Hogwarts: Bloodline Legend

The air in the arena seemed to freeze for a moment.

The Ancient Egyptian Warrior’s shield was still in his hand, muscles tense, ready to face Ian’s forty-meter-long machete. But just as he was about to charge.

Anubis spoke.

Everything seemed as if it had been paused.

He seemed very concerned with some of the words Ian used.

Upon hearing about aircraft carrier-grade steel materials, Anubis’s golden pupils suddenly contracted, and his jackal head bowed slightly, as if he knew knowledge that shouldn’t be known through the veil of time and space.

"You’re from the future." The God of Death’s voice was low and assured, not a question, but a statement. He gazed at Ian, his eyes not resting on his physical form but delving into some more essential level of existence — where the threads of time were intertwined in an abnormal manner.

Ian’s movements with the forty-meter machete paused slightly.

A glint of surprise flashed in his eyes.

He hovered in mid-air, the blue flames of the jet engine reflecting off the metallic sheen of his armor, with the blade suspended three inches above the head of the Ancient Egyptian Warrior Seti.

As someone with a strong dueling spirit, Ian certainly wouldn’t sneak attack when others can’t fight back; he wasn’t an Island Country person, not the type that likes to launch sneak attacks.

"You can know that?" Ian asked with interest, his voice coming through the armor’s visor with a bit of electronic resonance, as his armor was also equipped with a lot of technology.

For wizards,

It wasn’t difficult for them to learn the technological methods that had been devised by Muggles. The learning process could be cheated, but at best, this could only be considered a form of cramming.

Of course.

The crammed learning Ian had done was enough; he was mainly exploring how to combine magic and technology, thus creating an integrated school of alchemy.

Anubis did not immediately answer.

His gaze roamed over Ian like a scanning device, from every inch of the composite metal of the armor to the magic power flowing in his silver-gray right eye, down to the seemingly ordinary money bag on his waist that concealed endless space.

Then, the scepter of this Ancient Egyptian God of Death lightly tapped the ground, and the dust of the Netherworld stirred without wind, forming a subtle time vortex pattern under Ian’s feet.

"The imprint of time has left a mark on you," Anubis finally spoke, "You are not a creation of this era."

Ian chuckled softly, the joints of his armor emitting the subtle sound of hydraulic devices operating. He casually plunged his forty-meter machete into the ground, the blade sinking more than half a foot into the obsidian floor.

"As expected of the Gatekeeper of the Netherworld, you have keen insight." He shrugged, "But since you’ve found out, why not just open a back door for me? Lend me the oar?"

"The traces of time can’t be hidden." Anubis said slowly, "You carry an aura not belonging to this era. Your magic, your technology, your way of thinking... they don’t belong to the world I know." Anubis’s jackal mask showed no expression, but his golden pupils narrowed slightly.

Ian was silent for a moment, his mouth curling into a meaningful smile.

"You’re smarter than I thought, at least a lot smarter than the other deities I know." He sighed, "At least you didn’t take me for a Raven."

This was also a test.

However.

Anubis did not respond, instead continuing to watch him.

"Death is never bound by time; even time itself will die." This was explaining his understanding of death and revealing some of his authority.

He could foresee the future.

Considered a kind of prophet.

"Have you foreseen your own future?"

Ian curiously asked.

"You are very rude."

Anubis’s gaze held a complex emotion — not hostility, nor surprise, but a kind of... ancient scrutiny, as if he had long foreseen this moment.

For a character like Ian’s, deities of course encountered many.

A playful magic genius.

Every era always had a few of those.

"The trial continues."

Anubis did not further inquire, he merely nodded gently, then raised his hand with a wave. The air in the arena vibrated, as if some ancient mechanism had been activated.

Time resumed its flow. In the center, Seti’s expression was already extremely dire. The most famous warrior of Ancient Egypt was now covered with wounds, his bronze shield twisted and deformed, the blade of the Hepash Curved Sword filled with notches. He looked up at the metallic giant hovering in the air, with both anger and a deep sense of powerlessness in his eyes.

Ian did not hesitate, he slowly raised the large machete, the blade reflecting a cold gleam in the sunlight.

"This is not a duel!" Seti shouted, his voice echoing in the arena, "This is a massacre!"

Ian tilted his head, the neck joint of his armor making a "click" mechanical sound.

"Oh? Then what kind of duel would you consider fair?" His tone carried some mockery, "Do you want me to come down and brawl with you? This is not something an adult should be saying."

"I didn’t say that!"

Seti’s fists clenched with cracking sounds, his bronze muscles with bulging veins. He angrily threw his curved sword and shield on the ground, metal clanging against the obsidian floor.

"I just want to surrender!"

He sat down cross-legged, glaring up at Ian.

"Do whatever you want — kill or flay me!"

This was clearly giving up, forsaking his glory as a warrior.

It was an unavoidable situation.