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Chapter 338: Professor Bablin
The students gathered in front of the classroom display case didn’t notice an extra figure had appeared at the entrance. They were instead leaning in with curiosity, examining the items on display.
For instance, in the third compartment sat a gemstone necklace—golden willow leaves strung together, each linking a pendant the size of an eye. Set with a ring of diamonds, its center bore a flawless red gemstone, bright and radiant despite the passage of time. It sparkled with an almost unbearable brilliance.
Unfortunately, the necklace was sealed beneath a glass dome—unreachable.
Lower down, a curved white wand rested on the shelf, etched with fine magical script. It exuded an aura of mystery. What struck everyone as odd was that the wand was left completely unprotected, sitting there openly, as if daring someone to touch it.
Malfoy, recalling his father’s own wand, instinctively reached for it.
“If I were you,” a cold voice cut in from behind, “I wouldn’t touch it.”
Malfoy jumped, startled, and spun around.
Standing there was a woman—her fiery red hair loosely tied at the back, a coffee-colored Hogwarts hat perched on her head. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and her brown wizard robes bore a thin golden chain, its end attached to a golden pocket watch.
She looked impossible to age. Her face appeared youthful, perhaps only in her early twenties, yet her eyes and bearing carried the weight of someone the same age as Professor McGonagall.
She glanced down at Malfoy, her expression indifferent. “That wand is inscribed with the magical script of malice. Anyone who touches it will fall gravely ill within days. Class begins now—sit down.”
Malfoy turned—already, the other students had scattered and taken their seats. He hurried to find an empty chair and sat down.
“I am Professor Bathsheba Bablin,” she said, opening her pocket watch. “You took seven minutes and fifty-three seconds to enter. The one who solved my riddle was Wade Gray—last to arrive, yet he solved it in thirty-seven seconds.”
She looked directly at Wade. “Do you know the origin of that quote?”
“Yes, Professor,” Wade replied.
“The rumor says Odin discovered the runic script while hanging from the world tree. The poet recorded his own account—
He sacrificed himself, hung on a tree unknown to men,
No bread to feed him, no drop of water to quench his thirst.
He looked down and gathered the runes,
Crying out as they fell from the boughs.
And the poem also says—
Each rune holds multiple meanings; their depths are profound.
Great in power, divine in might—
Created by the god of wisdom.”
“Excellent,” Professor Bablin said, giving a slight nod. Her lips, barely visible, seemed to lift the tiniest fraction. Yet her expression remained unchanged—she was clearly not one to smile easily.
“Wade Gray.”
“Yes, Professor.”
“From now on, you are forbidden from solving the door puzzles. That is the task of the other students.”
The announcement brought grimaces from the class. Hermione, however, wore an eager, expectant look.
“Among the ancient magical texts that have survived to this day,” Professor Bablin continued, “there are five major systems:
The oracle bones of the East,
The seal script of the Indus Valley,
The cuneiform of the ancient Mesopotamians,
The sacred hieroglyphs of Egypt,
And here, on this land—the Runic Script.
This is what we call Ancient Runes.”
“You will learn to write, read, and translate Runic Script in my class. As Wade just said, these texts are sacred—channels of magic and divine revelation, imbued with mystery and power.”
“Those who master Runic Script will gain greater magical ability and wisdom.”
“But if you find this course too difficult, or if you’re unwilling to memorize the foundational sound tables and symbol sets, I advise you to drop this class now. Don’t waste our time.”
“I only accept the most brilliant and diligent students.”
Truth be told, Wade’s class was unlike the usual bunch who blindly picked courses. These students had known the difficulty of Ancient Runes before enrolling. Their decision to choose it showed confidence in their own intellect.
Now, hearing the professor’s words, their faces lit up with a fierce determination—each one eager to prove themselves.
Professor Bablin raised her wand and tapped the display case. A palm-sized wooden panel flipped in midair, soaring to the center of the room before rapidly expanding to half a human height. A single black symbol glowed on its surface.
Then, the symbol began to pulse—its color shifting to a deep, burning red, like flame. The classroom’s temperature seemed to rise by a few degrees.
“This is kenaz,” said Professor Bablin. “It symbolizes light, fire, and sacred wisdom. It also represents kindness, strength, healing, and warmth. Why aren’t you writing this down?”
Instantly, the sound of pages flipping and quills scratching filled the room.
“Individual runes have complex meanings. Their true significance depends on context—their position and the surrounding text. Let’s examine a few examples…”
After a brief introduction, Professor Bablin plunged straight into the core material—no wasted words, just dense, concentrated knowledge.
The students were overwhelmed.
At first, someone would glance up at the glowing wooden panel out of curiosity. But soon, every student was frantically scribbling notes, filling their parchment with frantic writing.
Only Wade remained calm.
After all, he had memorized the entire Runic Dictionary. The professor’s content was mostly familiar—things he’d already studied and used countless times. Understanding it wasn’t a challenge.
But that didn’t mean Ancient Runes was meaningless to him.
Previously, his knowledge had been self-taught. Professor Mor had touched on runes briefly during alchemy lessons—only when relevant, never systematically. There were gaps, blind spots.
Professor Bablin, however, offered deep explanations, expanded on material beyond the textbook, and connected runes to broader magical principles. Wade found himself gaining fresh insights—not just into runes, but into alchemy and spellwork as well.
Meanwhile, most of the other students began sweating, their faces pale. Their eyes grew increasingly glazed, caught between clarity and confusion.
Finally, the bell rang.
Professor Bablin waved her wand. On the blackboard, several lines of Ancient Runes appeared.
“This is an ancient text. Translate it at home. That’s your assignment. Don’t worry—it’s simple. Nothing beyond what we covered today.”
With a flick of her wand, all the wooden panels slid back into their display cases. She tucked her wand away and walked out, her steps light and brisk.
A long silence followed.
Then, from somewhere in the classroom, a student suddenly burst into tears.
(End of Chapter)
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