"You know you can’t defeat me, I am determined to go." Ian wasn’t threatening, just stating a fact, showing the Priest his resolve to venture into the Netherworld.
The Priest indeed saw this; he wasn’t annoyed, just took a moment to look Ian up and down with a hint of regret flashing in his eyes, then slowly opened his mouth to question.
"Are you truly determined to go?"
He sighed as he spoke.
"Of course."
Ian’s tone was light, as if discussing what to have for dinner.
"Do you really understand what you’re doing?" The Priest’s tone carried another trace of advice, "The Netherworld isn’t what you imagine. It’s not a river, a bridge, or a judgment court. It’s the final point of death, a prison for souls. Once you enter, there’s no way back; it’s not the secret realm you think it is."
This advice was the Priest’s last act of kindness.
He watched Ian nod.
The Priest also let out a deep sigh.
"Three trials, whoever passes may gain entry into the Netherworld." As he spoke, he turned around and gestured "follow me."
Under the Priest’s guidance,
Ian walked through the temple’s corridors.
The walls were carved with glyphs of Ancient Egypt and totems of the God of Death. The air was filled with the scent of burning incense, as if each step was taken on the road to death. The murals on either side depicted the judgment path of the dead—the heart was placed on a scale for weighing, watched coldly by Anubis.
While Sirius held a scepter, deciding the fate of souls.
Eventually, they reached the deepest part of the temple.
A massive golden door stood before them, embedded with obsidian and gold foil, carved with statues of Anubis and images of the Gate of the Underworld.
The door was tightly shut.
It appeared both mysterious and majestic.
[One who steps through this door must face three trials—wisdom, courage, death.]
The Priest stepped aside.
"If you succeed, you may enter the Netherworld. If you fail..."
He didn’t finish, but the implication was clear.
Death.
Ian chuckled lightly, "Sounds fair."
Without hesitation, he pushed open the golden door.
Beyond the door was endless darkness, with only a bronze lamp suspended in the void, illuminating the path ahead. The air was filled with the mixed scent of decay and death.
It felt as though the entire space belonged to another dimension. Ian slowly walked in, while the door behind him closed the moment he entered, completely isolating him from the real world. He knew he had already embarked on a path of no return, and at the same time, he understood that he was a true Wizard, never fearing the unknown.
Moving forward.
The flame flickered, casting light on a decaying wooden table. Seated behind it was a withered old man, his eyes gouged out and hollow sockets filled with black sand flowing out.
"Living one, why have you come?"
"To borrow an oar."
This question and answer had a style very much reminiscent of Ancient Dragon, at least in Ian’s view, although maybe in the eerie surroundings it seemed more like a dark Ancient Dragon style.
"Ah, so you’ve come out of greed... Very well, you need to answer my question, living one." The old man’s voice seemed to come from deep below the earth, carrying a decaying aura.
"If you answer incorrectly, your eyes will belong to me." He was like Ravenclaw’s door knocker, except this one carried a wager requiring Ian to answer his question.
Ian raised an eyebrow.
"Go ahead."
He wasn’t afraid of answering wrongly.
After all, he could just stall.
The withered old man did not notice the little Wizard’s attitude; he merely observed Ian, slowly speaking: "What never perishes yet never existed?"
The question was very philosophical.
But it didn’t stump Ian.
Ian almost laughed because he was Hogwarts’ great philosopher.
"The future."
This answer didn’t even require thinking; it popped right out of his mind. It was the perfect answer, and the old man paused in silence, then nodded.
"Trial of Wisdom, passed."
The flame from the bronze lamp suddenly surged, illuminating the second gateway—a portal formed from bones, with a still-pulsing heart hanging above the arch.
Passing through the bone gate, hot air came rushing in.
"It’s really hot." Before Ian was a sea of fire, within the red flames countless souls twistedly reached out hands, howling as they tried to grab any who entered.
"Cross the sea of fire, living one." From within the flames came a deep voice, "If you flinch, you’ll burn forever."
Ian glanced at the fire sea, smirked.
"Is that all?"
He took out a bottle of Magic Potion from his Money Bag.
Gave it a vigorous shake.
"Do you Egyptians misunderstand what ’trial’ means?" Ian didn’t expect to encounter tactics played by Snape here; to a Master of Magic Potions, he feared these trials the least. The cork popped open, and black mist sprayed forth; the moment it touched the flames, the fire sea receded like a tide, extinguishing.
Souls shrieked, turning to smoke and dissipating.
The voice in the void paused for a moment, then reluctantly announced.
"Trial of Courage, passed."
This clearly was a form of cheating, but daring to cheat could also be a form of courage, and Ian had passed the trial; a third gate emerged from the ashes.
This was a pitch-black stone door, its surface carved with struggling human faces.
Ian moved forward.
The stone door opened automatically, revealing a narrow stone chamber within. In the center rested a golden coffin, the lid half-open, the interior black as ink, surrounded by pure darkness with nothing else.
The entire space couldn’t even distinguish between sky and earth.
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