Be careful, Gilbert. Let go of that damned rat. "The old man glared at the reckless young man in front of him.
"The rats here can grow so big?"
The blond teenager picked up the squeaking rodent in his hand. It was as big as two fists.
"Everything here is bigger than anywhere else."
The old man stared at him unhappily. "The last time I came here with my colleagues, his arm was bitten off by a wild dog the size of a lion. It hasn't been fixed yet."
"Maybe it was Grindelwald who made it." Gilbert threw the rat away and kicked it into the sewer. "Who's more powerful, him or the Mystery Man?"
"You call him the Mystery Man, but you call Grindelwald by his name. That's enough to explain a lot," another middle-aged man with a bag on his back said humorously as he walked up the stone steps.
Gilbert pursed his lips and focused his eyes in the distance.
It was the entrance to the top floor of Newmengarde. With the help of his wand, he could see a row of crooked English words carved into the dark tower entrance like flying snakes.
For the greater good.
"For the greater good? What is the greater good?" Gilbert asked.
"The evilest sorcerers usually have the evilest intentions, such as the Mystery Man. But Grindelwald is an exception. In fact, in the records about him, the Dark Sorcerer's obsession with wealth and power is rare. More often than not, he was searching for the unfathomable depths of the soul. Why did he start the Sorcerer War fifty years ago? It's still a big mystery to this day, "the old man said in a dry tone like a history teacher.
"A loss is a loss. Dumbledore defeated him. Who cares what his intentions were?" the middle-aged man said nonchalantly.
"Hmm."
The elderly mentor who was walking at the front did not comment. "That may be the case, but I believe that something must have happened at the last moment of this dark sorcerer's life. That's why we can't see the full picture of that era."
"So this is what you did, Professor Witter. You brought us to the place where he was imprisoned at the end of his life?"
"After all, we're researchers in the history of magic. There's nothing wrong with our research."
The three of them walked into the abandoned tower one by one. The cawing crows fell silent. The only things that broke the silence at this moment were the drumbeats that were as soft and slow as heartbeats, as well as the sounds of footsteps that echoed the drumbeats. The ground was overgrown with weeds, and a layer of white mist was floating in the air. A large part of the stone slabs and bricks on the walls of the high tower had collapsed in rows. Moonlight shone in from time to time through the gaps and gaps in the roof, making people feel uneasy.
"By the way, is he really?"
Dark clouds covered the moon, and Gilbert shuddered. He felt that this place was creepy, and the courage he had just used to kick the mouse had disappeared.
"I'm not sure. Albus Dumbledore only said that he was imprisoned. He didn't say where he ended up." The middle-aged man in the team shrugged and grinned. "Are you afraid, intern?"
"Could he still be alive?" said Gilbert in horror.
. "Mark, don't scare him."
The old professor in the lead said unhappily. "I've been here at least five or six times. There's no one here. The Austrian Ministry of Magic stopped sending supplies here after 1945. Even the gods have starved to death in the long river of time."
"Then why did you come here?" Gilbert heaved a sigh of relief, but couldn't help but roll his eyes.
It was pitch black all around. There was nothing on the empty ceiling except for the rustling of spiders.
The man touched his head, but he didn't feel a body. He only felt a rusty iron cage. His hand bounced away as if he had been electrocuted.
Some fragmented images flashed through his mind. There was a bald woman in a wheelchair, a red-haired man with a face full of despair, and countless smiling wizards lying unconscious on the ground. Did those things really happen, or was it just a terrifying dream? His head started to hurt as he thought about it.
At the same time, several pairs of footsteps sounded from the floor below him.
"Eh … What's that?"
The voices below the attic didn't stop there. There was also the sound of a rolling metal cage.
"I didn't see this the last time I was here. This looks like … a birdcage? "
"It's a little thicker than a birdcage. Why does it feel like a cage? Look, Mr. Mark, there's a hole below it."
"It's true. What's this for?" someone asked curiously.
"I think it looks like a hat."
"Don't joke around. Which psychopath would wear a cage on his head!?"
The man who heard the voices got up slowly from the ground. The nest of a few web-weaving spiders was broken by the man's head. They all ran along the man's neck and fled.
The pain was unbearable. He grabbed the iron cage on his head and used all his strength. Some dry and weathered mud fell off under his feet, but he couldn't break free from the cage. He only crushed two unlucky spiders that were passing by the iron bars.
"Nightmare … Nightmare …" he said hoarsely.
He said in a hoarse voice. Holding onto the wall, he slowly stepped on the stone tiles and walked out.
In the fluorescent corridor, a few wizards wearing pointy wizard hats were bent over. They raised their shining wands and stared at a birdcage-shaped helmet that had just appeared on the ground.
"Did someone else come here?"
The middle-aged man took out a magnifying glass from his backpack and stared at the metal birdcage. He muttered to himself, "There's no magical fluctuation. No signs of spells. Doesn't look like a magical artifact."
"The area around Newmungarde has been abandoned for decades. Who else would come here other than archaeologists like us?" the young man asked, his shoulders hunched.
"Maybe it was left behind by the staff of Newmungarde. If you ask me, isn't the outer circle still in operation?" The middle-aged man put away the magnifying glass and picked up the strange-looking birdcage hat from the ground. He blew the dust off it and suddenly laughed. "Didn't you say it was a hat? Why don't you wear it, Gilbert?"
"I don't want it. Only an idiot would want it." Gilbert crossed his arms and refused.
"I'll give you extra credit." The middle-aged man took out a camera from his backpack and waved it in front of Gilbert.
"Then why don't you wear it yourself?"
"I graduated a long time ago." The middle-aged man laughed.
"Don't talk." The bearded old man frowned. "No matter who left it behind, don't touch it for now. We'll take it back and study it."
"What a pity." The middle-aged man pursed his lips and threw the heavy birdcage to Gilbert. "Here, take it. I'll go take some pictures."
After saying that, he straightened up and took the camera around to take photos and samples. The old man took out a piece of parchment and began to write and draw on the wall. From time to time, he would take out his wand and knock it on the wall while muttering some incantations under his breath.
The mentors and upperclassmen were busy with other things. Gilbert, the intern, held the birdcage helmet that was as long as his forearm. He looked at the entrance and exit of the birdcage and suddenly felt a strange desire.
He wanted to put his head in it and try.
It was like seeing a bubble and wanting to crush it. It was like seeing a nail and wanting to flatten a can.
Finally, after a few seconds of internal struggle, he gritted his teeth and decided to give it a try.
He took a deep breath, bent down, and put his head in the helmet.
The moment he put on the strange birdcage, Gilbert's mind went into a trance.
Following that, everything around him changed.
The originally empty Gothic corridor was now filled with a large number of people. There were countless of them, each wearing an ancient black military uniform. Some were leaning against the wall, some were hanging from the ceiling, and some were even lying at his feet, staring at him with bulging eyes.
However, without exception, all of them wore that strange cage-like helmet on their heads.
Seeing this terrifying scene, Gilbert let out a cry of surprise. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead as he took off the helmet.
"Professor Witte …!!" He shouted in horror.
"What's wrong?"
The old man turned his head. The middle-aged man who took the picture also turned his head and looked at him in confusion.
However, Gilbert didn't say anything else. After removing the birdcage, the shocking scene that had just appeared completely disappeared. The hall was empty. There were only a few broken carved roman pillars and a rusty chandelier. There was not a single person to be seen.
The old man waited for a while, but the student didn't say anything. He frowned in dissatisfaction. "Don't be so surprised. Hurry up and take pictures. Maybe we can find the missing historical material from the Sorcerer World fifty years ago."
After that, he continued to write and draw. The middle-aged man shrugged and continued to take pictures.
Only Gilbert stood in place, his heart thumping wildly. Was everything he had just seen an illusion? He didn't dare to believe it.
He looked at the long birdcage-like helmet in his hand and hesitated. Then, he put it back on with trembling hands.
That's right. The strange scene he saw just now reappeared in front of his eyes. A large number of modern soldiers wearing birdcages. They were motionless, almost as if they were dead.
But it was different from the last time he put it on.
In the narrow corridor, he saw a strange man slowly walking down the stairs. He was as thin as a skeleton. He wore a long robe that was so tattered that his face couldn't be seen. His cheekbones were high, and his head was locked in a birdcage-like cage. There was a rusty lock around his neck. Long white hair flowed out of the cage and dragged to the ground.
That guy was staring at him without blinking.
Gilbert panicked. He took off the helmet and threw it aside. But this time, even after he threw away the strange helmet, the man with white hair dragging on the ground did not disappear. He was still standing on the stairs downstairs, holding the wall and staring at Gilbert.
"Professor Werther! You … you … look!? "The young man raised his trembling finger.
"What now?" The tutor was very dissatisfied with the student interrupting his research.
But following the young man's finger, he also saw the tall, thin man who had appeared silently on the stairs. The guy looked like a skeleton covered in pale human skin. His neck was locked in a cage.
"Who … who are you?" The old man immediately raised his wand and pointed it at the strange man in front of him.
The middle-aged man's camera fell to the ground. He pulled out his wand without hesitation and pointed it forward.
"Who … am I?" The skinny strange man looked at his palm, as if he was asking himself the same question.
"You … are you a staff member of Newmengard?"
The old man shielded his two students, raised his wand, and slowly stepped back.
"Work … work … yes, I still have work to do." The man's drooping eyelids slowly opened and repeated, "I still have work to do."
Following his strange words, a few people whose heads were also locked in cages slowly crawled out from the shadows of the empty hall's walls. They were all skin and bones, and they looked like zombies that crawled out of their coffins.
"Master."
"Master …"
"Master …"
They called out softly as they crawled.
More and more figures crawled out from the darkness. This strange scene made Gilbert extremely scared. There was clearly no one here just a moment ago …
He hid behind his tutor and slowly crawled out.
"Master …!"
"Master … save me …"
A man with a cage on his head crawled to the back of the man and looked up at him, begging.
Amidst the mist, the skinny man raised his hand. His five fingers grew and forked into antlers in the night. He pressed down on the head of the man who begged him.
The antlers pierced through the cage and pierced countless holes in the man's head.
Perhaps the skinny man had not eaten for a long time, or he was already on the verge of death. After his head was pierced, not much blood flowed out. Not only was there no pain or fear on the man's face, but there was also a strong sense of relief.
"Go … go …"
With a thud, the man with the cage on his head fell to the ground. The old man had a bad feeling and urged his students frantically. The three of them stumbled and jostled each other as they ran out.
The man with the white hair did not stop them. He stood quietly on the ground and watched the three of them run away.
Perhaps it was because he was panicking or because the ground was uneven, Gilbert suddenly fell to the ground. He did not have time to get up. On the wall, the forked shadow suddenly expanded.
The white-haired man's antle-like palm suddenly extended. In the blink of an eye, he caught up with the other two who were running away. He pierced through the back of their heads and came out from their foreheads.
The tutor and senior did not even make a sound before they fell to the ground with a thud.
"Professor Werther! Senior Mark!! "
Gilbert cried out. He looked at the bodies of his tutor and senior and thought of the man's possible identity. He trembled so much that he almost fainted. He was so scared that he could not control himself.
"Master … Master …"
In the shadows, more and more people wearing birdcage helmets crawled out. They hugged the man's skinny legs with their hands.
"Master, kill me, kill me."
"Let me be free."
"Kill me … Master …"
"Save me …"
"Ge … Ge … Ge … Green … Grindelwald …!!?"
Gilbert called out the man's name with his teeth chattering. A stinky liquid flowed out from his crotch and slowly spread on the ground.
The white-haired man looked at him, and some life returned to his empty eyes. He walked out of the dense palms, ignoring the begging of the soldiers with birdcages on their heads who crawled out of the shadows. He slowly came to the front of Gilbert.
His long white hair dragged through the urine as he squatted down.
"Poor child."
Grindelwald pressed on Gilbert's shoulder and said in a slow but gentle tone, "Don't be afraid. I will wake you up."
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5. For a greater good.
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