Over the past few years, signs of foreign wizards had been appearing frequently around the perimeter of Hogwarts.
No matter what concealment charms the Four Founders cast to hide the castle, they had little effect. The land was once the nesting ground of a dragon, and the legendary battle that took place here had left a mark on history.
To those in the know, the location was hidden, but not impossible to find. And for those who didn't know, rumors of the place abounded. If someone truly wanted to find Hogwarts, it was only a matter of time.
And if independent wizards could find it, then the Church—which had been persecuting and hunting wizardkind for generations—would inevitably find it too.
The Church's military power was complex. Aside from their Muggle Knight Orders, they commanded the "Black Prison Wizards," the Ascetics, and the Red-Robed Cardinals.
The Black Prison Wizards were numerous. They were the children with magical potential whom the Pope had abducted years ago, trained in a living hell. Only those who survived the brutal conditioning earned the title.
They operated in squads of three, always led by an old man missing both ears. One subordinate would be missing a left foot, the other a right hand.
They were mass-produced in batches. Each batch suffered the same deformities, underwent the same torture, and faced the same punishments. They were like products on a twisted assembly line—mere tools the Church could discard at will.
The Ascetics were a more specialized group.
Selected from the elite, these individuals possessed unique, terrifying talents. Some could control werewolves, keeping them as pets. Others spent their entire lives researching dimensional magic, trying to break the veil between worlds.
There weren't many Ascetics, but each one was a treasure to the Church. If enough of them combined their efforts on a summoning circle, they might actually succeed in pulling a magical species from another dimension.
The Church's power was vast, which was why wizardkind was currently on the losing side of history.
The Four Founders had established the first school of magic to train young wizards effectively, hoping to stem the chaos and give their people a fighting chance.
But the Church couldn't allow that. In their eyes, supernatural power belonged solely to the Church. Only by monopolizing miracles could they ensure the people's faith, submission, and willing servitude.
Hogwarts was a threat to that monopoly. A conflict was inevitable.
---
The earless, disabled old man Godric Gryffindor had thrown onto the floor was the leader of one of these disposable squads.
There were about twenty such squads in the Church's employ. Their combat ability was decent—not at the level of a High Wizard, but certainly above average. Against ordinary witches and wizards, they were lethal. But against the Founders? They were child's play.
With a casual wave of his wand, Godric lifted the Sleeping Charm.
The old man groaned, slowly waking up on the floor. He was completely drained of strength, barely able to open his eyes, let alone sit up.
This "weakness" was clearly the result of a lingering curse.
"Salazar placed that on him," Godric explained, knowing curses weren't his specialty. "He's currently chasing down one of the Ascetics."
"Uncle Godric, what is this clue you mentioned?"
Of all the people concerned about Rey, Helena was the most anxious. She needed to know what had happened to him.
Godric nodded and beckoned with his hand.
A stone basin—a Pensieve—floated out from a cabinet. Godric placed the tip of his wand against the earless man's temple, extracted a silvery strand of memory, and dropped it into the swirling liquid.
The Pensieve was a fixture in the Headmaster's office. Since the Four Founders took turns managing the school's administrative duties, whoever was on duty spent the most time there. Today, it was Rowena's turn.
Helena was the first to dive into the memory. Moments later, she emerged, having witnessed exactly how Rey was captured.
She looked up at her mother, Rowena Ravenclaw, her eyes filled with apology, nervousness, and a silent plea for help.
But she didn't say the words out loud. She knew the Church was a massive, dangerous organization. Asking her mother to go to war was not a request to be made lightly.
---
This earless man was indeed the same wizard Rey had defeated earlier. Somehow, Godric had managed to capture him alive.
While Black Prison Wizards weren't top-tier duelists, capturing one alive was notoriously difficult. Even Godric was surprised he'd managed it.
Regardless, the prisoner confirmed two things: Rey's location, and the fact that the Church was preparing a large-scale assault on Hogwarts.
The Ascetic that Salazar was currently hunting likely knew even more details.
Hogwarts was the life's work of the Four Founders. They wouldn't let anyone harm it—not even a behemoth like the Church.
---
Meanwhile, in the Sixth Circle of Hell.
Rey, having narrowly escaped being kissed by the Dementors, realized just how lucky he was that Raphael had intervened.
It was an unexpected rescue. But immediately after saving him, Raphael had retreated back into the Soul Orb. She hadn't offered a solution for the swarm of Dementors still outside, leaving Rey to face the music alone.
Without a wand and unable to cast a Patronus, it didn't matter how many times Rey revived; the Dementors would just suck him dry again.
So, he had no choice but to ask the woman for help again.
There was no shame in it. Compared to dying, asking a woman for help was nothing. Besides, she'd been living in his Soul Orb rent-free for three years; surely that was worth a favor or two.
However, the "landlord" was immediately met with a barrage of insults from his impatient "tenant."
"How can you be so dense? I used Dark Arts to reconstruct your body! Look at those Dementors—do they look interested in you anymore?"
"And your wand? It's in your pouch, you idiot!"
Raphael's scolding echoed in his head until she finally went silent, clearly done with him.
Rey looked up. Sure enough, the Dementors were drifting aimlessly in the distance. They had zero interest in him.
His body had been restored using pure dark energy. To a Dementor, who feeds on positive emotions and happiness, Rey was now invisible. He was like a black cloth in a dark room—completely blending in with the darkness they exuded.
Rey focused his mind on his undetectable extension pouch. And there it was—his wand.
Raphael must have retrieved it for him when she saved him. He clearly remembered losing his grip on it during the attack. Aside from her intervention, there was no other explanation.
With the Dementor problem solved, he was safe for the moment. But he quickly discovered a new problem: the perimeter of the Sixth Circle was heavily warded.
There was an Anti-Apparition Jinx in place. He couldn't warp out of this hellhole.
If he wanted to leave, he'd have to find another way.
Wand in hand, Rey resigned himself to his fate. He couldn't open the massive stone door behind him, which meant his only option was to move forward.
He turned toward the dark, bottomless depths of the cavern and began to walk.
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