clearly knew about the Twilight Zone.
He tried to dissuade Ian again.
But Ian just smirked.
"So, is there a way in?"
He completely ignored the priest's warnings.
"Why are you so determined to walk a path of no return? Young wizard, you have such a bright future ahead of you. Go back to living. Throughout history, no one who has entered the Underworld has ever returned." The priest paused, then shook his head. He still felt regret for such a talented young wizard.
"You know you can't defeat me. My resolve is unshaken." Ian wasn't making a threat; he was simply stating a fact and demonstrating his unwavering determination to reach the Underworld.
The priest saw this clearly. Instead of anger, he studied Ian from head to toe with a flash of pity in his eyes before slowly asking, "Why?"
"Are you truly determined to go?" Priest sighed.
"Of course," Ian replied casually, as if discussing dinner plans.
"Do you really understand what you're doing?" The priest's tone carried a hint of warning again. "The Underworld isn't what you imagine. It's not a river, a bridge, or a judgment hall. It's the final destination of death, a prison for souls. Once you enter, there's no turning back. It's not the mystical realm you envision."
This warning was Priest's last act of kindness.
Seeing Ian nod, Priest let out another deep sigh.
"Three trials await you. Those who pass them gain the right to enter the Underworld," he said, turning and gesturing for Ian to follow.
Under Priest's guidance, Ian walked through the long corridors of the temple.
Ian walked through the long corridors of the temple.
The walls were covered in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics and images of the god of death. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, making each step feel like a journey toward death. Murals on both sides depicted the deceased's journey through judgment, their hearts were placed on scales to be weighed while Anubis observed coldly.
Sirius, holding the scepter of power, would decide the soul's fate.
Finally, they reached the innermost depths of the temple.
Before them stood a massive golden gate inlaid with obsidian and gold leaf and adorned with divine statues of Anubis and images of the gates to the Underworld.
The gate was tightly sealed, exuding an aura of mystery and majesty.
Those who enter must face three trials: wisdom, courage, and death.
The priest stepped aside.
"If you succeed, you may enter the Underworld. If you fail..."
He trailed off, but his meaning was clear:
Death.
Ian chuckled softly. "Sounds fair enough."
Without hesitation, he pushed open the golden gate.
Beyond the gate, an endless darkness lay, illuminated only by a bronze lamp suspended in the void. Its flickering light guided the way forward. The air hung heavy with the mingled scents of decay and death, as if the entire space belonged to another dimension. Ian walked slowly into the darkness. The gate closed soundlessly behind him the moment he entered, severing his connection to the real world. He knew he had embarked on a path of no return and that, as a true wizard, he would never fear the unknown.
He pressed onward.
The flickering flames illuminated a rotting wooden table. Behind it sat a gaunt old man with gouged-out eyes, black sand trickling from the empty sockets.
"Living one, why have you come?"
"To borrow an oar."
The terse exchange felt distinctly like a cultivation novel, at least, that's how Ian perceived it. The gloomy surroundings might have given it more of a Chinese cultivation novel vibe.
"So, greed brought you here. Very well, living one. You must answer my question," the old man said, his voice seeming to rise from the depths of the earth and carrying the stench of decay.
"Answer incorrectly, and your eyes will belong to me." The old man was like Ravenclaw's door knocker, but the kind that required a wager. Ian had to answer his riddle.
Ian raised an eyebrow.
"Ask away!"
He wasn't afraid of giving the wrong answer. After all, he could always find a way out of it.
The gaunt old man remained oblivious to the young wizard's mindset. He merely scrutinized Ian before slowly speaking. "What never vanishes yet has never existed?"
The question was profoundly philosophical.
But it posed no challenge to Ian.
He nearly burst out laughing because he was Hogwarts' resident philosopher.
"The future."
The answer sprang to mind almost instinctively, requiring no thought whatsoever. It was a perfect response. The old man fell silent for a moment, then nodded.
"Trial of Wisdom, passed."
The flame of the Bronze Lamp surged, illuminating the second gate, an archway made of stacked bones with a beating heart suspended from the lintel.
Stepping through the bone gate, Ian was hit by a wave of scorching air.
"It's bloody hot," he muttered. Before him lay a sea of crimson flames where countless Wailing Souls twisted and reached out. Their anguished cries rose as they clawed at anyone who dared enter.
"Cross over the sea of fire, living one," a deep voice rumbled from within the flames. "If you retreat, you will burn for eternity."
Ian glanced at the sea of fire, then smirked.
"Is that all?"
He pulled a potion bottle from his pouch and shook it vigorously.
"Do you Egyptians even know what a 'trial' is supposed to be?" Ian hadn't expected to encounter a trick Snape had long since abandoned. For a Potions Master, this was the least intimidating kind of trial. The cork popped open, releasing a black mist that instantly extinguished the sea of fire like a receding tide.
The Wailing Souls shrieked as they dissolved into wisps of green smoke and vanished.
The voice in the void fell silent for a moment, then reluctantly announced,
"Trial of Courage, passed."
Was this a cheat? Wasn't daring to cheat a form of courage in itself? Ian had passed the trial, and the third door emerged from the ashes.
The stone door was pitch black, its surface carved with writhing human faces.
Ian stepped forward.
The door swung open automatically, revealing a narrow stone chamber inside. In the center of the chamber stood a golden sarcophagus with its lid half-open; the interior was as dark as ink. The surrounding space was completely black and devoid of features.
Even the distinction between sky and ground was indistinguishable.
"Lie down, living one," the voice in the void commanded.
"If you fear death, you will be trapped here forever." The threat sounded imposing, but it carried no psychological weight for Ian.
"Being trapped here wouldn't bother me," he said, approaching the sarcophagus.
He leaned over and peered inside.
"You guys really skimped on the design of this trial," he remarked, rapping his knuckles against the wall of the sarcophagus. The hollow, muffled echo confirmed that it was empty, not solid.
It was devoid of runes or any ornamentation, too.
"Not even a soft cushion? That's a one-star review," Ian complained. He genuinely disliked sleeping on hard surfaces. Despite his grumbling, he flipped over and climbed inside.
Click-clack-clack!
As soon as he entered, the coffin sprang to life. With a series of creaks and groans, the lid slowly sealed shut, plunging him into absolute darkness.
His vision was completely blacked out.
Absolute silence.
Absolute darkness.
The coffin seemed to amplify his senses. He could feel his heartbeat gradually slowing, his blood flow diminishing, and his breathing becoming shallower.
This wasn't an illusion.
It was a visceral, undeniable sensation, he was "dying."
"Supernatural tricks," Ian muttered, his extraordinary intellect kicking in. He knew conquering death wasn't about succumbing to it. With a sudden surge of strength, he slammed his fist against the coffin lid!
Bang!
The golden sarcophagus, imbued with the essence of death, shattered in a violent explosion. Ian sat up and found himself standing beside a pitch-black river. Its surface glowed with an eerie blue phosphorescence, and endless darkness stretched across the opposite bank. A dilapidated wooden boat was moored nearby with a towering figure standing at its prow.
The figure was Anubis, the jackal-headed god. The jackal-headed god held a paddle, his golden eyes fixed coldly on Ian.
Anubis loomed even larger than Ian had imagined, easily over three meters tall. Golden divine glyphs flowed across his pitch-black skin. His jackal head was vividly lifelike, its golden pupils flickering with hellfire and sharp fangs glinting beneath its muzzle. He wore a cloak woven from burial shrouds, and a pair of judgment scales hung at his waist. Each of his fingers was adorned with a bone ring inlaid with scarabs.
Most striking of all was the oar of the River Styx in his hand, jet black and gleaming, its surface etched with ancient hieroglyphic incantations that radiated a bone-chilling aura of death. Gazing at it made Ian feel as if his soul were being drawn into its depths. This was precisely what Female Titan Claire had tasked Ian with finding.
Could this be related to resurrecting the Wailing Souls? As Ian scrutinized Anubis, the god scrutinized him in turn. Yet, Anubis showed no anger at Ian's disrespect.
A Legendary Wizard had the right to converse with a god on equal terms.
"Living one, why have you come?" Anubis inquired. Unlike Zeus and the Greek pantheon, the ancient Egyptian gods showed no surprise at Ian's presence.
Anubis didn't call him Raven, and his pupils didn't reflect Ian's raven form. Perhaps the native gods of this realm had no connection to Raven.
"I want to borrow an oar, yes, the one in your hand." Ian grinned and repeated his request without hesitation.
(End of Chapter)
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