Ian stood alone in the vast, deserted corridor, like a drop of water merging into the ocean.
At night, the Ministry of Magic in Africa presented a completely different scene from that seen during the day; a deathly silence filled the air. Pale magical wall lamps were embedded in the walls, casting cold halos of light that could barely push back the heavy darkness, yet which somehow made the atmosphere even gloomier.
The stale air carried the scent of old parchment, dust, and some kind of magical cleaning agent.
Unfolding the hide map provided by Babua, Ian slowly traced his fingers across its surface. His mental force extended like invisible tendrils, cross-referencing the defensive nodes marked on the map.
Thanks to this outrageously detailed intelligence, Ian already had a thorough understanding of the area's magical layout.
"Anti-Apparition Barrier. Average strength, sparse node distribution..."
"Magical surveillance network. Blind spots in its coverage, sluggish energy fluctuations..."
"Patrol puppets? Oh, they're charging and dormant at the third corridor intersection. Tsk, tsk. That certainly saves a lot of manpower. It looks like the Ministry of Magic has a Commissioner Smith as well."
"Spatial confusion barrier... The design is interesting, but the maintenance is lacking. The energy flow is sluggish, and the flaws are obvious. Clearly the work of an amateur."
As he moved through the labyrinthine corridors with the ease of someone taking a leisurely stroll through a garden, Ian silently evaluated each defensive measure.
His movements were as light as a ghost's. His footsteps made no sound on the polished marble floor.
Occasionally, his figure would blur, as though merging with the shadows, only to reappear dozens of meters away the next moment. He effortlessly avoided every active surveillance enchantment and physical checkpoint.
He passed several rooms that appeared to be break rooms for on-duty staff. Through the open doors, he could hear steady snoring and indistinct sleep-talking.
Clearly, discipline on the night shift here was exceptionally 'relaxed'. Most of the guards had already fallen asleep, leaving security in the hands of defensive systems that Ian thought were full of flaws.
Perhaps...
To these Ministry officials, magical puppets and defensive wards were sources of great pride.
Little did they know that many elite wizards could bypass them with nothing more than a map.
Not to mention a legendary wizard like Ian.
Then again, it was also possible that the Ministry officials were simply very clever. They knew that numerous wizards entered the Ministry every night using Portkeys sold by Commissioner Smith, so they adopted the philosophy that less trouble was better. Once night fell, they simply went to sleep, convinced that nothing unusual would happen.
"If that's really the case, then they're geniuses, somehow even more pathetic than the British Ministry of Magic."
That was the conclusion Ian eventually reached, accompanied by an indescribable sense of absurdity.
The British Ministry of Magic might be plagued by bureaucracy too, but at least it maintained a respectable façade. Even after the chaos of Voldemort's two rises to power, its basic security awareness was intact.
This place, however...
It felt as though it had been frozen in the previous century, or perhaps it had never truly cared about internal security.
They were even selling Ministry Portkeys to outsiders.
This alone spoke volumes about how ridiculous the situation was.
Nevertheless, Ian did not lower his guard or wander around aimlessly in the hope of bumping into Newt Scamander by chance.
He wasn't one of the Golden Trio. He wasn't Harry Potter, a young man who often relied on luck and impulsive decisions.
He was Ian, a seasoned and meticulous legendary wizard.
Searching blindly through a massive building protected by sensory-interference barriers was the least efficient approach possible.
"When faced with a problem, don't panic. Use your brain."
Ian's gaze returned to the map.
Soon, his gaze settled on a specially marked location whose defensive rating was noticeably higher than that of every other area:
The Magical Network Central Control Room.
Any mature magical organization would inevitably possess a central hub controlling its wards, surveillance systems, transportation networks, and energy supply.
This was the heart of the entire magical infrastructure of the African Ministry of Magic.
Find it.
Control it.
And Ian would gain a God's-eye view of the entire Ministry.
With his objective identified, Ian moved with even greater speed and stealth.
Following the optimal route indicated on the map, he avoided areas of unusually intense energy activity and approached the Central Control Room, hidden deep within the Ministry complex, like a master infiltrator.
The control room's door was forged from heavy black metal infused with mithril. Intricate defensive runes covered its surface, faintly shimmering with a dark glow.
There were no guards stationed outside.
Perhaps they were overly confident in the door's defensive capabilities.
Or maybe the night-shift personnel had truly become that negligent.
"Could the Portkeys have been sold by the Minister for Magic himself?"
Given what he had seen, Ian could not help but entertain the possibility. He did not attempt to force the door open or use an Unlocking Charm, either action would have triggered an alarm immediately.
Instead, he extended his right hand and gently pressed his palm against the cold metal door.
His magic flowed forth slowly and cautiously, like the finest trickle of water rather than a raging flood, seeping into the structure.
This was not brute force.
It was an exceptionally sophisticated application of alchemy and magical control.
His magic mimicked the energy frequency of the door's defensive runes, as though he were a master locksmith manipulating an invisible key to carefully adjust the door's hidden magical mechanisms.
He understood the door's construction.
He wasn't fighting it.
The process lasted about five minutes.
Throughout it, Ian's concentration remained absolute. Because ancient magic was involved, the task proved slightly more complicated than he had anticipated.
But only slightly.
Finally, accompanied by an almost inaudible click, the door's complex magical lock silently disengaged.
The heavy metal door slid open just enough for one person to pass through.
Ian slipped inside sideways, and the door quietly closed behind him, as though it had never been opened.
The control room was even darker than the corridors outside.
Only several rows of crystal panels embedded in the walls emitted a ghostly blue glow. Countless runes and streams of data flowed across their surfaces, displaying the energy status and basic surveillance information of various Ministry sectors.
In the center of the room was a huge three-dimensional magical projection, resembling a model of a sand table.
However, at the moment, the projection was dim and clearly operating at minimal capacity.
Even in this area, it seemed that Africa's Ministry was determined to save money wherever possible.
The air was filled with the faint scent of ozone produced by overworked magical crystals and the low hum of machinery in operation.
"There really isn't a single caretaker here."
Ian swept his gaze around the room and confirmed that it was completely empty.
Walking to the main control console, a complicated device covered in buttons, levers, and crystal interfaces, he ignored the physical controls entirely.
Instead, he placed his hand once again on the largest crystal panel at the center, which was responsible for verifying an operator's magical authorization.
"Time to demonstrate some real skill," He said.
A confident smile appeared on Ian's lips.
His powerful mental energy and magic surged into the console like a tide.
Rather than forcibly seizing control, however, he employed a far more advanced method:
Deception and assimilation.
His magical signature began to simulate the highest-level authorization fluctuations officially recognized by the African Ministry of Magic.
At the same time, he applied several alchemical techniques concerning energy guidance and system interfacing that he had learned from Musa's notes.
[Ding! Alchemy Proficiency +11]
[Ding! Magical Formation Proficiency +8]
The system notifications sounded once more, confirming the complexity and innovation of his actions.
With his free hand, Ian unfolded the hide map that Babua had provided.
Magic overflowed from his palm like living ink, rapidly drawing, supplementing and overwriting the markings on the map.
The static lines and labels seemed to come alive, merging and reconstructing themselves with the real-time magical network data being fed back from the Central Control Room.
It was an extraordinarily ingenious operation.
Essentially, Ian was creating a vastly superior, exclusive version of the Marauder's Map for the African Ministry of Magic.
Using the intelligence broker's map as a foundation and drawing on the Ministry's surveillance systems and population databases, he swiftly performed an alchemical "compilation" and "upgrade."
"I truly am a genius."
Several minutes later, Ian withdrew his hand.
The hide map in his possession had been completely transformed.
It had become dynamic and three-dimensional, clearly displaying the entire structure of the African Ministry of Magic.
Countless tiny points of light moved slowly across its surface.
A simple identity marker appeared beside every light, representing each individual currently inside the Ministry.
The Ministry's wand registration and personal information records had become the perfect database for this map.
Ian could vaguely sense the magical strength and condition of each wizard represented by the lights.
Awake. Asleep. Alert.
Without a doubt, he had created a genuine upgraded version of the Marauder's Map.
"Now then... let's see. Newt Scamander. Where are you?"
Ian focused his will on the map's 'Search Specific Individual' function.
The map's scene changed rapidly.
Irrelevant lights faded into darkness.
The entire Ministry's structural layout was flipped through and indexed as though by an invisible hand.
Finally, the image settled on the lowest level of the Ministry complex.
A gloomy area labelled:
'Underground Detention and Maximum-Security Prison Sector.'
The map showed a point of light that was slightly brighter than the others.
Beside it was a clear label:
Newt Scamander (detained).
The light was moving slowly inside one of the small prison cells.
Perhaps he was unable to sleep and was pacing back and forth inside the cell.
Ian's brow furrowed slightly.
"The Underground Prison Area? Not even a temporary holding cell..."
"It seems Professor Newt has been accused of something serious. They're treating him like a major criminal."
The prison district occupied a special section of the Ministry.
Unlike Azkaban, which was located on a separate island, the African Ministry preferred to imprison criminals beneath the Ministry itself.
This made the situation even more troublesome than Ian had anticipated.
A temporary holding cell merely restricted freedom while maintaining relatively acceptable living conditions.
Being thrown directly into the underground prison suggested that the African Ministry of Magic had already deemed Newt guilty and assigned him a serious crime. The only thing left was the formal procedure of a harsher trial.
There was no time to waste.
Ian memorized the detailed route to the Underground Prison Area.
He did not damage any of the equipment in the Central Control Room. Instead, he quietly erased every trace of his actions before leaving as silently as he had entered.
Upon reaching an unoccupied corner of the corridor, his body began to transform.
His frame shrank.
His black robes turned into dense ebony feathers.
His arms stretched into powerful wings.
His facial features twisted and reshaped.
Finally, a raven with sharp eyes and jet-black plumage, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding darkness, landed lightly on a wall-mounted lamp bracket.
The raven spread its wings and glided forward without a sound.
Following a route stored in his memory, he headed towards a concealed staircase leading underground.
Avoiding every area that might still be under surveillance, he traveled through ventilation shafts and structural gaps, paths not marked on the map, but which he had discovered through experience.
Downward.
Then deeper still.
The farther he descended, the colder and damper the air became.
The light grew dimmer.
Water stains and patches of moss appeared on the walls.
The stale smell of the upper levels gradually gave way to a foul stench of mold, waste, and despair.
The defenses here were simpler and cruder.
There were heavy doors reinforced with anti-magic metal.
Rough magical suppression runes were carved directly into the walls.
Yet they suffered from the same lack of proper maintenance.
At last, he passed through the final invisible energy barrier.
This barrier was completely ineffective against him.
He had officially entered the Underground Prison Area of the African Ministry of Magic.
The scene before him could only be described as filthy, chaotic and dilapidated.
Narrow passageways stretched between rows of prison cells, each sealed by thick iron bars.
The ground was sticky with centuries of accumulated grime.
Dim oil lamps flickered on the walls, casting distorted, trembling shadows.
Occasionally, muffled coughing echoed from deep within the cells.
The dragging of chains.
Or incoherent muttering.
All of this added to the oppressive atmosphere.
What surprised Ian somewhat was the scarcity of Dementors.
He could sense only two weak, frigid presences: one near the prison entrance and the other in the darkest corner of the complex.
Both seemed sluggish and half-asleep, far less 'dedicated' and malicious than their Azkaban counterparts.
"Honestly..."
This entire place reeks of negligence and decay from top to bottom.'
Raven-Ian perched on a cold, rusty iron pipe.
His sharp avian eyes swept across the depressing prison.
Eventually, his gaze settled on the cell marked on the map as belonging to Newt Scamander.
The next step was to determine how to contact the innocent Magizoologist without alerting anyone and to uncover what had actually happened.
For Ian, that was easy.
That was hardly a challenge.
Guards like Dementors were practically insurmountable obstacles to him, regardless of how diligently they performed their duties.
In fact, they were more useful to him than anything else.
"Come here."
Ian reverted to his human form.
Then he beckoned to one of the Dementors.
Unlike their reaction to ordinary intruders, this Dementor immediately sensed the aura Ian was emitting and hurried over with obvious eagerness.
This was entirely in line with Ian's expectations.
He was imitating the aura of the true raven he had encountered in the Twilight Zone.
Naturally, the Dementors treated him this way.
They were even more respectful towards him than they were towards senior Ministry officials.
It couldn't be helped.
Dementors were originally servants of Raven within the Twilight Zone.
To them, seeing Ian was like seeing their master again after countless years.
The humility etched into their memories was instantly awakened.
(End of Chapter)
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