Chapter 1318 Slaves of Power

The moment Dumbledore stepped into the Hall of Prophecy, the outside world's disturbances and worries seemed to be completely shut out by an invisible barrier.

It's very quiet here, not a deathly silence, but a peaceful tranquility.

Dumbledore looked at the countless towering wooden shelves on both sides of the corridor, densely packed with thousands upon thousands of luminous prophecy orbs.

Instead of searching, he walked towards the cold, magical aura that was as clear as a lighthouse in the night.

In the center of a circular platform, Voldemort stood, his black robes almost blending into the darkness of the background.

His pale, slender fingers gently picked up a prophecy orb, his movements elegant, as if he were appraising a rare treasure.

"Good evening, Tom," Dumbledore's voice broke the peaceful silence from behind. "It seems I've come at a very inopportune time."

Voldemort slowly turned around, his face appearing even paler in the dim light of the prophecy orb. His nostrils were gone, and his scarlet snake eyes narrowed, but he showed little surprise. "Dumbledore."

You're still the same, always appearing just as the ending is about to be written, trying to play the role of that useless reminder.

He gracefully held the newly acquired prophecy ball in his palm, saying, "You've gotten older."

His scarlet eyes fell on Dumbledore's silver beard and wrinkles. "Your power has also weakened."

Dumbledore approached slowly. "Tom," he said, "power comes in many forms. Some powers are used to conquer and destroy, while others are used to protect and create."

“Ha—” Voldemort sneered, “The mercy of the weak is merely a stumbling block on the path of the strong. Dumbledore, what you are protecting is nothing but an old illusion destined to collapse, while I will establish a new order, pure and powerful, without such tedious pity.”

“You can’t establish any order, Tom.” Dumbledore’s voice lowered, filled with heavy sorrow: “You are just repeating fear-driven destruction. You are afraid of death, so you chase after immortality. You are afraid of failure, so you abuse power. You are afraid of losing control of your destiny, so you stand here now, trying to grasp this prophecy.”

He stopped and stared silently into those scarlet eyes. "You've never truly overcome your fear; you've only been molded into what you are now by it. Look back, what's left on this road besides more graves and hatred?"

"Leave me here!" Voldemort's voice suddenly rose, a chilling killing intent spreading like a tide. "I am power! I am the future! And you and everything you cherish will become the past!"

The last vestige of feigned interest in the conversation vanished.

Voldemort didn't even make any obvious casting gestures. He slightly tightened his grip on the orb of prophecy in his left hand, while casually pointing his yew wand at Dumbledore in his right.

The tranquility of the prophecy hall was finally shattered, and the ghastly green killing curse seemed to be mixed with the screams of countless souls.

Dumbledore moved; he didn't chant a spell, but simply drew a circular path with the Elder Wand.

A soft light barrier blocked the killing curse, producing a dull thud.

The pale green light was deflected and torn into several dangerous arrows, shooting towards the towering wooden frames.

With several loud crashes, the wooden frame that was affected broke and collapsed, and hundreds of prophecy orbs fell to the ground, the crystalline fragments and dust forming clusters of poignant and beautiful light mist.

Dumbledore sighed, raised his left hand, and the prophecy orbs and wood chips that were falling but had not yet hit the ground suddenly came to a stop.

He gently waved the Elder Wand, and the wisps of light transformed into exquisite daggers, sweeping towards Voldemort in a massive, overwhelming attack.

At the same time, the hard black stone ground beneath his feet suddenly softened, and several giant rock pythons burst out of the ground, opening their blood-red mouths to bite him.

"Thump—" The giant pythons crashed into the ever-expanding soft light screen, but they did not give up. Instead, they pounced and bit down even more ferociously.

Voldemort's crimson eyes reflected countless exquisite daggers. His figure blurred for a moment, not by Apparition, but by drifting sideways at an eerie speed, passing through the rapidly shooting daggers.

The python's attack still failed to work; the soft light curtain surrounding Dumbledore continued to form complex patterns with each impact, as if it were absorbing the attack.

As the last dagger fell, Voldemort manipulated the python to retreat, then swung his wand forcefully.

Eerie flames erupted from the giant python's body; they were fierce flames, and their appearance ignited several of the nearest wooden frames.

Dumbledore's expression was grave. If the battle were to expand further, it would be no different from destroying the Hall of Prophecy.

“Look, Dumbledore.” What Voldemort saw in his bloodshot eyes was the collapsing wooden frame and the glittering fragments flying everywhere. “What you desperately try to protect is so fragile in the face of true power, just like that ridiculous old world you try so hard to maintain, and all those weak, lowly, and filthy lives in it.”

He manipulated the fiery serpents, forcing Dumbledore to retreat continuously, triggering another chain reaction of collapses.

"I've heard that the greatest threat to the wizarding world right now isn't me," Voldemort sneered. "The Order of the Wizarding World, is it? A bunch of Grindelwald's remnants, plus a Mudblood who doesn't know his place. Do these clowns who use Muggle toys to bluff their way into the title of Dark Lord?"

He raised his wand, causing the fiery flames on the giant serpent to burn even brighter. "Magic is a gift, a blessing of blood! Muggle technology is nothing but pathetic imitation and delusion by the incomprehensible in the face of incapable forces!"

Dumbledore weaved through the flying debris with a nimbleness that belied his centenarian status.

The Elder Wand spewed forth a waterfall of water from its tip, forming a water dragon that perished together with one of the fiery serpents, releasing a scalding white mist that obscured visibility.

The last trace of complex emotion in Dumbledore's deep blue eyes vanished. "Tom, you regard birth and bloodline as everything, magic as a privilege and a weapon. You cannot see the value of life itself, and that is precisely what you can never overcome."

"The value of life itself? Ha—" Voldemort's eyes were cold as he raised the tip of his staff and manipulated the remaining Fiery Serpents to pounce. "Dumbledore, power is everything."

The Elder Wand emitted a dazzling light, and under its radiance, the intact frames began to tremble slightly, while countless orbs of prophecy hummed simultaneously.

Dumbledore's powerful magic eventually enveloped the entire Hall of Prophecy, slowing the python's movements and the Fiendfire spreading across its body.

"No, what I see is a person who has succumbed to power. You are obsessed with this twisted purity and have long since become a slave to power without even realizing it."

Dumbledore's voice was like a cold judgment: "And slaves can never truly control their own destiny."

The dazzling light on the Elder Wand suddenly contracted inward, then burst forth with an even more brilliant and dazzling light.

Under their illumination, the giant serpent made of rock instantly became covered with cracks, turning into scattered dust from top to bottom, and even the outline of the Fiery Blaze began to blur.

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