Why had the other party kept charging in with brute force? Why had he been blasted away several times without ever using magic? Why were his bones so hard, as though they could never truly be destroyed?
At this moment, every answer became clear.
"You're King Arthur?"
The little wizard gasped and swallowed hard.
The cloaked skeleton stood there in silence, then raised that same thumbs-up again, as if praising the little wizard's razor-sharp powers of deduction.
He really knew how to deliver emotional payoff.
"Good lord, Merlin's deluxe luncheon meat. So this sword is actually the Sword of the King!" Iain exclaimed, even adding a few extra flourishes to convey the full scale of his shock.
He stared at the legendary blade he was holding in his hands. His already bright eyes lit up even more, as if he were casting a Lighting Charm with his pupils.
"Oh, my precious."
The little wizard held the silver longsword in both hands and pressed it to his cheek. The cold metal touched his skin, and the corner of his mouth tilted to a record-setting angle.
Dumbledore stood to one side, watching the scene.
"That sword ought to belong to King Arthur Pendragon," Dumbledore said softly, his voice carrying a deep respect for the ancient legendary ruler.
"Hm?"
Iain instantly entered full alert mode.
He glanced at Dumbledore's hands, then at the sword in his own, then pulled the weapon tighter against his chest.
"Even if you're Dumbledore, you can't steal a gift my ancestor left for me!" Iain's voice rose half an octave, full of the wary tone of someone thinking, I know exactly what you're up to. He suspected Dumbledore, like himself, had dreams of becoming Britain's king.
"Ancestor Arthur, say something! I'm Merlin's favorite darling grandson! He left everything to me, including the bond between you and him!"
The little wizard turned to the cloaked skeleton, and his face instantly switched from suspicion to pitifully affectionate as he shamelessly leaned into the family connection.
The cloaked skeleton stood there, tilted its skull slightly, then waved a hand, as if to say, Sure, take it and enjoy yourself.
"As expected of my charming ancestor!"
Iain's eyes lit up.
He turned to Dumbledore, his expression changing from obedient descendant to See? I told you so.
"Professor Dumbledore, did you see that? Ancestor Arthur said since I like this sword, he's just giving it to me. And with the authority Britain entrusted to him, he personally knighted me as Hogwarts' True Sword Saint!"
The little wizard translated with total confidence, even though the cloaked skeleton had absolutely not said anything like that.
"..."
Dumbledore fell silent again.
His gaze shifted back and forth between Arthur and Iain, then finally settled on Arthur's skull.
The two empty eye sockets were turned toward the sky, toward the sunrise, toward the distant sun climbing higher, as if savoring the feel of sunlight for the first time in ages.
Dumbledore withdrew his hand and did not ask Iain to return the sword. After all, that was a family matter, and it was not his place to play the fool in the middle of it.
At this point, the Headmaster was mostly worried the Sword in the Stone would only make an already overconfident little wizard even more inflated.
He had seen that kind of thing happen before.
"Clack, clack."
By now, Iain had crouched down and started jamming the sword into a pile of rubble, then pulling it back out. Pebbles scattered from both sides of the blade with crisp rattling sounds.
He raised the sword, its point aimed at the sky, sunlight flowing along its length like a stream of silver.
"Whosoever pulls this sword from the stone is the rightful King of Britain."
Iain's mouth was no longer crooked. It had become solemn and dignified, as if he were accepting some grand sacred mission.
"Ah, thank you for nature's gift. I knew I'd become king before that no-good Peter ever could."
He already seemed to be mentally dividing the British Empire into private property.
The diary floated nearby, radiating layers upon layers of silent disbelief.
And even Dumbledore, normally so disciplined and conservative in thought, finally could not bear to keep watching. He stepped forward and spoke gently.
"Iain, surely you should let your ancestor return to his rest."
As he finished speaking, Dumbledore turned toward where the cloaked skeleton had been standing.
"?????"
That spot was now completely empty.
Apparently Iain's hyper-alert reflexes were contagious to bone people too, because King Arthur had already sprinted several hundred yards away.
His ragged cloak streamed behind him in the wind like a sail filled with air.
"I don't think he wants to rest," Iain said in surprise, also looking up at the rapidly shrinking figure.
He blinked, then suddenly understood.
So Arthur had given him the sword just to bribe him?
Dumbledore turned and looked at Iain.
"Cancel your magic."
His tone was serious. He was beginning to realize the situation was getting increasingly out of hand.
"I already did," Iain replied helplessly. "Ancestor Arthur's been moving on his own for a while now."
That was actually true. Not even the little wizard could keep supplying enough magical activity to sustain someone who consumed that much magic.
"What did you say?!"
Dumbledore was genuinely shocked, because he could tell Iain was telling the truth.
"Maybe the world's so big he just wants to see it," Iain said, no longer paying much attention to the fleeing Arthur.
He turned around and started searching through the ruins.
Broken stones. Ash. Charred beams. Shattered roof tiles.
The little wizard flipped over one stone after another, kicked aside beam after beam.
But he still could not find his suitcase. He could not find the rest of his belongings either. He could not even find a single fragment from his pocket grenades.
"Damn it!"
Iain's voice exploded over the ruins, shrill and furious.
"Professor Dumbledore! My pet magical skeleton stole my entire fortune!"
He did not need much brainpower to know dragon fire had definitely not vaporized his equipment stash. Otherwise the only thing blown up would not have been Dumbledore's old house.
"Even if Voldemort blew it up on the side, I still want to help him compensate you a little!"
While talking, Iain hurriedly checked inside his pants.
Thankfully.
His most precious assets had not been stolen.
Who knew what kind of magical pickpocketing methods a magical skeleton might have?
Compared to Iain, who was already in full panic mode, digging through the earth and still failing to find the skeleton, Dumbledore's mind was occupied elsewhere.
He was still staring in the direction the cloaked skeleton had gone, and his truly strategic mind could not help but think further.
When Britain falls into peril once more, Arthur shall return.
Anyone from this land had probably heard some version of that legend.
But what if it was not merely a legend?
What if it was an ancient wizard's prophecy?
At a moment this sensitive, Dumbledore felt a pressure unlike anything he had felt before.
"Could this really be because of Tom again..."
Dumbledore was thinking, worrying, turning possibilities over in his mind. What he did not realize was that Iain's earlier words had already nudged him into taking the Dark Lord far more seriously than before.
Tom was still hiding nearby.
Voldemort was crouched inside a rubbish bin in the village.
"Endure. Endure."
There had been a rat problem in town lately, and now a giant "mutated" rat was gnawing on Voldemort's face. His ability to remain outwardly calm was impressive enough to count as true hardship and perseverance.
Perhaps he was the real ninja here.
And the Dark Lord's willingness to suffer this much was not without reason.
"I think I've finally discovered Dumbledore's real secret... First Grindelwald, then me, and now that boy..."
"That damned old man. What exactly is he plotting?"
Voldemort was a schemer by nature, and now some truth he had once ignored, something buried for years, had suddenly started to look very different.