Hogwarts: Bloodline Legend

Above the dome of the arena.

A golden halo slowly spins.

It seems as if the Eye of Anubis is watching everything.

The air is filled with a mixture of spice and blood, the ground paved with black basalt, each stone brick inscribed with ancient hieroglyphs that shimmer with a faint glow.

In the center of the arena, Ian stands silently, his black robe fluttering gently in the breeze, holding a magic wand in his hand, but his gaze is exceptionally calm. He looks around and realizes this is no ordinary trial ground—it’s more like a container of time, an illusion realm sealed by a divine spirit, designed to test intruders.

Here, one can summon heroic spirits that existed in history, whether they have died or reincarnated, the trial ground can always summon them like projections from history.

Ian thought of a mysterious novel he had read, where similar extraordinary methods were mentioned. It wasn’t about summoning real people, but rather traces of them in history.

Though certainly not as strong as real people, they still carry the spirit and skills of real humans. As Ian observes his surroundings, the voice of Anubis sounds again. He appears on the judge’s seat, draped in a golden cloak, his face hidden by a jackal-headed mask, with only a pair of abyssal eyes visible.

"The first trial, challenge the heroic spirits of history."

"The second trial, challenge the immortality among wizards like you."

"The third trial—challenge my will."

"Now, your first trial officially begins... Good luck, child." Anubis’s voice reverberates in the arena, deep and solemn, as if a judgment hammer strikes the soul. As his words fall, the pitch-black fence at the other end of the arena rises with a bang, heavy iron chains clanging loudly.

From the depths of darkness, a tall figure strides out.

It is an Ancient Egyptian warrior.

He is adorned in flax armor inlaid with golden patterns, muscular arms exposed, with bronze skin inscribed with the battle markings of the Eye of Horus. In his left hand, he holds a bronze round shield, engraved with the emblem of the Sun God Ra; at his waist hangs a curved war sword—the Kahkhis Sword, with the totem of the Sun God Ra carved on the shield.

These are symbols of the Ancient Egyptian warrior.

The warrior’s face is resolute, his eyes sharp like a hawk’s, his steps steady as a mountain, each step as if treading upon the echoes of history.

On the spectator stands.

The phantom "audience" spirits instantly erupt, bursting out with deafening cheers.

"Seti! Seti! Seti!"

"He is the undefeated War God!"

"He once slew a hundred men alone on the Nile riverbank!"

Countless spectators begin to revel, cheering and welcoming the warrior—Seti, one of the greatest warriors in Ancient Egyptian history, who once repelled the Hittite Empire’s invasion single-handedly, earning the title of "Lion of the Nile." His legend, like King Arthur’s in Britain, is an eternal heroic spirit in the hearts of the Egyptians.

Seti raises the Kahkhis Sword, and the shouts from the spectator stands grow even more fervent. Seeing this scene, Ian raised an eyebrow, glanced around, and slightly raised the corner of his mouth.

"You have such high popularity, I could use some of that too."

He raised his magic wand.

With a light wave of the magic wand—

"Fictus Spectatores!" (Phantom Audience)

As Ian’s voice falls, silvery-gray magic power sweeps across half the spectator stands like a tide, replacing the original spectral shadows with a group of lifelike "audience."

A pale purple light cuts through the air, instantly covering half the area of the spectator stands. In the next moment, a group of "virtual audience" wearing modern wizard’s robes, glasses, and holding magic cameras appear out of nowhere. Some holding banners that read "Ian Must Win," others waving wand-shaped fluorescent sticks.

Some even blew shrill whistles.

They appear extremely lively, though this isn’t the creation of life, just some virtual "data" based on reality, which can be seen as a kind of illusion magic.

For a legendary wizard, creating such a magic at will is no difficult task. Under the vanity of Ian, half of the spectator stands are replaced by the virtual audience he conjured, who begin to shout praises for Ian, standing in unison with loud shouts overpowering the voices supporting the Ancient Egyptian warrior.

"Ian! Ian! Ian!"

"Hogwarts’ prodigy wizard!"

"Master of Magic Potions! Alchemist!"

"He changes the world with magic!"

The voices of these spectators overpower the voices of the other side.

After all, the spirits really need to shout with their throats to cheer for their idol, whereas the virtual audience are just emotionless repetition machines, constantly repeating the lines Ian "set."

It’s not yet the 21st century.

AI has already begun to replace assistants in the Wizarding World, but one has to admit, when it comes to innovation, Ian has a clear understanding; these virtual audiences greatly satisfy Ian’s vanity.

Meanwhile.

Anubis stands on the high platform of judges, his jackal head slightly tilted, with a hint of surprise flashing in his golden pupils. His originally indifferent expression pauses slightly.

He then gives a soft chuckle, with a hint of approval in his tone: "Not bad, your control over illusion techniques is very skillful. But a wizard mustn’t only know how to wield the magic wand, the true test is a contest of wisdom and willpower. Therefore, in the first round of tests, you are only allowed to use magic three times."

"Think well about how you can win in three moves." Saying this, he lifts the scepter and strikes the ground heavily, a pitch-black rune chain shoots from the top of the scepter, winding towards Ian’s body, attempting to seal his magic power. However, the moment the light touches Ian, it dissipates like water into sand.