novelslam Chapter 483, Page 492: The Broken Cycle 2
Chapter 483, Page 492: The Broken Cycle 2
Chapter 483, Page 492: The Broken Cycle 2
It's still a pity.
Ian is not here now.
They weren't even in the same space-time.
The conversation between the elderly Saruman and the man in black takes place a thousand years after Saruman's perilous encounter, while Ian is currently trapped in R'lyeh in the past.
He also had no way of asking Saruman where his hair came from.
of course.
Perhaps he knows, or perhaps he will soon find out.
In short.
What's happening here now is only being experienced by Saruman and the man in black robes; the entire underground of the African Ministry of Magic has already been cleared out by the man in black robes.
We can't find another witness.
"Raven's tail feathers."
Saruman's voice was filled with utmost solemnity, "What I found was not only knowledge and records, but also this—object. It is the key, the ticket, and—the refuge."
As he spoke, he gently stroked the strange feather and continued, "My research is actually based on the peculiar properties contained within this feather. It led me to a method—an unorthodox, extremely dangerous, but perhaps feasible method of intervention in the past."
Saruman knew his plan was about to be implemented.
Whether it's kept secret or not doesn't matter anymore.
Even if the source of the pollution could hear him, it would be unable to stop him. Even if the man in black robes didn't make a move, the old Saruman had already come up with a plan.
The reason he wants the man in black robes to take action now is simply to teach him another lesson, and to use this opportunity to help the man in black robes break through his inner shackles so that he can go further in the future.
Yes.
Going further in the future.
This was something the black-robed man could no longer hope for, something the entire African Bureau of Mystic Affairs could not hope for, but Saruman felt he could give it to them.
because.
As long as the past changes.
The future will also change.
The world will be missing one of him, but the world will become better and safer because of him, and the biggest threat that has always been rooted in the underlying logic of this world will be eliminated.
"At the moment of my death, the instant my soul is freed from the bonds of my body," Saruman's tone was eerily calm, "the power of the raven contained within this feather will be activated. It will not send my soul to the realm of the dead—a hazy illusion. It will form a small, fragile bubble, a bubble that flows backward through time."
"This bubble will envelop the core of my soul and my most important memories, along the intricate causal threads between me and R'lyeh, and Ian Prince."
"And the chaotic spacetime structure of R'lyeh itself—rewinding" my time. Saruman revealed his plan: to travel through time and change everything.
If a legend cannot be completed, then he becomes a new legend to add to the synergy. This is the driving force that has sustained Saruman's learning and progress for so many years.
have to say.
He was indeed bold and crazy.
He is a qualified super wizard.
The man in black robes was too shocked to speak, his eyes fixed on the black feather.
"Back to—a thousand years ago?" His voice was hoarse.
"Back to that crucial moment—the instant before Ian Prince activated the magic circle and the three of us were drawn in," Saruman stated precisely. "I will re-intervene in that event as the soul of someone who has been there, in a special state of knowing part of the future."
"My power, because of my soul, will at least temporarily make me a legend." Saruman revealed an important piece of information: the status of a legend does not belong to the body but to the soul.
This is extremely valuable knowledge, but the man in black robes no longer cares about it.
"You—what do you want to change?" The man in black felt a wave of dizziness. Change the past? Intervene in the battle between legends and the Great Old Ones?
Even the teacher is a legend.
But the idea was still so crazy that it suffocated him.
"Change everything."
Saruman's voice carried an barely suppressed excitement and determination: "Any tiny variable, on the edge of that grand event involving legend and the past, could flutter like a butterfly's wings, ultimately leading to a completely different outcome. I see myself as the key to completely resolving that crisis."
This moment.
The man in black finally understood the insane plan behind his teacher's seemingly "desperate" actions. He didn't want an end; he wanted to use death as a springboard to reverse time in his soul form, return to the past, and become the "variable" that would change the tragic fate of his best friend and himself! To break the seemingly predetermined "closed loop" that had tormented him for a thousand years!
"But—Teacher, this is too dangerous! What are the chances of success? What will be the cost of failure? Your soul might—" The man in black dared not think further. Would he be lost in the turbulent flow of time? Would he be completely swallowed up by R'lyeh's madness? Or would he become a victim of the spacetime paradox, utterly annihilated?
"Success rate? Extremely low." Saruman readily admitted, but his eyes shone with an unusual brightness. "The price of failure? utter annihilation, eternal damnation. But—this is the only chance. To sit here, watching the corruption slowly erode me, awaiting the end, or one day spiral out of control and become a monster? That is not the ending I, Saruman, choose!"
"Even if there is only a one in a billion chance, I will risk everything to try to reverse that tragedy!"
"This is the method I have found after a lifetime of searching!" He slowly raised his head and stared at the trembling man in black robes with his empty yet all-seeing eyes.
This moment.
The majesty befitting a legendary wizard is fully displayed.
This also made the man in the black robe realize the obsession and responsibility of a legend.
"So, child, do you understand now?"
"I need a death." A clean, thorough death that allows my soul to depart peacefully. The power of this feather can only carry "my" soul.
"And the person who can give me this death here, in the safest way, without causing any further turmoil—"
"Only you."
Saruman's voice was calm and firm as he placed the final choice, along with the eerie black feather that held the hope of reversing time and space, before his deeply shaken student.
In the sealed room, deathly silence returned, but the atmosphere was completely different.
Previously, the oppression came from heavy secrets and impending death; now, it is a silence ignited by an almost tragic, resolute dedication to a noble goal.
"teacher----"
The man in black robes stood still, his body no longer trembling.
Saruman's crazy and grand plan, like a thunderbolt tearing through the darkness, shattered all his hesitation, pain, and self-doubt.
The teacher is not passively seeking death, but rather using his own soul as a boat, with the wisdom accumulated over thousands of years and that mysterious feather as oars, to make an ultimate gamble and charge against the river of time against fate!
To save a dear friend from a thousand years ago, to change the tragic ending, and to throw a stone that might change the future on the edge of the grand game where legends collide with the Great Old Ones.
This almost obsessive courage, this bond that transcends life and death, this resolute challenge to the "impossible" filled the black-robed man with an indescribable and profound respect.
Compared to his teacher's grand aspirations, his own personal emotional pain and struggles with duty seemed so insignificant. The man in black knew he had to fulfill the wishes of his beloved.
So he took a slow, deep breath, and the air, mixed with sulfur and ancient dust, seemed heavy and solemn at that moment.
Then, the man in black made a gesture that was extremely rare in the African wizarding world, but perfectly appropriate at this moment.
All I saw was...
He took three steps back, each step steady and firm. After stopping, he straightened his slightly hunched back, which was distorted by the contamination, raised his right hand, and held the wand that had been with him for many years and stained with countless filth and blood across his chest, the tip of the wand pointing diagonally at the ground.
At the same time, he placed his left hand on his chest and bowed slightly.
This is a standard dueling ceremony originating from European wizarding traditions. It symbolizes formality, respect, and a serious attitude towards the upcoming duel.
In Africa, a land that places greater emphasis on shamanic rituals, communication with nature, and physical strength, the use of a wand and the performance of this gesture itself signifies a shift in the black-robed man's state of mind—he is not carrying out a cold-blooded purge, but rather bidding farewell to a mentor worthy of the highest respect.
And assist the other party in completing that shocking final plan.
"very good."
Although Saruman was blind, his vast spiritual perception clearly "reflected" every subtle movement of the man in black robes in his mind.
When he sensed the standard dueling salute, a smile slowly and clearly bloomed on his face, which was weathered by a thousand years of history and always as calm as an ancient well.
In that smile, there was relief, a sense of accomplishment, and approval for his disciple's overcoming of his inner demons and making a decisive choice, as well as a faint sense of melancholy at the impending end of his long career. He knew that his choice was right; this soft-hearted yet resilient child had finally understood and taken on this heaviest burden.
Saruman returned the greeting.
The wizard duel is about to begin.
but.
He didn't use his legendary staff, the Whisperer of the Stars, which struck fear into the hearts of countless enemies and was said to be made from the spine of an astral behemoth and inlaid with abyssal gems. Nor did he use any of the powerful magical artifacts in his collection. He didn't even take out the most ordinary wand.
He simply raised his thin, age-spotted hands, which seemed to contain the unwavering strength of the universe. His fingers were naturally curved, and a faint magical light flowed from his fingertips. This was not a prelude to an attack, but rather a manifestation of a highly concentrated and controlled inner power.
"Please instruct me, teacher." Seeing that his teacher was responding empty-handed, the last trace of impure thought in the black-robed man's mind was completely eliminated. He knew that this was not disrespect, but rather that his teacher was using this last moment to give him a final lesson—a truly meaningful and comprehensive guidance.
The teacher will control his power and will not truly harm him, but will show the absolute difference in their levels of understanding without mercy, so that he can see the road ahead and make this "farewell" more meaningful.
and so.
The man in black knew he should make the first move.
"Then come on! Let me show you how much I've grown!" The man in black robes no longer hesitated. He took a deep breath and focused all his attention on the magic wand in his hand, which did not belong to him.
This staff was not his natal magical weapon, but rather a trophy he had seized from an exiled European dark wizard during a secret international mission years ago. It had a dragon heartstring core and a yew sheath, its texture cold and sharp. Surprisingly, this exotic staff developed a strange affinity with his magic, which had been mutated by R'lyeh's corruption.
At this moment, the tip of the staff hummed slightly, as if responding to its master's will. Dark magic quietly gathered at its tip, a strange energy that combined orthodox arcane structure with the corrupting properties of the abyss.
It is both pure and dangerous.
"I apologize, teacher, but I will do my best." The whisper swept across the empty hall like the wind. Before the words were finished, the man in black robes flicked his wrist, and his wand shot out swiftly!
"Stun Curse!"
A crimson cursed light, like a venomous snake's tongue, tore through the air, aiming straight for Saruman's chest. At the same time, his figure suddenly shifted, his movements unpredictable and shadowy, leaving several afterimages in his wake, as he circled around from the flanks and approached. His left hand, hidden in his sleeve, had already silently gathered power, and a "Leg Locking Curse" quietly formed.
Without any magical fluctuations, it is released suddenly when the time is right.
They are not part of the spell system.
However, the effects and names are the same as those in the spell system.
The spell is just an improvement.
It's not a complete subversion.
Therefore, faced with this textbook-perfect double attack, first forcing the opponent to defend with a strong offensive, then sealing off the lower body with a silent spell, most wizards would definitely be caught off guard.
However, Saruman remained completely still. He didn't even move an inch; he simply raised his right hand slowly, his index finger drawing a tiny arc in the air.
"go."
In an instant, the swift, red light of the coma curse suddenly slowed down three feet from his chest, as if it had collided with an invisible yet extremely resilient force field.
The light dimmed rapidly, its speed decreased sharply, and finally, like a candle flickering in the wind, it was extinguished silently. The leg-locking curse, which had been creeping along the ground and intended to wrap around Saruman's ankle, was also subtly guided and diverted by an extremely subtle yet incredibly precise magical field the moment it touched the ground beneath Saruman's feet, and then vanished without a trace.
Not even a ripple was stirred.
"Condensed magic, swift casting, clear tactical intent—very good." Saruman's voice was calm as ever, like a classroom critique, devoid of anger or praise. "But your perception and control over the essence of magic remains at the superficial level of 'sending' and 'hitting.'"
Before he finished speaking, he suddenly spread his five fingers on his left hand and gently pressed them towards the direction where the man in black robes was.
In an instant, the man in black robes felt the air around him suddenly freeze, as if the entire space had turned into a viscous gel. An invisible yet immense pressure surged from all directions, not only tightly binding his limbs but also beginning to interfere with the natural flow of magic power within his body—the magic power was sluggish and difficult to move, as if it were wrapped in fine threads.
This was not a brute-force attack, but rather the ultimate control over the free-floating magical elements and spatial force fields in the environment: Saruman did not attack, but merely gently "plucked" the strings of the world's own rules.
"This feeling—"
The man in the black robe felt a chill run down his spine. He finally understood that he was not facing a mage who fought with spells and magic, but a being who truly understood and mastered the "origin of magic".
Before his former mentor, all techniques and surprise attacks were nothing more than clumsy steps of a beginner. Saruman, on the other hand, was using ordinary power to show him the legendary path.