bdsm-fiction Chapter 564-573: The Prelude to the Deep Space Descent 2
Chapter 564-573: The Prelude to the Deep Space Descent 2
Chapter 564-573: The Prelude to the Deep Space Descent 2
Inside the tavern.
Listening to Ian's arrogant words.
Grindelwald understood.
He looked at Ian, his heterochromatic eyes flashing with complex emotions: shock, awe, and an indescribable sense of relief.
This child possesses power beyond legend.
He can face Cthulhu directly.
He can freely enter and exit the dreamlike illusion.
He dared to say, "You will meet again."
It's all because he's a raven.
Because he is the embodiment of destiny.
"So," Grindelwald's voice was hoarse, "your very existence in this era is—"
"It's fate," Ian picked up where he left off, smiling slightly. "Yes. So you don't need to worry about changing history—because I am here, and I am part of history myself."
He put away the time machine model in his palm and looked at the two of them: "So, it's decided? To go to the future and break through to legendary status?"
Dumbledore and Grindelwald exchanged a glance.
Then Dumbledore nodded. His deep blue eyes held no more hesitation, only an unprecedented firmness: "I've decided."
He looked at Ian, a complex emotion in his eyes: "I want to see if the legendary raven can truly—control destiny."
Ian smiled. The smile, so bright and confident, shone especially well on his youthful face: "You'll see."
Grindelwald suddenly remembered something and asked, "By the way, where's your time machine? Take us there now?"
'
Ian's expression stiffened slightly.
That moment of stiffness, though only half a second, was keenly captured by the two elderly people.
"Uh—" Ian scratched his head, the gesture and his current expression making him look like a primary school student stumped by a teacher's question. "Well—"
Grindelwald frowned. "Don't tell me you didn't bring it."
"I brought it, I brought it," Ian said quickly, then his voice trailed off, "but—it's not fixed yet."
'
'
The two old people fell silent at the same time.
Grindelwald's lips twitched slightly: "So, all that talk about time travel, breaking through to legendary status, being the embodiment of destiny, turns out—the time machine was broken?"
"It just needs some repairs!" Ian argued. "It's not like it can't be repaired! It's just that we're missing some materials!"
""
Dumbledore shook his head helplessly, but a smile played on his lips: "So, what materials are needed?"
Tell me, and Gellert and I will figure something out.
Ian's eyes lit up, and he quickly pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket—the parchment looked ordinary, but it was covered with dense writing, some of which was constantly changing shape.
He handed the parchment to Dumbledore: "This is the materials list."
Dumbledore took it, glanced at it, and his expression instantly became complicated.
Grindelwald leaned closer for a look, and his expression became equally complex.
"Phoenix tail feathers—three," Grindelwald read. "Dragon's tears—a bottle. Basilisk fangs—two whole. Philosopher's Stone—a fist-sized piece. And this—" He pointed to the last line of the list, "'Sands of Time'—fifty grams."
He looked up at Ian: "Are you serious?"
Ian blinked, his innocent expression making it hard to scold him: "Of course I'm serious."
Dumbledore sighed, folded the parchment neatly, and tucked it into his pocket. "Let's go, Gellert. Let's go to Gringotts."
An hour later, at Gringotts' vault keeper, an old goblin with a beard that dragged on the floor, looked at the list Dumbledore handed him.
The expression on its face was absolutely priceless.
"Phoenix tail feathers?" His voice was shrill and grating. "We have three. But—those are treasures in Raring Wraithbeard's vault, he'd rather die than sell them."
"Dragon's Tears?" he continued reading. "A bottle? Mr. Dumbledore, do you know how many Galleons a bottle of Dragon's Tears costs? And—there's no real stuff on the market right now! It's all diluted!"
"Basilisk fangs? Two complete ones?" The old goblin's eyebrows almost flew to the top of his head. "Merlin's beard! That stuff is rarer than dragon's tears! The last time basilisk fangs appeared on the market was three hundred years ago!"
"The Philosopher's Stone?" His voice changed completely. "A fist-sized piece? Are you kidding me?"
There is only one Philosopher's Stone in the entire wizarding world, and—it's in Nicolas Flamel's possession! You want me to go ask Nicolas Flamel for his Philosopher's Stone?
"As for the Sands of Time—" the old goblin waved his hand weakly, "that's a forbidden item of the Bureau of Mysteries."
Forget about buying, you can't even see it. You'd better look elsewhere.
After saying that, he shoved the list back into Dumbledore's hand, turned and left, muttering to himself, "Wizards these days are getting more and more outrageous—"
Dumbledore and Grindelwald stood in the Great Hall of Gringotts, looking at each other in bewilderment.
Grindelwald sighed. "So, we didn't get any of it?"
Dumbledore nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips: "Didn't get a single one."
"What should we do then?"
Dumbledore paused for a few seconds, about to speak, "Gentlemen, if you're looking for rare materials—" a clear voice came from behind, "Why don't you check your own storage first?"
Dumbledore and Grindelwald turned around at the same time.
Ian stood behind them, a helpless smile on his youthful face. He had clearly been standing there for a while, witnessing the entire "wonderful performance."
"Your own warehouse?" Grindelwald raised an eyebrow.
Ian nodded, stepped between the two, and lowered his voice: "One of you is the headmaster of Hogwarts, who has lived for over a hundred years; the other is the Dark Lord who once ruled the European wizarding world, plundering the wealth of half the continent. Don't you have anything good in your private vaults?"
He blinked, his expression like that of a child reminding adults that "you are actually very rich."
Dumbledore paused for a moment, then laughed. His laughter carried a hint of self-mockery and realization: "You're right, child. How could I have forgotten that?" Grindelwald nodded thoughtfully as well: "I did indeed keep quite a lot in my Swiss vault. Back then—"
He paused, not continuing, but a complex emotion clearly flashed in his eyes.
Ian looked at them, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Then don't just stand there. Lead the way, you two rich folks."
O
Deep underground in Gringotts, the tracks meander like a maze, and the car speeds through the darkness, carrying three passengers as it plunges deeper into the darkness.
Dumbledore's vault was located at the deepest part of Tunnel 713. When the car finally came to a stop, Ian looked at the scene before him and couldn't help but whistle.
It was a massive metal door, devoid of any keyholes, only adorned with intricate, ever-flowing magical runes. At the very center of the door was carved a phoenix with outstretched wings—the symbol of Hogwarts and the emblem of the Dumbledore family.
"Is this your private vault?" Ian asked.
Dumbledore nodded, stepped forward, and placed his hand on the door. The magical runes instantly lit up, and the phoenix's eyes flashed with golden light. A few seconds later, accompanied by a deep rumble, the giant door slowly opened.
Behind the door lay mountains of wealth.
A small mountain of Galleons, a river of Silver Sickles, a carpet of Bronze Nat. Various rare treasures are scattered among them: ancient magical books, alchemical tools, ancient scrolls, specimens of unknown magical creatures—each item exudes a faint magical fluctuation.
Ian walked to a pile of clutter and began rummaging through it. He moved quickly, yet with surprising care, pausing for a moment after picking up each item, as if sensing something.
"Phoenix tail feathers—" he murmured, "Phoenix tail feathers—I've got them!"
He pulled a slender box from beneath a pile of ancient books, opened it, and inside lay three golden-red feathers. The feathers emitted a soft glow, and even in the dim vault, one could sense the vitality they contained.
Dumbledore walked over, glanced at it, and said, "These are Fawkes' feathers. I collect some every year when it molts."
"Very good." Ian carefully put the box away. "The phoenix tail feathers are done. Next—"
He continued searching. This time it was faster, because with a target in mind, his senses were more precise.
"Dragon's Tears—" he muttered, rummaging through a pile of bottles and jars, "This bottle contains unicorn blood—"
This bottle contains mandrake juice—this bottle contains—wait, what is this?
He dragged a dusty crystal bottle from the corner. The liquid inside was a deep amber color, shimmering faintly in the darkness like solidified sunlight.
Dumbledore glanced at it, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes: "That was given to me thirty years ago by a friend at a dragon sanctuary. It's the tear of the Hungarian wood bee—said to be the most precious of all dragons."
Ian uncorked the bottle and took a gentle sniff. A rich aroma, seemingly carrying the scent of sulfur and sunshine, wafted out. He nodded, satisfied, and put it away: "Genuine. And pure. Dragon tears sorted."
Grindelwald watched from the side, a complex glint in his heterochromatic eyes. He didn't speak, but his mind was already calculating what was in his vault.
The subsequent search yielded a bountiful harvest. Ian found two complete basilisk fangs in a locked iron box, "souvenirs" that Dumbledore had brought from the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts in his youth. He also found several high-purity Philosopher's Stone fragments among a pile of magical artifacts—though not fist-sized, they were better than nothing.
Finally, Ian found a crystal bottle, about the size of a thumb, in what appeared to be the most unremarkable wooden box. Inside the bottle was a small amount of silvery-white, constantly flowing sand.
"The Sands of Time?" Dumbledore's voice held a hint of surprise. "When did I have this?"
Ian looked at him, a slight smile playing on his lips. "You don't remember?"
Dumbledore frowned, pondered for a moment, then exclaimed, "It's Nico! The little gift he gave me sixty years ago. I thought it was just an ordinary souvenir and tossed it here carelessly."
"Ordinary souvenirs?" Ian shook his head. "The Sands of Time, a single gram is priceless. Nicolas Flamel is truly generous to you."
Dumbledore remained silent for a few seconds, but the glint in his eyes clearly spoke volumes.
Inventory complete.
Phoenix tail feathers—three. Done.
Dragon's Tears—a bottle of pure Hungarian tree bee tears. Done.
Basilisk fangs—two intact. Done.
A Philosopher's Stone fragment—about the size of a fingernail. Not enough.
The sands of time—a tiny pinch, about 0.3 grams. Not enough.
Ian looked at the small pile of materials in front of him, a helpless expression on his face: "It's far from enough."
Dumbledore sighed. "It seems we'll have to go check out Gellert's vault."
Grindelwald's lips curled into a meaningful smile: "My vault—is far more exciting than yours."
Grindelwald's vault is located in a deeper, more remote area of Gringotts, Switzerland.
The tracks there are almost vertically downwards, and the feeling of the car falling in the darkness makes you wonder if you're heading to hell.
-
When the car finally stopped, Ian looked at the scene before him and couldn't help but gasp.
It was a huge, black metal door. There were no magical runes on the door, only the symbol of the Grindelwald family crest: an eagle with outstretched wings, holding a scepter and a crown in its talons.
But what's most unsettling is the scent emanating from the door.
Those were the marks left by countless powerful, dark, and twisted spells. The metal on the door, having endured the impact of various anti-spells over a long period, had become irregularly twisted and deformed. In some places, there were even deep claw marks—left by some unknown creature.
Grindelwald stepped forward and placed his hand on the door. He didn't chant any incantation, nor did he make any complicated movements. He simply stood there, exuding an indescribable aura of royalty.
A few seconds later, the door slowly opened.
The sight behind the door made Ian's eyes light up.
That wasn't an ordinary vault, but a vast, multi-tiered underground palace. Each level was filled with the wealth Grindelwald had amassed over decades of plundering across the European continent.
The top layer contains gold coins and works of art—Gallons from various countries, French francs, German marks, and countless precious oil paintings, sculptures, and antiques.
The second layer contains ancient magical books and scrolls—precious documents "borrowed" from various countries' ministries of magic, ancient families, and secret organizations, piled up like mountains.
The third layer contains magical tools and alchemical materials—a variety of wands with unique functions, magical items, and countless rare materials.
Fourth floor —
Ian didn't look closely and rushed straight to the third floor.
His movements were faster and more practiced than in Dumbledore's vault. Clearly, he was more familiar with the style of a "collector" like Grindelwald.
"Phoenix tail feathers?"
He pulled three golden-red feathers from an iron box—larger and brighter than Dumbledore's three. "These are—the Phoenix King's feathers?"
Grindelwald nodded: "I got it from China. That thing cost me a lot of money."
"Dragon's Tears?" Ian scooped a spoonful of amber liquid from a huge crystal jar. "This—"
Is this a whole tank? Did you slay a dragon?
Grindelwald shrugged.
"I didn't kill it. It died on its own. I just—happened to be passing by."
The dragons here are, of course, hybrid dragons.
However, he slayed the dragon alone.
Even in the wizarding world, very few wizards can do this.