[Marvel's Hogwarts Professor] Chapter 616 - 620

Chapter 616

In the past, Ian and Wanda had been evenly matched, with Ian perhaps holding a slight advantage. Now, however, it was painfully clear to him that without revealing his full arsenal of magic, he stood no chance against her. Even with all his power unleashed, victory seemed unlikely.

This realization left Ian with a hollow feeling in his chest. He questioned his dedication—had he not trained diligently enough? His qualifications were impressive by any normal standard, but compared to these prodigies who seemed blessed by the cosmos itself, he still had leagues to travel.

"Congratulations, Wanda," Ian said, quickly masking his disappointment with a genuine smile. "Your misfortune has truly become a blessing in disguise."

A brief smile flickered across Wanda's face before vanishing like a snuffed candle. This newfound power had come at a terrible price—not only her near-death experience but the lives of her fellow sorcerers at Kamar-Taj. The attack from a trusted ally had left her the sole survivor of her team, completely decimated by betrayal.

For Wanda, the internal shock was overwhelming. It transported her back to the chaotic existence she'd endured before Professor Lockhart had taken her under his wing and taught her the mystic arts.

Ian observed her silence, understanding its source all too well. Losing teammates not to honorable combat but to treacherous betrayal was something few could comprehend. Such an experience inevitably changes one's soul.

Yet this was simply another phase of life's journey. Time would eventually erode even the sharpest edges of grief and rage.

"Ian," Wanda asked, her voice tight with urgency, "is there a mission today to hunt down the traitor?"

Ian shook his head regretfully. "Wanda, the professor was clear—we're not to concern ourselves with apprehending the traitor yet." He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You need to stabilize your condition first. This power surge is indeed fortunate, but you haven't fully mastered it. Stabilization must be your priority."

After all, this was precisely why Ian had been sparring with Wanda—to help her control her newly transformed abilities. The Dream Power and Chaos Magic had merged within her, creating something entirely new. Either of these magical disciplines alone could elevate a sorcerer to elite status. The fact that Wanda had somehow blended them together was unprecedented.

This magical fusion brought immense power but equally tremendous challenges. The difficulty of maintaining control increased exponentially with such volatile energies intermingling. This was why Professor Lockhart had forbidden Wanda from participating in the London Sanctum's operation to capture the traitors, instructing her instead to focus on mastering her enhanced capabilities.

But Wanda's desires clearly ran counter to these instructions. Perhaps it was the nature of Chaos Magic itself, inducing tumultuous emotions within its wielder. The scenes of her slaughtered teammates repeatedly flashed through her mind, stoking a fire of vengeance that refused to be extinguished. She craved blood—the blood of those who had betrayed and murdered her fellow sorcerers.

"Very well," Wanda finally responded after a weighted silence. But the crimson gleam in her eyes told a different story than her acquiescent words.

The London night embraced the city in a velvet cloak of darkness, illuminated by the artificial stars of street lamps and shop windows.

Wanda and Vera strolled arm-in-arm down a bustling shopping street, presenting the appearance of two best friends enjoying an evening out. Like countless women across the globe, they ducked into various boutiques, examining elegant attire and exquisite jewelry with appreciative eyes.

"This one, and this one, this one too, and definitely that one—I adore them all. I'll take everything," Vera declared boldly, gesturing toward a midnight-blue skirt, a pristine white blouse, a deep crimson gown, and several other items, completely disregarding the five-figure price tags attached to each.

The shop assistant's face lit up with barely contained delight as she motioned for several staff members to begin packaging the extensive purchase.

Noticing Wanda's furrowed brow, Vera squeezed her friend's hand comfortingly. "Don't worry, Wanda. Try to relax a bit."

She pointed toward another display. "Look at that dark red dress—it's absolutely stunning and would complement your figure perfectly. We should try it on soon."

Wanda nodded absently, her expression remaining grave as she closed her eyes, seemingly reaching out with senses beyond the physical.

Vera sighed with fond exasperation. "None of those treacherous sorcerers can hide forever. You know that, right?" She adjusted a shopping bag on her arm. "Perhaps if you allowed yourself to relax slightly, your divination would actually improve."

Ian had strictly adhered to Professor Lockhart's instructions, preventing Wanda from any involvement with the traitor investigation. But Wanda's patience had worn thin, prompting her to enlist her closest friend in an unauthorized pursuit of the rogue sorcerer.

The merger of Dream Power and Chaos Magic had gifted Wanda with unique abilities. The conceptual manipulation inherent to Dream Power had fused with the reality-bending nature of Chaos Magic. Having previously encountered the fallen sorcerer, Wanda was confident in her capacity to divine their current location.

So she had sought Vera's assistance. Initially, Vera had hesitated—their mentor's guidance on Wanda focusing solely on power control was clear. However, recognizing Wanda's spiraling negative emotions, Vera hoped this excursion might offer some catharsis.

This had led to their current shopping expedition, with Vera attempting to distract her friend through the universal therapy of retail indulgence.

"Alright," Wanda responded curtly to Vera's encouragement, immediately lapsing back into concentrated silence. Her eyes remained closed as she extended her magical awareness, searching for the traitor's distinctive magical signature.

Utilizing the adaptable nature of Dream Power, Wanda easily simulated the energetic resonance associated with the fallen sorcerer. Her transformed Chaos Magic acted as a mystical radar, scanning for even the faintest echo of similar energy within her detection radius.

Suddenly, Wanda's eyes snapped open, her gaze fixed intently toward the southeast. She had sensed two magical presences—one immediately recognizable, the other vaguely familiar. Both emanated from the direction of the British Library.

The British Library was as populated at night as during daylight hours—perhaps even more so, as evening provided many with their first opportunity for leisurely study.

A young man with unremarkable features sat at a reading table, delicately sipping from a cup of coffee while perusing an ancient tome. The glamour concealing his true appearance was flawless, revealing nothing of the formidable sorcerer beneath.

Across from him, the fallen sorcerer Milton scrutinized Strange's disguised face with thinly veiled contempt. Despite knowing of the man's prodigious talent, Milton was still astonished—and disgusted—by how quickly Strange had mastered the complex illusion magic. Without meticulous examination, no trace of the spell could be detected.

Jealousy, envy, hatred—these emotions simmered just below Milton's composed exterior.

"Strange," the fallen sorcerer inquired with forced seriousness, "you sent word about crucial information. What exactly have you discovered?"

Strange's satisfied expression remained unchanged as he responded. "Rest assured, this intelligence is of vital importance—it could completely disrupt your operations throughout Britain." He traced a finger along the edge of his book. "Without this knowledge, your faction will certainly suffer significant losses."

He paused, adding with quiet confidence, "I would be willing to bind this claim with a magical contract."

"What information?" Milton leaned forward, unable to mask his sudden alarm. What could possibly be so significant that Strange would offer a binding magical guarantee?

"Patience," Strange replied with leisurely calm, lifting a silver spoon to stir his coffee with deliberate slowness. "First, let's discuss what you're prepared to exchange."

The disguised sorcerer's eyes gleamed with calculated intensity. "This intelligence could directly alter the course of your fate." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Surely that's worth a considerable price, wouldn't you agree?"

Chapter 617: Ritual of Ascension

Deep beneath the bustling streets of Central London, a cavernous chamber lay hidden from the world above. The vast underground space, recently excavated from the earth, stretched impressively in all directions. Its walls and floor were lined with polished marble that gleamed under the soft light emanating from enchanted orbs placed at regular intervals across the high ceiling.

At first glance, the chamber appeared austere and minimalist in its design. But a closer inspection revealed something far more sinister. Intricate channels had been carved into the marble floor, forming complex runic patterns. Through these channels flowed bright crimson blood, pulsing with an unnatural rhythm as if possessed of its own consciousness.

Around the perimeter of the chamber, a moat of blood had been constructed—deep and wide, completely encircling the ritual space. Most disturbing was not the sight of so much blood, but its peculiar nature. It emitted no metallic scent typical of blood; instead, it released a sweet, alluring fragrance. The blood had been transmuted, refined into something potent and arcane—a medium for power beyond mortal comprehension.

In the center of this macabre display sat David, the Fallen Sorcerer, legs crossed in the lotus position atop a simple futon. His eyes were closed in deep meditation, his expression serene despite the horror surrounding him.

The path to godhood consisted of specific steps, and David had already conquered the first. Now he faced the second challenge: to understand and embody a cosmic concept, merging it with his magical essence to establish dominion over a fundamental authority of reality.

Such conceptual understanding was not easily gained. Even for sorcerers with elevated souls and enhanced spiritual sensitivity, this represented merely the threshold of a far more difficult journey. Various methods existed to aid in conceptual induction—rare mystical resources, forbidden rituals, or even borrowing the power of existing deities.

For David, two paths lay open:

First, he could utilize the Dusk Dimension's power now at his command.

Second, he could employ the ancient blood sacrifice rituals, using life essence to pierce the veil between mortal understanding and cosmic truth.

David, being pragmatic, had chosen both simultaneously.

Children take multiple-choice tests, he thought wryly, but adults take all possible paths to power.

Events had accelerated beyond his original timeline. The confrontation with the Sorcerer Supreme and his allies had forced David's hand. He no longer had the luxury of methodical preparation—he needed to master the second step toward godhood as completely and rapidly as possible.

The thoroughness of his understanding would determine the foundation of his power. The deeper his mastery of the concept, the more formidable his eventual authority would become. This was why he demanded perfection.

This philosophy was shared by all Fallen Sorcerers who had reached this stage. It explained why Lockhart had scoured London, resulting in the mysterious disappearance of tens of thousands of people. And London was merely one city—countless more had vanished from surrounding regions.

These missing souls had been transformed into fuel for the Fallen Sorcerers' blood sacrifice rituals. As their leader, David had claimed the lion's share of these "resources."

The blood pool before him contained not just physical essence but also distilled soul energy extracted from the victims. With this soul-imbued blood as catalyst, David felt himself approaching cosmic understanding at tremendous speed, his consciousness racing through conceptual realms like a vehicle breaking the sound barrier.

It was, in a word: exhilarating.

A sphere of dark amber energy hovered before David's meditative form, wreathed in threads of blood-red power that moved in precise, calculated patterns. The intertwining of blood magic and the deep yellow light created an aura of malevolence that permeated the chamber.

Suddenly...

David's eyes snapped open, his concentration broken by an incoming message. A slight frown creased his brow as he processed the information.

"Chief," came the telepathic communication from one of his followers, "there's a temple sorcerer here claiming to possess vital information. He says it directly impacts all our plans."

"The most concerning part is that he demands significant mystical resources in exchange for this information."

David's expression darkened. This was blatant extortion at a time when resources were precious. Every artifact and spell component was needed for their ascension ritual.

To have someone attempt to exploit their vulnerability was intolerable. This violated the foundational principles upon which they had built their organization of Fallen Sorcerers.

The audacity, David thought coldly. To think I can be blackmailed.

While he had always encouraged his followers to expand their influence and secure advantages through whatever means necessary, he would not tolerate such tactics being used against him.

Yet... curiosity gnawed at him. The current situation had already deviated from his carefully constructed plans. Additional intelligence could prove invaluable in adjusting his strategy.

Information was power, especially information that could potentially alter the course of their conflict with the sanctums.

Very well, he decided, I shall hear what this temple sorcerer has to say.

In a quiet corner of the British Library, Doctor Stephen Strange casually sipped his coffee while observing the Fallen Sorcerer seated across from him. The man sat with closed eyes, presumably communicating with his superiors.

Strange wasn't concerned about the wait. For information of this magnitude, the Fallen would pay dearly.

He had tested the cloaking method taught to him by this Fallen Sorcerer—a technique that, while not completely severing the watchful gaze of the Vishanti, had begun to obscure their perception of his activities. This allowed Strange to present himself as a novice sorcerer, one still dependent on the Vishanti's gifts.

It was widely known among mystics that the initial magical energies bestowed by the Vishanti were of exceptional quality and purity, designed specifically to help sorcerers establish their arcane foundations. Upon recognizing this pattern, Strange had formulated several theories that could exploit this system.

The cloaking technique had only furthered his abilities to implement these ideas, substantially increasing his magical potency through what could only be described as mystical arbitrage.

Genius, if I do say so myself, Strange thought with satisfaction.

His introspection was interrupted when the Fallen Sorcerer's eyes suddenly opened. Strange was immediately struck by the dramatic shift in the man's aura and presence—as though an entirely different entity now occupied the body.

"Hello, Master Strange," the man spoke with newfound authority. "You may call me David."

Strange couldn't conceal his shock. "David? The First Fallen?" He glanced around in confusion. "What happened to Milton? I was just speaking with him!"

"The Original Fallen," as David was known at Kamar-Taj—the first sorcerer to embrace forbidden knowledge, who had made pacts with elder entities and subsequently led others down the path of corruption. This was the man who now sat before him, having somehow possessed or displaced his follower.

Strange realized the situation had just become significantly more complicated—and dangerous.

"Don't worry, Master Milton is attending to his own affairs. I'll be handling our discussion from here," David said with casual authority. Strange remained visibly tense, his posture guarded.

Noting the sorcerer's apprehension, David offered an explanation. "The body you see before you is merely one of our enchanted walking puppets—a vessel we've refined through arcane processes."

"It's a precaution against assassination attempts by sanctum sorcerers," he continued. "We've developed proprietary methods to control these puppets remotely with unprecedented precision."

Strange nodded slowly, his expression suggesting a gradual acceptance of this explanation. David seemed satisfied by this and pressed on.

"Milton has briefed me on your earlier conversation," David said, leaning forward slightly. "I must admit, Doctor Strange, you've successfully captured my interest."

His eyes glinted with curiosity. "Now that I'm here in person—or as close as makes no difference—perhaps you can reveal this crucial information you possess?"

A smile played at the corners of Strange's lips, barely concealed pride evident in his demeanor. The leader of the Fallen Sorcerers had deemed his intelligence valuable enough to warrant immediate attention—this confirmed his leverage. Still, Strange tempered his reaction, taking a measured sip of coffee to mask his satisfaction.

After composing himself, he met David's gaze with renewed seriousness. "Chief David, since you've made the effort to be present, I can assure you the value of my information is substantial. I'm willing to sign a mystical contract guaranteeing its accuracy and importance."

He paused deliberately before adding, "However, I assume there's no issue with the compensation I previously outlined?"

David suppressed a grimace. The resource demands Strange had made were excessive, particularly given their current circumstances. The attack on the London Sanctum had depleted much of their mystical reserves, and resources were already stretched thin among his followers.

Yet he couldn't afford to dismiss potentially critical intelligence, especially information that might influence their upcoming confrontation with the remaining sanctums.

David fixed Strange with a cold stare, gradually releasing waves of oppressive magical pressure. Strange felt the invisible weight bearing down on him, threatening to bend his spine with its intensity.

The message was clear: Don't ask for more than you deserve.

Strange remained unperturbed, calmly sipping his coffee as though oblivious to the magical intimidation. He understood the principle perfectly—risk and reward were proportional. As fishermen knew well: the fiercer the storm, the higher the price for fish caught in dangerous waters.

Even if he provoked David's hostility, the potential benefits outweighed the risks. Besides, as an undercover agent for the sanctum, it would be foolish not to capitalize on such a rare opportunity.

"Master Strange," David's voice cut through the tension, "don't forget who helped you break free from the Vishanti's constraints."

Strange's expression darkened. The implication was unmistakable—a reminder of his supposed allegiance and the precariousness of his position as a "fallen" sorcerer.

Noticing Strange's change in demeanor, David softened his approach. "It's not that we lack the resources you've requested," he said in a more conciliatory tone. "We simply adhere to principles of fair exchange. Without knowing the exact nature of your information, we cannot properly assess its value."

"Rest assured," he added, "we generously reward those who provide intelligence of true significance."

Strange remained unmoved by this diplomatic pivot. Training and preparation required resources—substantial ones. He couldn't squander this opportunity by accepting less than what his information was worth.

Yet, if he revealed the intelligence prematurely, he would lose all leverage. What would prevent David from offering token compensation afterward, claiming the information was less valuable than anticipated? Challenging the leader of the Fallen Sorcerers directly would be suicidal given his cover identity.

Conversely, exchanging truly critical intelligence for insufficient compensation felt equally unacceptable.

David sensed Strange's internal conflict and seized the opening. "Of course, if you require guaranteed compensation upfront, we can discuss alternatives," he offered. "While we cannot assess the full value yet, we're prepared to provide a portion of resources immediately as a show of good faith."

It was a calculated approach—first applying pressure to destabilize Strange's position, then presenting the worst possible outcome as a veiled threat, before finally offering a seemingly reasonable compromise. Few could resist such a negotiation tactic, and Strange was no exception.

He found himself reconsidering. His initial demands had indeed been excessive—intentionally so, to establish room for negotiation. The counterproposal seemed to be the best outcome he could reasonably achieve.

Though still somewhat reluctant, Strange picked up a quill and drafted a revised list of required resources. This version was more modest, yet still substantial enough to be worthwhile.

David examined the new terms and nodded with approval. Just as he was about to accept the agreement—

"Damn you, David! Take my sword!"

Wanda Maximoff's furious voice echoed through the library as seven chromatic blades of magical energy streaked toward David from across the room.

David turned in surprise, instantly recognizing the familiar figure. Wanda stood alone—neither Lockhart nor Arnold accompanying her this time—but the raw power emanating from her was undeniable. Her transformation had clearly enhanced her magical abilities beyond what he'd previously encountered.

David assessed his situation with lightning speed. The puppet body he currently inhabited lacked the necessary defenses to withstand Wanda's assault. He had little choice but to sacrifice this vessel.

Wanda's entire being radiated fury as she recognized David's magical signature. She attacked without hesitation or warning, channeling her rage into the sevenfold blades.

Beside her, Vera moved quickly to cast protective enchantments, obscuring the supernatural confrontation from the mundane library patrons.

Strange watched in shock as the scene unfolded, inwardly relieved by the timely interruption. His disguised appearance had protected his cover, and the chaos provided perfect cover for a strategic retreat.

Without hesitation, when he saw David's puppet preparing for self-destruction, Strange began to withdraw from the confrontation zone.

BOOM!

The puppet exploded in a controlled detonation as Wanda's chromatic blades pierced its form. David, controlling the vessel remotely, abandoned it without concern.

Wanda raised a shimmering multicolored barrier to shield herself from the blast. As the magical smoke cleared and she sensed the puppet's animating force dissipate, her attention shifted to Strange's retreating form.

Something about the sorcerer who had been conferring with the Fallen leader triggered a sense of recognition. The magical signature, the posture, the movements—they seemed hauntingly familiar, yet she couldn't quite place him.

I've seen him before, she thought, eyes narrowing as she tracked his escape. But where?

Chapter 618: Pursuit

BOOM!

A kaleidoscope of arcane energies erupted across the library as Strange's danger sense screamed in his mind. His expression shifted from calculated composure to raw alarm in an instant.

Fortunately, the attack hadn't targeted him directly. Several blades of shimmering, multicolored energy sliced through David's form on the opposite side of the table. The fallen sorcerer's puppet body emanated a deep amber glow as defensive enchantments activated against the assault.

With a sickening sound, Wanda's magical swords penetrated David's defenses. Blood—or something resembling it—erupted from the wounds under supernatural pressure.

"Strange, run. Don't waste the opportunity I'm giving you," a faint telepathic message whispered into Strange's consciousness.

In the next heartbeat—

BOOM!

David's puppet body detonated in a controlled explosion, directing the blast toward Wanda to cover Strange's escape. The puppet had been designed for negotiation rather than combat, lacking the necessary enchantments to channel David's true power. He chose to sacrifice it, granting Strange a favor in the process.

The intelligence Strange possesses must be extraordinary, David thought from his distant sanctuary, to warrant such swift and determined pursuit. I wonder if his cover as a temple sorcerer has been compromised.

In David's assessment, the vicious and merciless attack could only be explained by Strange's information. It seemed implausible that Wanda had stumbled upon them by mere coincidence. London was vast, and Strange had selected a meeting location so discreet that ordinary detection magic should have failed to locate them.

The only logical conclusion was that the London Sanctum had discovered Strange's information leak and dispatched Wanda to eliminate both the traitor and his contact.

On a busy London street, a flash of crimson light momentarily blinded pedestrians. Strange materialized from the disrupted teleportation spell, crashing unceremoniously onto the pavement. His robes were tattered, his composure shattered.

Despite David's sacrificial distraction, Strange had been forced to flee hastily. Vera had joined the assault, leaving him no choice but to tear through the fabric of space itself in a desperate, unplanned teleportation.

The hasty escape had exacted a toll. Strange struggled to his feet, ignoring the startled and horrified stares of bystanders. Staggering several steps to regain his balance, he immediately began to trace the familiar patterns of a sling ring portal, intent on reaching the safety of his private chambers.

But before the portal could fully form—

BZZZZT!

Behind him, the air vibrated with a familiar spatial distortion. Strange's expression contorted with dread. Wanda's earlier attack had been lethal in intent, clearly aimed at execution rather than capture.

He harbored no illusions about surviving a direct confrontation with the Scarlet Witch. Revealing his true identity as an undercover agent would render all his previous sacrifices meaningless, particularly the valuable resource agreement he'd nearly secured from David.

For the sake of future operations—and the free access to restricted resources that would come with maintaining his cover—he couldn't surrender now.

With a swift redirection of his spell, Strange transformed into a cloud of swirling gray mist and streaked away from the distortion.

Simultaneously, the ground beneath the street began to warp and twist, liquefying into a bubbling, swamp-like morass. Panicked pedestrians fled in terror, but many were caught in the rapidly expanding magical quicksand.

"Help!" screamed a man as he sank to his waist. "I'm from the Virgil family!"

Others cried out in similar desperation as they struggled against the inexorable pull of the enchanted ground.

Wanda and Vera emerged from their portal amidst a corona of prismatic energy. They immediately felt the powerful suction tugging at their feet and surveyed the chaotic scene with grim expressions.

"As expected of a fallen sorcerer," Vera muttered. "A delaying tactic designed to force an impossible choice."

They faced a dilemma: pursue Strange and allow civilians to suffer, or save the innocents and let their quarry escape. Additionally, they would need to sanitize the memories of all witnesses—a time-consuming process.

If they abandoned the civilians, the resulting casualties would reflect poorly on the sanctum, reinforcing the perception that mystic defenders treated mortal lives with callous indifference.

"Wanda, you pursue the traitor," Vera decided solemnly. "I'll handle the situation here."

With a resolute wave of her hands, she began countering Strange's entrapment spell.

Wanda nodded grimly, her eyes fixed on the dissipating gray mist that was Strange's disguised form. Whatever else happened, the traitor could not escape.

She launched herself skyward in pursuit.

The wind howled around Strange as he sensed Wanda rapidly closing the distance behind him. He pushed himself harder, accelerating through the night sky.

Gritting his teeth, he invoked a forbidden acceleration enchantment—a spell that extracted a physical toll from its caster in exchange for supernatural speed.

WHOOSH!

Wanda observed her quarry pull further ahead with a sudden burst of velocity. Without hesitation, she began channeling chaos magic, leveraging her conceptual understanding of speed to enhance her own pursuit.

This was precisely why fallen sorcerers coveted chaos magic—it provided a shortcut to godhood, helping practitioners contact conceptual authorities far earlier than traditional methods allowed.

With a surge of crimson energy, Wanda's velocity increased dramatically. The gap between hunter and hunted began to close once more.

Strange's heart sank as he realized his forbidden spell hadn't created sufficient distance. A wry smile crossed his lips. He had long heard rumors that Wanda's recent injuries had paradoxically accelerated her magical development—a blessing disguised as misfortune. Now he witnessed the truth of those rumors firsthand.

Seeing escape becoming increasingly impossible, Strange felt frustration bloom within him. After this encounter, chaos magic would need to be thoroughly reevaluated. The future's most potent sorcerers might find themselves outmatched by its practitioners.

Suddenly, Strange halted his forward flight, hovering motionless in the night air. He turned to face his pursuer, the sling ring glinting on his hand as he began to trace complex patterns in the darkness.

An immense surge of arcane power emanated from his gestures. In an instant, countless strands of flame-red energy materialized in the night sky, interweaving at impossible speeds to form intricate magical glyphs.

Realizing Strange had shifted from flight to fight, Wanda decelerated cautiously, studying his unfamiliar spellwork with narrowed eyes.

The magical signature seemed oddly familiar, yet the sorcerer's face remained completely unrecognizable—likely a disguise concealing his true identity.

Though the spell taking shape before her was unknown, its power was undeniable. Complex runes and massive energy fluctuations suggested a working of tremendous destructive potential.

BZZZZT!

Wanda launched a multicolored stream of mixed energies toward Strange—a probing attack to test his defenses.

Strange ignored the magical projectile, focused entirely on completing his desperate countermeasure.

Doomsday Judgment!

The night sky suddenly blazed with light as bright as noon, illuminating the wilderness below. Fortunately, they had moved away from populated areas—the radiance would have blinded any mortal witnesses.

A crushing pressure descended upon the battlefield, reminiscent of a divine presence. The weight disrupted all nearby spatial magic, preventing easy escape.

Wanda's expression hardened as she prepared to counter this unexpected threat.

At that precise moment, a figure in a black robe materialized silently in the distance.

David, the true leader of the fallen sorcerers, had arrived.

Chapter 619: Revelations

Strange and Wanda turned in surprise as David materialized from the night air, his unexpected appearance momentarily halting their confrontation.

David felt a twinge of embarrassment. After his puppet's self-destruction, he had lingered nearby, observing the unfolding situation from a hidden vantage point. The entire scenario struck him as peculiar—a clandestine meeting in an obscure location disrupted by one of Lockhart's most trusted disciples.

Yet Wanda's merciless assault had actually dispelled many of David's suspicions about Strange. If the sorcerer had truly been compromised, Wanda wouldn't have attacked with such unrestrained ferocity. David had sensed her killing intent—pure and undiluted—directed equally toward both himself and Strange.

This had prompted his decision to sacrifice the puppet body, providing Strange with cover to escape. The intelligence Strange possessed was too valuable to lose before extraction.

Upon returning his consciousness to his true form, David had continued monitoring the situation, still harboring vague doubts about Strange's allegiance. He wanted to determine whether this might be an elaborate ploy orchestrated by the sanctum.

Of course, had Strange failed to evade capture, David could have intervened—rescuing the sorcerer to gain his trust before completing their information exchange. Such a scenario would have been advantageous regardless of Strange's true loyalties.

What David hadn't anticipated was Wanda's dramatically increased power. Despite Strange's delaying tactics, she had relentlessly pursued and eventually cornered him, forcing him into a desperate counterattack.

In truth, David's suspicions had largely subsided when he witnessed Strange ruthlessly endangering civilians to delay Wanda and Vera. His continued observation was primarily aimed at winning Strange's loyalty at a critical moment. David envied Strange's extraordinary mystical talent—having such a gifted sorcerer as a subordinate would be invaluable.

The situation had taken an unexpected turn when Strange resorted to the forbidden spell—Doomsday Judgment—which disrupted all surrounding energies and elements. Strange's desperate gambit had forced David to reveal himself earlier than planned, potentially jeopardizing his opportunity to cultivate Strange's trust. After all, failing to intervene promptly wasn't likely to endear him to a potential recruit.

"Chief, come here and help me!" Strange called out upon noticing David. His expression shifted from surprise to relief as he began decelerating the forbidden spell's activation.

The price for invoking such taboo magic was invariably steep. With a powerful ally now present, Strange saw no reason to continue the dangerous incantation. Why risk everything when the leader of the Fallen Sorcerers had arrived in person?

David felt a flush of satisfaction at Strange's recognition and deference. This Strange is indeed perceptive, he thought.

With a single, fluid step, David appeared beside Strange, his attention fixed on Wanda as he spoke.

"Little girl, you stand alone this time. There's no Arnold to shield you," he said with casual confidence. "For Lockhart's sake, I suggest you withdraw."

"Chief, why show her mercy?" Strange quickly interjected, his voice lowered but urgent. "Wanda is Lockhart's closest student and right hand. Eliminating her now would effectively cripple his operations."

Strange's cold, calculating tone perfectly embodied the persona of a traitor. Compared to Wanda's furious glare, David found Strange's attitude most satisfactory.

He offered no response to Strange's suggestion, however, as his attention had shifted to a presence materializing behind Wanda. A bitter smile formed on his lips.

Lockhart's figure gradually appeared beside Wanda, his arrival changing the entire dynamic of the confrontation.

"Strange, I never imagined you would betray the London Sanctum," Lockhart's calm voice resonated through the night air. "Have you no regard for Kamar-Taj's teachings?"

Strange's face paled at these words. His cover had been completely compromised.

In truth, David would have gladly eliminated Wanda had circumstances permitted it. Their previous encounter had surprised him when she demonstrated unexpected immunity to his spells, but that had been an ambush. After careful research, he had developed countermeasures for her unique abilities.

However, he clearly sensed Lockhart's formidable magical signature. While confident he could handle Wanda alone, Lockhart's presence tilted the balance unfavorably.

"Lockhart," David interjected before Strange could respond, "if you're content being Vishanti's puppet, that's your choice. But others refuse such chains. We merely seek freedom from divine oversight and control over our souls after death. Does that truly deserve your condemnation?"

"When your time comes, will you understand what it means to have your soul claimed by another?"

Lockhart remained impassive before David's provocations. He understood the implications of the Vishanti contract—that upon death, one's soul would technically belong to the cosmic entities. Yet this didn't concern him.

His unique system had circumvented the standard contract, allowing him to access Vishanti's power without the usual price. And what of his students? With their intrinsic magical bloodlines, they could cast spells without divine contracts. Being natural components of the multiverse, they remained largely beyond divine control.

Lockhart dismissed David's rhetoric and turned his attention back to the immediate betrayal.

"Strange... how could it be you?" Wanda's voice was thick with disbelief as she recognized the disguised sorcerer. Strange, who had received extensive training from Kamar-Taj and enjoyed the Sorcerer Supreme's favor—how could he turn traitor?

"Now that my identity is known, there's no point in pretense," Strange replied. His facial features gradually shifted, reverting to his true appearance as the disguise spell dissipated.

"I acknowledge that Kamar-Taj treated me well. The Sorcerer Supreme valued my potential. But what matters most in existence? Freedom!"

"Given the choice, I would never allow so-called gods to dictate my fate. The sorcerers of Kamar-Taj are portrayed as noble protectors of reality, guardians of the Earth realm. But in harsh truth, aren't they merely Vishanti and Agamotto's sentinels? Protecting divine territory, preventing rival pantheons from claiming it?"

Strange's voice grew more passionate. "Why accept that? Earth belongs to its inhabitants, not to distant cosmic entities. You, who call yourselves defenders, have no right to judge me!"

"In my eyes, you are the true betrayers. Earth belongs to its people!"

Chapter 620: The Dark Lord's Game

"Watchdog of Agamotto! Vishanti's puppets! Traitors to Earth! The Earth belongs to its people!"

As Strange's inflammatory words hung in the air, David couldn't help but applaud with genuine appreciation. He had truly underestimated Strange's audacity. While David had long championed freedom from divine shackles, Strange had taken the rhetoric further—directly accusing Kamar-Taj of betraying humanity in service to cosmic entities.

Brilliant, David thought. Not just talented in magic, but a mind equally sharp.

Across from them, Wanda opened her mouth to retort, but ultimately remained silent. Though outwardly resolute, inwardly she felt a flicker of doubt. She had worked alongside Strange many times before, and something about this rhetoric felt incongruous with the man she knew.

These demagogic slogans seemed designed to inflame and divide. If Strange truly believed these words, he would become a catastrophic threat—a villain who could potentially fracture the entire magical community with his ideology.

This realization hardened Wanda's resolve. Whatever his reasons, Strange had to be eliminated today. Cut the grass and dig out the roots.

Strange maintained a calm exterior after his speech, his face betraying none of the panic churning within. Surreptitiously, he rubbed the mystical connection on his right hand, channeling magical energy into it.

"Master, speaking like this has compromised my position," Strange communicated urgently through the connection. "Even as an undercover agent, I'll struggle to reintegrate after this."

"What are you afraid of?" replied Grindelwald, invisible within the pocket dimension of the sling ring. "With enough courage, one could conquer worlds with nothing but a broken bowl!"

"Don't forget, your cover is blown. You must now secure David's trust completely. Otherwise, once your usefulness expires, you'll never penetrate the fallen sorcerers' inner circle. You've already destroyed Lockhart's standing."

"I understand," Strange responded, "but couldn't we moderate the rhetoric? These words make me a mortal enemy of Kamar-Taj. Any Master hearing them would despise me forever."

"Why worry? Lockhart assigned you to me, and I take responsibility for your safety," Grindelwald assured him. "Follow my instructions exactly, and I'll return you to the London Sanctum in glory. You might even emerge a hero."

"But—"

"Enough. We're committed now. Whatever grievances you harbor, keep them private and stick to the plan."

Grindelwald's tone brooked no argument. Had Strange been his direct subordinate, the Dark Lord would have taught him a harsh lesson about obedience.

The inflammatory rhetoric Strange had just delivered wasn't improvised—it represented the distilled essence of Grindelwald's philosophy, refined through decades of magical revolution. With sufficient power behind these ideas, one could dismantle Kamar-Taj entirely and rebuild a new magical order in its place.

Grindelwald understood perfectly the risks and repercussions such ideology carried. For the greater good—the concept he had created and systematized—such risks were acceptable. His philosophy had previously sparked a global wizarding war; this latest iteration could potentially cause equal upheaval if deployed effectively.

The fallen sorcerers made perfect test subjects. Doomed to eventual defeat, they could serve as an experimental platform for his evolving ideology before their inevitable demise.

Lockhart, observing silently, couldn't help but admire Grindelwald's efficiency. Mere months in this new reality, and the Dark Lord had already formulated a seductive, revolutionary doctrine. Had Grindelwald been the one to travel through time initially, Kamar-Taj would likely already be fractured into opposing factions.

Despite these thoughts, Lockhart's expression remained impassive as he uttered a simple response: "Smooth tongue!"

Without further warning, he slashed his wand through the air.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of sickly green light erupted from his wand, streaking toward Strange with lethal intent.

From David's perspective, Strange's rhetoric had clearly provoked Lockhart into murderous action. His estimation of Strange's value increased dramatically in that moment.

Seeing the killing curse approaching, David moved his fingers in a subtle gesture. Instantly, a barrier of dark amber energy materialized before them.

BOOM!

The lethal spell struck with concussive force. Hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the defensive barrier, but it held. Drawing upon the power of the Dusk Dimension, David quickly repaired the cracks, stabilizing their protection.

"Lockhart," Strange called out, outwardly calm despite his internal panic, "how useless to call you 'Master' now. I never expected you to attack your own student so treacherously."

"When reason fails, you resort immediately to violence. What kind of teacher does that make you?"

As he finished taunting Lockhart, Strange felt an unexpected satisfaction. There was something cathartic about denouncing his supposed mentor.

Grindelwald, concealed within the sling ring's dimensional pocket, shared Strange's pleasure. Initially, he had resented this assignment—the great Dark Lord reduced to playing glorified babysitter for Strange. It felt beneath his dignity. However, the contract with Lockhart had left him little choice in the matter.

At least he could enjoy watching Lockhart endure some humiliation in the process.

Lockhart's eyebrows rose slightly, as if sensing Grindelwald's private amusement. Nevertheless, Strange's accusation—"unworthy of being a teacher"—stung unexpectedly deep.

Throughout both his lives—first as a university professor and now as a master of mystic arts—Lockhart had prided himself on his mentorship. He had cultivated talented students across multiple realities. To have his teaching abilities questioned so dismissively provoked genuine anger.

Without hesitation, he flicked his wand again. The night air shimmered as countless blades of prismatic energy materialized above them. With a downward sweep of his wand, the magical weapons rained down upon David and Strange—a lethal barrage that conveyed Lockhart's intent to end this confrontation permanently.

David, whose antagonistic history with Lockhart stretched back to his earliest days at Kamar-Taj, savored every moment of the exchange. Hearing Strange mock his longtime nemesis felt like an unexpected treat—like ice cream on the hottest summer day.

"Haha!" David laughed aloud. "Lockhart, it seems you truly are worthless as a teacher!"