Chapter 295: Genuine or Fake?
Wade stood silently beside Professor Mor, who gently urged him: “You don’t have to follow me, Wade. Feel free to explore on your own—just pick what catches your eye.”
Wade shook his head, saying nothing, and didn’t move. — After all, he was still just a child.
Professor Mor sighed inwardly, smiling softly, and no longer pressed him to go off alone.
As he examined the stone plaque etched with ancient text, the professor spoke in a low voice:
“Gul mentioned this piece during his preparations for the exhibition. This is one of them—a stone plaque unearthed from ancient Egypt, said to contain inscriptions personally carved by Democritus himself.”
“The magic of that era was primal and pure, far closer to the essence of magic, to the truth of nature, than anything we have today. Legends say there once existed technologies capable of elevating humans to a divine existence.”
“Like this stone plaque?” Wade asked.
Professor Mor chuckled. “Well, of course, we’d need to translate and study it thoroughly before we could know what’s actually written. But I can offer a preliminary interpretation—”
He leaned closer, studying the script intently, muttering under his breath, his fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air as he tried to decode the meaning.
The text on the plaque bore no resemblance to any known language. And as with ancient scripts, a single, simple symbol could carry immense, complex meaning.
Professor Mor struggled. After several minutes, he muttered, “What in Merlin’s name… this is strange…”
He stepped back, re-reading the inscription carefully.
“Strange… yes, it’s definitely strange… Could it be that the text was engraved incorrectly?”
He studied the plaque’s weathered surface, its deep time-worn cracks, then suddenly exhaled, a long, weary sigh.
“What’s wrong, Professor?” Wade asked.
“The text doesn’t match,” he replied, turning to Wade. “It’s likely Gul was deceived. This is a fake. Let’s go see the others.”
Wade glanced over. The Red-Cloaked Wizard stood beside the carved bronze mirror, smiling warmly as he chatted with Orlando from Beauxbatons. A group of young alchemists lingered nearby, gazing at the mirror with awed reverence.
The elevator that had brought them here was sealed shut. The floor display above it was dark, lifeless, no words or lights visible. Wade could see chain-like magical runes coiled around the elevator door—clearly, opening it would be far from simple.
Looking closer, he noticed something odd. The old portraits lining the walls, which had previously hung in peaceful slumber, now had half of them with eyes open, some just half-lidded, peering furtively. Even the statues had shifted slightly from their original positions.
Yet the alchemists in the hall remained utterly absorbed in the exhibits—none had noticed the changes.
Wade turned away, said nothing of what he’d seen, and followed Professor Mor toward the next display: the Thorned Wreath.
“This appears to be an ordinary wreath,” Professor Mor began, “but it’s believed to be connected to the legendary mage Merlin.”
“According to legend, the lake nymph Vivian trapped Merlin using her own Thorned Wreath, disorienting him completely, and imprisoned him forever within an oak tree.”
Suddenly, his voice faltered. He stared at the wreath behind the protective barrier, speechless for several long seconds.
The magical barrier prevented alchemists from using testing spells—no one could examine the artifacts up close, only observe with their eyes and imagine with their minds.
But to a master alchemist like Professor Mor, with decades of experience, there was a near-instinctive sense for alchemical artifacts. Even from the outside, he could feel something deeply wrong.
His fingers moved gently through the air, tracing the wreath’s shape through the barrier.
Then, the old man let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“This can’t be a two-thousand-year-old artifact… It’s more likely made just a few days ago!”
His expression hardened. “Wade, tell me—what kind of situation would cause a seasoned alchemist, someone with thirty or forty years in the field, to be fooled twice in a row?”
Wade spoke quietly: “A situation where someone is threatened… or controlled. Look, Professor—others are noticing too. We should proceed with caution.”
Professor Mor had initially believed Gul was risking his lifelong reputation in a desperate scam. He was furious.
But after hearing Wade’s words, he quickly calmed down.
Then, he too began to see it.
The younger alchemists still wandered, admiring the displays. But most of the older masters had furrowed brows, exchanging tense glances.
Only Orlando remained, still chatting with Gul about the legend of the dead god, subtly trying to negotiate a discount on the mirror.
An old wizard, his clothes wrinkled and face blotchy with age spots, swept through the room, scanning every exhibit in turn. Then he strode directly toward the pair.
“Gul!” he snapped, voice sharp with anger. “What kind of nonsense is this? Do you really think we’d be fooled by this garbage?”
It wasn’t so much the fake artifacts that enraged him—it was the sheer arrogance of someone inside believing such fakes could deceive him.
Gul paused, smiling politely. “What? Matthias, are you referring to something specific?”
“Everything!” the old wizard roared. “Take that so-called Mirror in front of you! It’s not a mirror at all!”
“What?!” Orlando gasped, lunging toward the barrier to peer closer.
Gul paused again, his smile unwavering. “Why, that mirror comes from an ancient source, said to allow communication with the dead. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to explain its history in detail…”
“I don’t care about fakes!” Matthias shouted. “Are you even listening to me?!”
Gul’s smile flickered slightly, then curved back up. “Are you doubting my professional expertise? I’ve been in this field for thirty-nine years. My friends, I swear—unless I’ve verified the authenticity beforehand, I would never have placed such a piece on display.”
Matthias didn’t respond. He stared at Gul, unblinking, then erupted in fury.
“Imperius Curse?! Who dares use the Imperius Curse on a man like me?!”
Before he could finish, a loud thud echoed through the hall.
One young wizard collapsed suddenly.
Then another. Then a third.
One by one, the alchemists fell—some crashing onto the stone platforms, blood streaming from head wounds.
Gul, however, continued smiling as if nothing had happened.
“…You can rest assured, I give you my word—every item I sell is genuine.”
Then a voice from within the crowd screamed:
“Run!”
(End of Chapter)
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