My Classmate at Hogwarts is Voldemort Chapter 600

"Have you ever seen fate? Wertning by the stream."

Nelson heard the sound of a babbling stream, opened his eyes, and found himself sitting on a high-backed chair made of the twisted roots of an ancient tree, exactly the same shape as the pointer throne on top of Alexander, but this green leaf The seats that surround, sprout and old roots bring a completely different feeling. Compared with the sharpness of the hour hand and the sense of urgency brought by time, this verdant vitality presents an ancient and long-standing feeling. Temperament, even the mood of Nelson who was sitting on it became slow and unhurried.

This is where? Nelson had never been to or heard of a place like this, which was suffocatingly peaceful compared to the frenzied battlefields of not so long ago.

Nelson wanted to stand up from the chair, but his body seemed to be stuck to these tree roots and it was difficult to move. He looked intently, and the ropes made of laurel and thorns were fastened around him. On his arms, even his chest was bound by a thick rope, and the sharp thorns of the thorns penetrated deeply into his body as he struggled, but he did not feel pain, but felt a surge of laurels. The fragrance was spreading from his heart to the depths of consciousness.

The wand went somewhere, and the black robe was replaced with a trench coat, the one he often wore during the Paris Expo. Nelson still didn't pay attention to the surrounding environment, and let the question just now linger in the distant forest. Drifting slowly, with an ancient and clumsy accent and a gentle female voice, it is the easiest combination to gain a good impression.

He lowered his head and stared at the rope that was entangled in his hands. There was a "thread" on each side, a thorn and a laurel. His corner of the eye swept across the sparkling stream around him, and the wrist of his left hand twisted flexibly. , pinch the protruding thorns and break it, the relatively hard wood is more suitable for casting magic than the soft rattan.

Nelson raised his head sharply, his eyes fixed firmly on the figure standing against the tree in the shadow of the forest ahead. In the reflection of the stream, he saw the shadow there, and the next second, a red beam shot straight at the man In the direction he was standing, the cane that bound him was also cut off by invisible blades. He narrowed his eyes, and crossed his hands to move his muscles and bones, looking at the position where he was hit by the spell.

The light of the Stunning Charm illuminated the dark corner under the shade of the tree, and a woman dressed in simple linen was looking at him with a smile. Her eyes were like sculptures, just a pure white with a soft glow. The laurel-tanned corset simply outlines the body's lines, as if it were pure and not fully conforming to its standard. The cumbersome long sleeves and layers of cloth have been abandoned. There is no decoration on the whole body, except for the Belt made of laurel.

There was a big hole in her chest, exactly where Nelson's spell had just hit. The edge of the hole was mottled and rough like marble, but Nelson couldn't see her internal organs through the big hole, and not a single drop of blood came out. , On the contrary, there is a cloud of misty smoke rolling in it, which will soon fill the edge of the hole.

Nelson frowned, he recognized this woman, the ancient Greek priestess Pythia, and the funny thing was that she was wearing the same version of the sculpture downstairs in the Nurmengard Library.

"A boring trick."

Nelson waved the thorns in his hand, and the ancient tree beside him slowly grew his arms under the influence of Transfiguration. A slender handle extended from his palm, wrapped around scattered stone flakes, a primitive but sharp The stone axe was quickly polished and formed, and the tree man took its heavy and slow steps, slashing in the forest, and the towering ancient trees collapsed with a bang, and the raised sand and sawdust blocked the sight of the two of them. , Nelson only saw Pitia smile and was swallowed by the flying leaves.

He wrinkled his nose, the smell of wood was very real, and even the wood chips that flew to his face gave off a strong smell. He squeezed a handful of wood chips and grinded them at his fingertips. The real touch didn't feel like magic at all. surroundings.

Under the ruthless "slaughter" of the tree people to the same kind, this dense virgin forest was quickly razed to the ground. The broken tree stump squatted on the ground silently, and the dense growth rings stared at Nelson like one eye. He hated it. This feeling of being surrounded by sight, simply took the initiative to walk towards the woman in the forest.

Through the smoke and dust flying across the wood chips and leaves, Nelson saw Pitia who was still standing there. The hole in her chest had completely healed, and a few drops of sweat had condensed on her smooth and plump skin. Seeing Nelson approaching, she stretched out. Take a shot, and point the torch in the direction behind him.

"Wiltning by the stream, have you seen fate?"

Nelson smiled. The torch in Pitia's hand was even the same as the sculpture downstairs in the Nurmengard Library, except that the blazing sun was missing. When she got closer, there was even something faintly visible on her face. fine lines of marble.

"I'm sorry, I haven't seen it." Nelson didn't look in the direction of her finger, the magic power had begun to condense at the tip of the thorns, he must hurry back to Berlin, back to reality, there is really no place to lose, " Do these trees know their fate is to be cut down?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Nelson handed out the thorns in his hand and pointed at Pythia. A powerful obstacle spell was shot at her, but Pythia just turned slightly sideways and avoided this deadly spell, the spell The bombardment hit the water, setting off a tall splash.

"Of course they know," Pitia still smiled, as if she could know Nelson's next move, appearing slightly away from the spell every time, and even guiding Nelson's wand towards him step by step Behind him, "The scene you thought was created by your own hands is the fate they cannot avoid."

She had circled Nelson for the most part. At this moment, Nelson's wand was pointing straight at her chest. Behind her was the seat where Nelson had first woken up. Flowers had already bloomed on the vines. Not far behind the seat, a wooden horse as tall as a building was sealing the last piece of wood—its mane.

Nelson's eyes jumped. He didn't even notice where the felled logs had gone. In his sight, a group of warriors in Mycenaean-style armor suddenly appeared, lining up to hold the felled logs. Walk in the direction of the Trojan.

They passed Nelson righteously, without looking at him, as if Nelson didn't exist at all, they were shouting old horns, and another group of craftsmen was sitting around the stream in the distance, cutting smaller pieces of wood , making arrows and throwing spears, they talked and laughed, but their eyes were full of tension and solemnity. A group of people dressed as priests were surrounding the place where Pitia had just stood, praying to an empty tree stump.

Nelson was a little puzzled by the behavior of these people, but soon, the wandering tree man came back, walked between him and Pitia, stopped upright on the top of the empty tree stump, and sat silently. Down and became the only tree still standing in this forest.

"Do you know where this is?" Pitia asked softly, like a teacher answering questions to a child, and if she really was the priestess, age-wise, speaking to Nelson like that would be a good idea. It's no exaggeration, "Of course you know, you who love history, why don't you know the magic trick that the wizard who followed the army after nine years of siege came up with?"

Nelson did not speak, he stared at the group of priests surrounding the tree, all of them holding a black thorn in their hands, the thorns pierced their palms, blood dripped into the ground, and the magic power nourished the ancient tree driven by them.

"Thorns were the favorite casting medium of wizards in that era. They have strong and sharp properties, and are suitable for manipulation and destruction. You made the right choice," Pitia turned and folded a section from the right side of the seat Laurel, "In times like these, the wood of protection and peace can only be carried on the poet's head."

Nelson had a feeling of being led by her nose, which made him feel a little uncomfortable, but instead of having an immediate attack, he tried harder to find loopholes in his surroundings.

He remembered the last time he saw a similar scene - on the train returning to school for the first grade, Nelson flipped through a wizard's "Iliad", in which an ancient Greek wizard used transfiguration to transform an ancient tree into a The story of treemen cutting wood, preparing warriors' weapons for attacking Troy and making Trojan horses.

He saw through the essence of this so-called "Pitia". She fabricated actual phantoms from her own memory and used his memory to complete the self-consistent story. Nelson has reason to believe that if he turns into a dragon in the next second Bite off that old tree, and Pitia will also package it as the story of Nidhogg eating the world tree.

"interesting."

Nelson didn't think she was bored anymore. He continued to attack Pythia with spells. Her dodges landed in the right place every time. He felt more and more familiar with this dodge. The fighting method of Alexander's computing power is unique and unique in the world, but it was easily reproduced by Pythia in front of him, and even reached the optimal solution of the prophet's battle in his imagination.

It seemed that she could not only use her own memory, but even her imagination that did not exist.

Thinking of this, Nelson closed his eyes and recited the incantation in his mouth, and every thorn of the thorns on his fingertips burst into a magical glow.

"Thunderbolt explosion."

He didn't even know where a spell cast like this would fly, would Pythia know?

After the aftermath of the explosion dissipated, he opened his eyes and smiled at Pitia, whose half body was blown into mist. She held the laurel that had just been folded over her shoulders, and her body began to slowly recover. Obviously, she And did not dodge this random bombardment of fire coverage.

"A poor imitation." Nelson shook his head. He raised his wand and was ready to completely destroy this place. Before he started, he asked teasingly, "Is the fate of this place razed to the ground by me?"

"Why do you have such great hostility towards me? Wilttening by the brook," Pitia asked softly, "because I am a prophet bound by fate, and you are an unbeliever. Prophet? You take anger at me because of your resistance to fate, and you don't even want to talk to me calmly? You know, fate can often reveal deeper secrets. You love history so much, and you are so obsessed with the truth, how come you are so obsessed with truth? When you can talk to fate like this, but you shrink back?"

"Are you Destiny?" Nelson asked rhetorically. "A little more, Destiny is fine too."

"Of course I'm not," Pitia shook her head sadly. "If I were, I wouldn't be entangled in such a situation by fate."

"Do you have destiny in your hands? Do you have a say in it?"

"Of course I don't. Even a prophet who sees far away will inevitably be unable to distinguish between illusion and reality."

"Then why do you teach me?" A smile appeared on Nelson's face, "Your last prophecy was turned into a joke by me, what position do you have to say these pretentious words to me? People who can be manipulated by their own delusions, I only think you are a mental patient, as funny as that despicable Haierbo."

"This is our saddest fate~www.mtlnovel.com~Wiltning by the stream," Pitia's face showed deep sadness, but this expression was not her own, but Nelson's Many people I have met, the sadness in memory condenses on the same face, which makes people look worried, "The prophecy cannot be overturned."

"I'm very busy, if it's normal, I might be able to take the time to chat with you, no matter who you are or what, if you're just trying to prove that the **** prophecy about Auschwitz is unshakable, then you've already It's successful, you go to that empty city to find the number of lives that meet the standard," Nelson was a little annoyed, he felt that he wasted a long time just to prove that he had imagined a fool, which made him even more annoyed at the spellcaster, "I'm not interested in your belief, I don't believe it, you don't have to force me to believe it, I really don't want to make the hero who fought against Haierbo in my heart as a person who sucked the gas that seeped out of the Apollo temple and said Nonsense maniacs...I'm really busy right now, and when the Berlin thing is over, we can have a good in-depth exchange of these gimmicks."

"I used to say the same thing as you, but you didn't know it, Wilttening by the stream," Pitia continued flatly, not seeming to be offended by Nelson's rude words, "as you said, My prophecy comes from the gas seeping from the cracks in the rock below the Temple of Apollo, and you should know what that is."

Nelson raised his arm and waved his wand.

"That's right, that's the Fog of Lost, that rift that connects the world of the dead," Pitiya closed her eyes, letting the light engulf her, "as I left it to you, next, let's see Destiny."

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