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When Ian heard Merlin utter the words "the God-Eater, Medivh", his mind went blank with a deafening buzz. His entire body froze on the spot, the shock on his face quickly twisting into something far more complicated.
It felt as though fifteen buckets had been plunged into a well inside his chest, rising and falling, slamming and colliding in utter chaos. To be fair, Merlin's words had completely blindsided him.
Countless thoughts flashed through Ian's mind in a heartbeat. His outward expression remained calm, but his heart surged with a storm that threatened to tear him apart. Medivh.
That name could not have been more familiar.
Because Medivh… was him. His other self. The mask he wore when he walked through history, the name that should have remained hidden from everyone. And yet here was Merlin, insisting on plundering that very tomb. The tomb that is tied to his secret identity.
The realization hit him like a hammer, and instinctively, Ian wanted nothing more than to break the contract.
After all, who in their right mind would want to rob their own grave? The sheer absurdity of it left him reeling, caught between disbelief and bitter laughter.
It was as if fate itself had played the cruelest of jokes on him.
"I'm really about to… dig up my own tomb?" Ian muttered, his face twisting into the shape of a bitter gourd as he tugged at the brand of their pact etched into his arm. No matter how he struggled, the bond held fast, unyielding. Once you owed the world, the debt always came due.
"Hm? Is something the matter?" Merlin asked, noticing Ian's strange expression. His brows furrowed as he studied the twitching, anxious young wizard before him.
"No… no problem at all." Ian forced out a stiff smile, though it felt like his soul was cracking behind it.
And then, "Merlin! I warn you!"
The shadow-creature's furious cry echoed like thunder. "Medivh is a Grand Protector of the Soul Hall! If you dare disturb his eternal rest, the Soul Hall will make you pay a price in blood! Do not think our Soul Hall lacks legends of its own!"
Its outrage was palpable, its voice thick with a reverence that made Ian glance at it more than once.
Grand Protector of the Soul Hall…?
The title made Ian's heart skip. A dangerous, impossible thought flickered at the edge of his mind.
Merlin, however, remained unmoved. Warnings meant nothing to him. He was not the kind of man who cared about consequences, at least, not yet.
"Teacher! You, you actually…" Young Morgan finally snapped out of her shock, her voice trembling with disbelief as she tried to protest.
But Ian quickly clamped a hand over her mouth before she could spill anything more.
"Mmmph---!" Morgan's muffled sounds of protest buzzed against his palm, but when she turned her gaze to her teacher again, she froze.
Because Ian was smiling. Smiling warmly, no, smiling cruelly, as he looked straight at Merlin.
And then, he spoke words that made even the shadow recoil:
"I've heard a few whispers of Medivh myself. That's why this partnership excites me. Let's dig up his tomb, tear it wide open, and see exactly what secrets he buried inside!"
How could that not be ruthless?
To speak of desecrating one's own grave with such conviction, such iron will…
Of course, that was Ian's way of deflecting suspicion. Yet deep down, his thoughts had been shaken by the shadow-creature's warning.
If Medivh's tomb truly existed, what did that mean?
Did it mean that one day, inevitably, he would die, and this tomb was destined to become his final resting place?
Or… was the tomb nothing more than a paradox born of time itself?
Even though Medivh's vault still rested in Gringotts… how could he possibly be entombed in an era that predated Merlin himself?
No matter how absurd it seemed, Ian's emotions gradually steadied as he weighed the possibilities. In the end, he understood one thing clearly: whatever the truth behind this so-called tomb of Medivh might be, he had no choice but to see it with his own eyes.
"It seems the later generations still carried tales of this God-Eater," Merlin mused aloud, still faintly puzzled by Ian's strange reaction. He didn't press further, simply falling into thought.
"We called him the Supreme Sorcerer."
Ian's words were a test.
And when Merlin blinked in genuine surprise at the title, clearly unfamiliar with it, Ian knew at once: in the fragments of history Merlin had been chasing, Medivh had never borne the mantle of Supreme Sorcerer.
No, back then, he had still been walking the world under another name.
That realization only sharpened Ian's curiosity. Why would he not have used the title of Supreme Sorcerer? He loved that epithet far more than "God-Eater." The former was his pride, his chosen identity.
"God-Eater picked up plenty of strange epithets over the centuries," Merlin explained, mistaking Ian's silence for confusion. "It's not surprising I haven't heard the one you just used."
"…I see."
Ian let it drop. That kind of vague dismissal, that was the Merlin he remembered.
"Since you've agreed to join me, then it's settled," Merlin declared with quiet finality. "I'll need to return and make preparations first."
To him, Ian was already half a demigod.
With two legendary sorcerers, each touching upon that threshold, they would be more than enough to plunder a dead God-Eater's tomb. Surely even Medivh could not remain terrifying enough, after death, to trouble two near-divine beings.
"No problem. I need to make some preparations myself," Ian replied, loosening his hold on Young Morgan.
"Uh… Teacher…" Morgan blinked in confusion. She wanted to ask, but seeing Ian's grave expression, she wisely kept silent.
"Don't forget my Time-Turner," Ian reminded Merlin pointedly. "And your promised knowledge of magic."
That wager still mattered to him, especially the Time-Turner. Whether he could return home quickly hinged on that artifact. Compared to it, Merlin's knowledge was little more than a sweetener. After all, they stood on nearly the same level; at best, Merlin's insights might broaden his perspective, polish his foundations.
"Relax. I don't make a habit of breaking promises." Merlin sighed softly. He clearly didn't wish to dwell on the battle just past. Hands forming a swift seal, he vanished in a shimmer of magic, teleporting out of the desert.
Ian took Morgan by the arm and Apparated as well.
They reappeared at the castle.
Peace had already been shaken there, the clash by the riverside had spread alarm. Soldiers patrolled nervously, their vigilance thick in the air.
Still, no suspicion fell on Young Morgan, the master's heir, nor on Ian, her guest. The guards merely urged Morgan back inside the safety of the castle, fearing she might stumble into unknown danger.
"Ah, alright, alright," Morgan answered quickly.
She wasn't stupid; she had no intention of admitting what had truly destroyed the forest. With Ian beside her, she strode back into the castle halls, while the shadow creature she carried would not cease its shrill protests.
"You must not go! You cannot dig up Lord Medivh's tomb!" it shrieked at Ian. "The Soul Hall is not something mere wizards can afford to provoke!"
It tried to borrow power from borrowed names, waving threats like a banner.
(To Be Continued…)