BSI Chapter 476, Section 485: The Closed Loop of Fate
Chapter 476, Section 485: The Closed Loop of Fate
Chapter 476, Section 485: The Closed Loop of Fate (Part 4)
The boy's voice echoed in Saruman and Kag's ears.
Absolutely clear.
Just then, as if sensing something, or perhaps just a coincidence, the figure crouching on the ground suddenly stopped moving, and then—slowly turned its head.
Time seemed to freeze at that moment.
Saruman and Kag's pupils suddenly contracted!
They saw a face.
A face that was extremely young, even somewhat childish. Fair skin, a high nose bridge, and lips with defined lines that carried a hint of coldness. But what was most striking were his eyes.
Those weren't the clear eyes a child should have, but rather like the deepest, coldest pool, reflecting no light whatsoever, only an unyielding composure as if it had endured endless years and death. A few strands of black hair fell across the other person's forehead, making their face appear almost eerily handsome, yet also as cold as a marble carving.
His excessively handsome face blended with the legendary aura emanating from him—a aura that seemed to merge seamlessly with the surrounding death and madness.
This created an extremely strange yet harmonious unity.
The other person, with those deep eyes, calmly and seemingly without any emotion, swept over the direction of the giant pillar where Saruman and Kag were hiding.
obviously.
The boy spotted Saruman and the others. In an instant, Saruman and Kag felt their blood freeze! It was as if they had been glanced at by a sleeping ancient beast; the oppressive feeling stemming from the immense difference in their life levels and the essence of their power made them hold their breath!
"Is this what a legend is!"
Young Saruman was filled with horror.
The shock brought by the boy's calm turn of his head and his bright eyes sweeping in the direction of the giant pillar was not limited to the young Saruman and Kag in the memory.
Inside the secret underground chamber of the African Ministry of Magic, a thousand years later.
The black-robed man, who had been engrossed in watching this ancient memory, was suddenly struck violently as if by an invisible bolt of lightning the moment Ian's face became clearly visible!
"This—how is this possible?!"
He gasped in shock, his voice filled with disbelief and horror, even drowning out the faint sounds echoing from the memory. The man from the Mysterious Affairs Department instinctively took a step forward, as if wanting to get closer to the illusory light and shadow, to see it more clearly, revealing the intensity of his inner turmoil.
His hood slipped slightly as he moved, revealing a distorted face covered in gray-green scales, twisted in extreme shock.
"We live in the world of wizards, child." The old Saruman turned to him with his empty eye sockets. Although he had no sight, he seemed to be able to clearly "perceive" the student's intense emotional fluctuations at this moment.
"teacher----"
The black-robed man's voice trembled noticeably as he stared intently at Ian's young, cold, and unusually handsome face in the memory. "This face—this clothes—he—he is—"
He suddenly recalled the scene he had glimpsed not long ago when he was chasing those who had escaped from the upper prison levels. In the fragments of the prisoners' memories, he saw a boy in a black robe with a youthful face but cold eyes. In a way that they could not understand, he ignored all the ancient protection and spatial blockade and walked straight into the deepest forbidden zone of this ruin like a ghost. So he recognized the face!
At the time, he thought it was just some arrogant genius who didn't know his own limitations and had mastered some special ancient teleportation technique, or a collective hallucination caused by corruption and distortion.
He hunted down and executed all possible witnesses in an effort to completely bury this secret. But now—
In this forbidden memory belonging to a thousand years ago, and to the teacher's personal experience, he actually saw the same face!
The same youth! The same black robe! The same—that chilling, icy aura that sends shivers down your spine!
This is no coincidence!
"Teacher—this person—this person who just broke into the deepest part of the ruins we were guarding—" The man in black robes turned his head with difficulty, looking at the motionless elderly Saruman, his voice dry as sandpaper, "You—you saw him a thousand years ago?! How is that possible?!"
This completely overturned his understanding. How could a person traverse a thousand years without any change in appearance, clothing, or even temperament? Did this person live from a thousand years ago to the present? Or—is the timeline deep within these ruins truly so chaotic that it can connect different eras?
"Hmm." The blind Saruman slowly nodded in response to the students' horrified and confused questions. His wrinkled face showed no surprise, only a deep calm that seemed to come from knowing some cruel truth, and a hint of imperceptible weariness.
"Yes, I've seen him. The first time was at that moment, in the square in the center of R'lyeh, when he turned back to look at where we were hiding."
The old wizard's voice was calm and weathered.
"It was from the moment I saw him again that I began to vaguely understand some things—about this ruin, about time, about—where we might all be located."
The blind old wizard's voice was deep.
"You knew he would come? Today?" the man in black asked anxiously.
"No, it's not about knowing." Saruman shook his head slightly. "It's a kind of inference based on observation and logic. When you touch the edge of certain fields, when you personally experience the anomalies of time, when you repeatedly ponder every detail of those years—some guesses that were originally impossible will gradually become clear."
He paused, as if organizing his thoughts to explain an extremely complex concept.
"In R'lyeh, when I, as a young person, saw his face and felt the power emanating from him that was completely beyond the comprehension of my time, I was overwhelmed by confusion and shock. But later, after experiencing more, losing some things, and gaining some 'knowledge' that I shouldn't have received, I began to realize—"
His voice grew even lower, carrying a sense of helpless acceptance of fate.
"That's not a legend from ancient times. It's a visitor from the other side."
R'lyeh, or rather the ruins themselves, has an "abnormal," "folded" spatiotemporal structure. It doesn't simply connect the past or the future, but under certain specific conditions, it forms a transient—closed loop.
"Closed loop?" The man in black robes repeated the word, feeling that his thoughts were not quite keeping up.
"A Möbius strip in time," Saruman used a more vivid metaphor, "the beginning and the end are connected, cause and effect are intertwined. The young me saw him in R'lyeh, which is an effect."
And yet, a thousand years later, he stumbled upon this place, somehow returning to R'lyeh—perhaps this is the cause. Or perhaps, cause and effect are inherently one, occurring simultaneously.
The man in black robes felt dizzy and disoriented. Time magic was one of the most profound and forbidden realms, and Saruman's description was far beyond his comprehension. "So—you didn't stop him from entering the deepest part because—you foresaw it? You believe his arrival was—predestined?"
"It wasn't exactly predictable," Saruman said with a self-deprecating, bitter smile. "It was more of a kind of passive acceptance after being powerless to change anything. When I sensed his arrival through my 'mind's eye,' when I sensed that same, yet more refined and profound, aura of death emanating from him, exactly as I remembered, I knew that stopping him was futile, and perhaps even—a mistake."
His empty eye sockets seemed to be looking into the distant past, or perhaps staring at the wall of a secret room so close at hand.
"Furthermore, a legend who could single-handedly wipe out countless ancient remnants in a place like R'lyeh—a person who left such a profound mark a thousand years ago, and then reappears in the same form a thousand years later—"
"Should I, with my crippled body, stop him?" Saruman shook his head.
His tone carried a deep sense of awe and a complex emotion that was difficult to describe.
"Moreover, I understand some things better now than I did back then. Fifteen years old—ah, a legend at fifteen. Back then, I wondered if he used some secret method to stay young; now—I think I understand. For some beings, age is never a measure of power."
The word "impossible" is inherently irrelevant to them.
Saruman's spirit was indeed different from when he was young. That's understandable; even the man in the black robes was shocked.
"Fifteen years old—a legend—" the man in black robes murmured repeatedly. Even though he had long been corrupted and his willpower was far stronger than that of ordinary people, he couldn't help but feel a tremor and a sense of absurdity from the depths of his soul.
He guarded this secret, fought against pollution, and knew all too well the price that would be paid to make even the slightest progress on this path.
And that person, at the mere age of fifteen, actually reached the legendary realm that countless wizards dreamed of, and even thought to be long gone?!
"In this day and age—with the tides of magic waning and legendary proofs practically becoming myths—how could such a thing possibly still be born—" The man in black robes still couldn't accept it.
"There are always some beings who are different, child." Saruman's voice carried a calmness born of experience, as if stating a fundamental law of the universe.
"The rules of the world may be ironclad for most people, but for a very few individuals, those rules are toys that can be broken, surpassed, and even redefined." The word "impossible" may have lost its meaning from the moment they were born.
"Our knowledge, our experience, seem so pale and powerless in the face of true anomalies." The old wizard's words carried a hint of resignation that the black-robed man had never heard before. The ambitious, confident genius in his youth, who was able to unravel all mysteries, seemed to have had his spirit somewhat worn down after experiencing a thousand years, the fall of his dearest friend, his own sacrifice, and witnessing horrors beyond comprehension.
Instead, there is a deeper, more helpless kind of clarity.
"Is that so?"
The man in black remained silent for a long time, digesting this astonishing information.
Looking at his teacher's blind yet seemingly all-seeing face, a heavier question, more concerned with the meaning of their own existence, surfaced in his mind.
"Teacher—" The black-robed man's voice was hoarse, "If—if his arrival is part of this time loop, if it's destined—then what about us? We, the Bureau of Mysteries, have guarded this place for generations, cleansing away the pollution, keeping secrets, even—like me, ultimately becoming like this—is our purpose merely to ensure, at this moment, that he can successfully 'return' to the past? Return to the R'lyeh of your memories?"
This question goes straight to the heart, and is full of doubts about the value of one's own destiny.
Saruman gazed at the student silently for a long time before slowly nodding and then shaking his head.
"Yes and no." His answer carried a mystical meaning. "Ensuring the integrity of this cycle, letting what is meant to happen happen, is perhaps part of our duty, a necessity to maintain a fragile balance. But—" He changed the subject, and a faint glimmer seemed to appear in his empty eye sockets.
"Fate may exist, but it is by no means immutable. A perfect, seamless closed loop means endless repetition and despair. But what if a variable is inserted at some point? A variable that shouldn't exist in the first place, or whose impact has been underestimated?"
"A variable?" The man in black robes perked up.
"I have devoted my entire life to studying those sealed knowledge, exploring the mysteries of time, and even at the cost of touching taboos and sacrificing my soul—not just to prolong my life or simply to protect secrets." Saruman's voice was deep and firm, as if he were suppressing some kind of obsession that had accumulated over thousands of years.
"I'm searching, or rather, I'm trying to create" that variable. Someone or something that might tear a crack in this seemingly predetermined cycle, bringing different possibilities.
The elderly Saruman was extremely serious.
"What variable is it?" the man in black asked urgently, feeling as if he had touched upon his teacher's deepest secret.
Saruman did not answer directly.
He merely raised his withered hand slightly, and the eerie blue magical light at his fingertips became active again, swaying gently as it pointed towards the unfinished memory.
"Read it first, child," the old wizard's voice returned to calm.
"After seeing everything that happened back then, after seeing that closed loop," what role did we play, what price did we pay—then perhaps you will understand what I mean by "variable," and—why I need you, and everything you are doing now.
His words carried an undeniable air, yet also a deep sense of anticipation. The man in black took a deep breath, forcing himself to suppress the countless questions churning within him. He knew the answer lay at the end of that yet-to-be-revealed memory. He turned his gaze back to the pale blue light of the memory floating in the void.
In the scene, Ian had turned his head away, seemingly no longer interested in the distant spy, and refocused his attention on the complex magic circle on the ground. Meanwhile, the young Saruman and Kag remained hidden behind the giant pillar, holding their breath and not daring to make the slightest move.