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This person didn't seem to harbor any ill intentions.
Compared to the other heinous criminals, at least, he looked far more approachable.
"Are you using some kind of magical probing technique to replace the function of your eyes?" Ian could sense an extremely subtle and exquisite fluctuation of mental force emanating from the blind man. Like an invisible sonar, it outlined the surrounding environment and simulated a unique form of 'vision'.
"Yes."
The man admitted it openly.
Being able to use magic inside a prison was impressive indeed. After all, this prison had the ability to suppress magical power.
It was much like the Sea-Prism Stone handcuffs worn by Devil Fruit users in One Piece. Wizards had their own equivalent of the Sea-Prism Stone. Such materials were relatively abundant on the African continent, at least. They had been mined and used to pave the floors of the prison cells that held these criminals.
For Ian, however, this suppression had little effect.
For most ordinary wizards, however, it left them completely powerless. Anyone capable of using magic under such conditions was clearly not an ordinary individual.
Ian became interested in the blind man.
"What exactly is going on?"
Instead of responding immediately, Ian asked a question of his own.
His instincts told him that a prisoner held in such a remote part of the prison was anything but ordinary.
The man lacked the aura of a vicious criminal. Instead, he exuded a calmness born of age and wisdom, as well as something else...
A sense of power deeply concealed beneath the surface.
Like a dormant volcano.
The blind man 'looked' at Ian, and the corners of his mouth seemed to curl up ever so slightly. It looked like a smile, yet also like a form of self-mockery.
"The 'neighbors' below aren't very friendly. And... the 'guards' have changed."
As he spoke, he touched his empty eye sockets as if they held a story of their own.
His words were concise, yet they contained a considerable amount of information.
"The neighbors below aren't friendly" was easy enough to understand. Prisoners held deeper underground would naturally be more dangerous. But what did he mean by 'the guards have changed?"
Weren't Dementors the only guards?
Ian narrowed his eyes slightly.
His mental force transformed into the finest of probes and began carefully scanning the deeper levels below. Earlier, he had been focused on locating Newt and avoiding the prison's defenses, so he had not deliberately investigated the lower regions.
Now, prompted by the blind man's warning, he concentrated.
Sure enough, several dozen meters deeper, he sensed energy fluctuations that were completely different from those of Dementors.
They were far more primitive and savage, filled with wildness and chaos.
The magical power they radiated felt like living darkness itself: writhing, squirming, exuding a nauseating stench and a greedy craving for flesh and souls.
There were not many of them.
But every single one carried an overwhelming sense of threat.
"What are they?" Ian asked directly.
He could tell that the blind man knew something and was deliberately trying to warn him.
The blind man fell silent for a moment. His empty eye sockets remained fixed on Ian as though evaluating him.
After a while, he finally spoke in a noticeably lower voice.
"The tribes' 'Ancient Spirits'... Or rather, the beings that were worshipped by various tribes and were later 'stored' or exiled here because they had become too dangerous or difficult to control.'
"They're far more troublesome than Dementors."
This knowledge lay beyond the scope of European magical understanding, yet the blind man knew it remarkably well for some reason.
"Ancient Spirits, huh."
Ian understood immediately.
The African magical world was very different from that in Europe. It preserved many ancient tribal traditions and beliefs.
The so-called Ancient Spirits were probably totems worshipped by primitive tribes, spirits of nature, or powerful magical entities that had emerged over countless years from accumulated faith and magical power.
They took many different forms and possessed all kinds of strange abilities.
Yet they shared several common traits: exceptional intelligence, immense power and an unpredictable level of danger.
Beings like these had once existed in Europe as well.
However, as European civilisation advanced and became increasingly arrogant and self-important, practices such as totem worship gradually faded away.
Without faith, there was no longer fertile ground for nature spirits to survive.
Africa, however, was a different story.
Primitive worship was even more deeply rooted there than in India, and many undeveloped tribes remained. Consequently, tribes connected to nature spirits have continued to exist to this day.
Of course, ancient spirits were something else entirely.
They were far stronger.
The African Ministry of Magic imprisoned these 'Ancient Spirits' here. This was likely to control the risks they posed.
On the other hand...
Perhaps it was also a way of utilising resources.
For example—
They could be used to guard the most dangerous prisoners.
However, ancient spirits were notoriously prone to losing control. Even Azkaban in Europe did not employ such beings.
Ian had no idea why the African side was bold enough to do so.
"Come to think of it, these people were reckless enough to let outsiders into the Ministry of Magic. If they've deteriorated to that extent, it's possible that someone with a warped mindset came up with this outrageous idea."
"For all I know, some leader might have slapped the table, had a flash of inspiration, and pushed it through without caring about the consequences."
Ian formed his own opinion in silence.
However, outwardly, he remained completely calm.
"Why are you telling me all this?" Ian asked the blind man. "We've never met before."
The blind man tilted his head slightly upwards. His empty eye sockets seemed to be gazing at a ceiling he could not possibly see. He spoke with the detached calmness of someone who had seen through the affairs of the world.
"You can command Dementors like servants. You can make them willingly guide you this deep into the prison. You carry the favor of 'Death' and the aura of the 'Other Shore'."
He was surprisingly knowledgeable.
He had noticed things that many wizards could not.
Ian was somewhat surprised.
The man continued his explanation.
"You are not one of the Ministry's people, and your purpose is certainly far from ordinary. I simply don't want those old 'friends' below, who finally settled down after so much effort, to riot again because of your intrusion. For prisoners like us, who just want a little peace and quiet, that would not be good."
The explanation sounded reasonable.
But Ian felt that it was not the whole truth.
There was something mysterious about the blind man. His warning probably had more complicated motives beneath the surface.
"Then tell me this. Newt Scamander, the wizard who studies magical creatures. Which level is he imprisoned on? Is he being held in the area guarded by the 'Ancient Spirits' below?"
Ian asked the question that mattered most directly.
The blind man nodded.
The gesture looked strangely unsettling when performed by him.
"Yes, the lowest three levels. He is being held alone in the 'Chamber of Silence', a place specifically designed to imprison unusually special prisoners. Rumour has it that a certain 'little animal' he carried disturbed a great being who had been sleeping for a very long time."
A special prisoner?
Had he disturbed a great being?
Ian's doubts only deepened.
What kind of magical creature had Newt brought to Africa that had caused such a huge incident?
And why did it require the imprisoned Ancient Spirits to guard it?
So this wasn't just a simple act of persecution?
Ian found the situation far more unexpected than he had initially imagined.
"Has he really touched some kind of taboo...?"
Ian fell into thought.
A moment later...
"Thank you for the information."
Ian nodded to the blind man, acknowledging the favor.
Regardless of the man's true motives, the information had undoubtedly saved Ian considerable trouble and allowed him to prepare mentally for what lay below.
The blind man said nothing further.
He lowered his head once more and returned to his cross-legged meditation posture as though their entire conversation had never happened.
Ian took a deep breath and looked once again into the bottomless, dark passageway stretching downwards.
It seemed that the final stretch of the journey would not be as 'peaceful' as the earlier sections.
He glanced at the Dementor waiting beside him for instructions and waved a hand.
"Keep leading the way."
[A little while...]
The loyal mental response sounded once more.
'That's not what I asked. I wasn't asking how much longer it would take."
Feeling helpless, Ian rubbed his forehead.
He knew that Dementors had limited language skills, but he had never imagined quite how limited they were.
This time, however, Ian did not continue complaining.
Instead, his gaze sharpened.
He controlled his magical power to the utmost degree while raising his concentration to its peak, like a ferocious beast about to enter a hunting ground.
He was determined to find out what these so-called Tribal Ancient Spirits truly were.
He wanted to see what sort of 'surprises' they could offer him.
As for Newt Scamander, the magizoologist who cherished life above all else...
Why was he imprisoned in such a sunless abyss, a place brimming with primal power and peril?
"Forward! Brave Ian! Fear nothing!"
Leaving the mysterious blind prisoner behind, Ian continued to descend the spiraling stone staircase.
Once he passed the level where the blind man was held, the environment changed noticeably.
It was as though an entirely different contractor had been hired to build this section of the prison.
The rough rock walls, covered in moss and water stains, gradually gave way to neatly cut black stone blocks, polished to a smooth finish and resembling dense basalt.
The passageway became wider.
At the same time, however, the lighting became increasingly sparse.
Only a few magical lamps remained, casting a cold blue glow.
Rather than dispelling the darkness, the eerie light made the surroundings appear even more sinister.
The prison cells that lined the corridor were no longer densely packed iron cages.
Instead, they had become massive metal doors, each thick and solid.
Complex containment runes were engraved upon them, and they flashed with an ominous red light.
Each door resembled an isolated fortress, completely separating the inside from the outside world.
The air was nearly stagnant.
It was bitterly cold.
Even the flow of magical power had become sluggish and viscous here, as though suppressed by some invisible force.
The prisoners confined in this section were clearly high-risk criminals of the highest order...
Beings that not even the African Ministry of Magic dared to underestimate and perhaps even feared.
Ian could sense various unsettling auras faintly leaking out from behind the tightly sealed doors.
Some resembled ice that had existed for ten thousand years, radiating a chill capable of freezing the soul.
Others resembled boiling magma, overflowing with destructive fury.
Others, however, felt as though they were in a void of absolute emptiness, as though existence itself had been erased.
There were no roars.
No curses.
Only a deathly silence remained.
Yet beneath that silence lurked a terror sufficient to drive ordinary wizards insane.
Of course, Ian was different.
Although he was surprised by the strength of those imprisoned here,
He remained completely unfazed.
"Those who have not entered the Legendary realm are all ants."
Ian possessed the confidence of a legendary wizard.
Regardless of who or what was locked behind those prison doors, he could sense that none of them had touched the domain of the Legendary.
They posed little threat to him.
In fact, even the oppressive presence emanating from the Ancient Spirits barely affected him.
As he continued downward and approached the area guarded by the 'Ancient Spirits' mentioned by the blind man, the Dementors that had followed him silently like loyal servants began to behave strangely.
They had sensed the ancient spirits lurking deeper below.
Their already vague and indistinct, ragged, tattered bodies began to tremble slightly.
Their floating speed slowed noticeably.
Some even drifted closer together, as though seeking safety in numbers.
Alongside the cold aura of despair they emitted, Ian sensed an emotion he had never felt from them before.
Fear.
Yes.
Fear.
These magical creatures, which survived by feeding on happiness and hope and which were regarded by most wizards as nightmares, were now afraid.
Their hoods repeatedly turned towards the darkness below.
Their mental fluctuations transmitted intense feelings of unease and reluctance.
Finally, after turning another corner, they reached a point where a massive arched gateway loomed ahead, resembling the entrance to Hell itself.
At that moment, the Dementors stopped completely.
They hovered in place, trembling uncontrollably, refusing to advance even a single inch farther.
Their mental fluctuations transmitted fragmented messages:
[Danger...]
[Ancient...]
[Devour...]
Ian stopped and looked back at the group of Dementors huddled together in the shadows of the wall.
He rolled his eyes dramatically.
"Tsk! Are you backing down already?"
His voice was filled with undisguised contempt.
"And here I thought you were the elite from the Twilight Zone. Is this really all the courage you've got?"
"The things down there are nothing more than provincial ancient spirits that were raised and then abandoned by tribes. Yet they've scared you into this state?"
"You're bringing shame upon your Master's name!"
He grumbled and cursed under his breath, sounding very much like someone frustrated by subordinates who failed to live up to expectations.
However, he did not force the Dementors to continue following him.
Their instinctive terror had overwhelmed their obedience to the Crow Lord's aura.
Forcing them onward would probably cause them to collapse mentally.
It might even alert whatever lay below, ruining his element of surprise.
"Fine, fine. Useless lot."
Ian waved his hand impatiently.
"Stay here and wait. If I come back and find that you've run away..."
"Hmph."
His final snort carried a chilling threat.
The Dementors trembled even more violently but still did not dare cross the invisible boundary.
Instead, they shrank in on themselves as much as possible to show that they would absolutely not flee.
Ian ignored the cowardly servants.
He turned around and stepped alone through the enormous archway.
Beyond it was not the vast prison complex he had expected.
Instead, there was a relatively short, downward-sloping corridor.
At the end of the corridor stood a door.
It was so enormous that it defied imagination.
The entire structure appeared to have been cast from a dark material that was neither metal nor wood.
It stood nearly ten meters tall and was wide enough for a carriage to pass through with ease.
"Hm?"
Ian froze.
The style of the door looked strangely familiar.
It reminded him of the Bronze Gate that had first sent him wandering through time.
Though this one was considerably smaller.
And the inscriptions carved upon it were entirely different.
(End of Chapter)