"You know the time has come."
The voice of the God of Death echoed in his ear.
"I know," Albus responded coldly, "but I still need time."
"You have delayed too long." The God of Death issued a warning, its form present only where Dumbledore could see, "You have 999,000 souls left."
"I will complete it." Dumbledore raised his head, his eyes cold, different from what any wizard in reality thought of him, "I promise you."
The reflection of the God of Death in his pupils vanished with satisfaction.
Meanwhile, his friend—Gellert Grindelwald—was igniting a revolution in Europe.
He advocated for a wizard-dominated world over Muggles, establishing a new world led by magic. Initially, Albus supported him, even providing theoretical support.
However, during a late-night conversation, Grindelwald finally noticed Albus's change.
"You've changed." Grindelwald frowned, "You used to talk about love, freedom, and peace. Now the way you talk... like a judge."
Albus was silent for a moment, then chuckled lightly, "Perhaps I have changed."
"What exactly have you done?" Grindelwald pressed.
"Nothing." Albus stood and walked to the window, "Just did some necessary things."
Grindelwald stared at him for a long time, finally shaking his head with a sigh, "I once thought we would change the world together, but now... I'm starting to wonder if you are still worthy of that ideal."
Their friendship shattered completely at this moment.
...
Time continued to pass.
Thirty-three-year-old Dumbledore stood at the edge of the trenches, looking at the distant smoke-filled battlefield. His black robe flapped in the wind, and on his chest was pinned the highest honor medal of the International Wizarding Federation.
"How many today?"
Dumbledore asked softly.
He no longer asked himself how many he owed.
As if he had adapted to such a life.
"Five thousand." The voice of the God of Death whispered in his ear, "Muggle wars are the most suitable for harvesting."
Albus raised the Elder Wand, reciting a spell never recorded in any magic books—"Soul Abyss Passage." This was a part of the power given to him by the God of Death.
Yes.
Because of years of loyalty.
Dumbledore received a gift from the hands of the God of Death.
At least.
It was a gift according to him.
Along with the application of magic.
In an instant.
All the dying soldiers on the battlefield stiffened, their souls pulled out by invisible chains, transforming into ghostly blue dots, converging into a roaring river of souls.
They frantically poured into the silver coins in Albus's hand.
"Brother?"
A clear voice came from behind. Albus quickly put away the silver coins and turned around, showing a gentle smile.
Ariana stood behind him, her seventeen-year-old self blooming gracefully, her golden hair fluttering in the wind. Her magic power had long stabilized, even becoming the youngest healer in the Ministry of Magic.
"It's time to go home."
Albus said softly, holding her hand.
Ariana nodded with a smile, completely unaware of the five thousand soldiers who suddenly died on the battlefield in the distance—obviously, Ariana, treated by the God of Death, was also significantly affected.
However.
The Dumbledore in this scene did not notice.
Is it because he doesn't want to?
Or is it because he is unwilling to?
"Enough! Stop this at once!" Elder Dumbledore saw what he absolutely did not want to witness, but his rebuke failed to affect the operation of the Bronze Gate.
The operation of this door seemed to tear his soul apart bit by bit.
...
A new scene change unfolded.
Grindelwald stood atop a tower, his flowing hair dancing in the fierce wind, eyes burning with fiery anger as he gazed directly at his old friend with overwhelming rage.
"Albus! Have you gone mad?" He roared, "You're slaughtering innocents! Not just Muggles, but wizards too! What exactly are you trying to accomplish?"
In this scene.
It's as if Grindelwald has become the righteous one—in the unraveling of good into evil, perhaps the supposed villain could indeed become the Savior?
One has to admit.
It's quite magical.
Now, the scene seems like Grindelwald is the righteous one while Dumbledore stands expressionless, the tip of the Elder Wand glowing with ominous black light.
He has become the Black Demon King.
A more terrifying, more dreadful Black Demon King.
"I had no choice, Gellert."
Dumbledore's voice bore no emotion, as if the words were mere formalities; his heart now colder than Tom Riddle's.
Tom simply did not understand love.
Whereas he.
Had almost completely lost all emotions.
"You do have a choice!"
Grindelwald's voice was almost pleading, "Together, we can fight against it! I know, all of this is because of the deal you should never have made in your youth!"
At that time.
Grindelwald was willing to challenge the God of Death for Dumbledore. A glimmer of hesitation flickered in Albus's eyes, but the next second, the voice of the God of Death erupted in his mind:
"You know the price of breaking the contract."
The God of Death's threat pierced the heart, and Dumbledore undoubtedly knew the cost it mentioned was his sister's life—Ariana's smiling face emerged in his mind.
At that thought.
Dumbledore raised the Labor Model Branch once more.
"Avada Kedavra!"
At that moment.
The green light pierced through Grindelwald's heart.
This man, who was supposed to become the Black Demon King, yet on this timeline, became the hope of wizards, fell with no hatred in his eyes but deep sorrow.
"Do you think... you truly saved her..." His soul was devoured by the silver coins in young Dumbledore's hand, finally becoming the one-millionth sacrifice Dumbledore harvested.
However.
Has the deal truly concluded? Dumbledore stood atop the tower, gazing at the distant Forbidden Forest. His right hand had turned entirely black, as if corroded by some darkness.
This was naturally due to the coin containing souls in his hand.
"Yes, the contract is fulfilled." The God of Death's voice sounded in his ear, laden with immense satisfaction, "One million souls, not one short."
In response.
Albus gave no answer, merely lowered his gaze to the silver coin in his hand—it had become shrouded in terrifying black mist, imprisoning countless struggling souls inside.
"Now, Ariana belongs to you forever." The God of Death chuckled, taking the coin; however, the darkness that corroded Dumbledore's arm remained etched upon Dumbledore.
"And you... forever belong to me."
The God of Death's voice was merciless.
Dumbledore slowly closed his eyes.
The Illusion Realm kept shifting.
This Dumbledore's life flashed past elder Dumbledore like a revolving lantern. He saw his glorious achievements after becoming the principal of Hogwarts, saw the excellent students he nurtured, and saw his monumental contributions to the Magic World. Yet, behind these glories.
Lay his increasingly close bond with the God of Death, his soul continuously being devoured. This timeline's Dumbledore aged, having struggled for years to shake from the God of Death's grip.
However.
He could never shake off that shadowy shackle. The old man's hands were clenched into fists, nails embedded deeply in his palms, blood dripping from his fingers.
"I am willing to pay any price to change this..." Dumbledore muttered, a voice heavy with despair. Now, he resembled a bird caged, no matter how much he struggled, he could not shatter the invisible chains. The God of Death's voice spoke again.
"I brought her back to life; as long as she lives, your soul will always belong to me." This sentence appeared, accompanied by the reflection of Ariana resembling a living corpse.
Very old.
Yet still lingering.
The God of Death would not allow her death.
"No!"
This was not the Dumbledore in the Illusion Realm.
But the elder Dumbledore.
He raised the Elder Wand in his hand, wanting to shatter everything around completely—little did he know, such actions only led him deeper into the abyss.
This was a trap stitching one layer upon another.
...
Just as Dumbledore was tangled with the Bronze Gate.
Meanwhile.
In that seemingly mismatched era.
Ian had also found the group of people he was searching for.