“Congratulations to the challenger for completing the first trial. Please select the next trial.”
Immediately after, a pop-up window appeared before Raven once more:
[Trial of Magic – My magic will tear you to pieces (Cleared)]
[Trial of Might – I will tear you to pieces (Available)]
[Trial of Mind – Tear you to pieces (Available)]
This time, Raven selected the Trial of Might.
The scene shifted once again as the sound of sloshing water rose from beneath his feet.
With the churning of the waves, the floating island quickly transformed into a genuine island.
The surrounding weather was no longer bright noon; twilight bathed the land.
The island’s original jagged rocks sank beneath the surface, turning into a completely flat expanse of terrain.
The dueling platform dissolved, and a massive set of doors rose from beneath the earth.
A gigantic sixteen-foot figure stepped out from within the doorway.
[Ancient Magic Protector]
These sentries were typically constructed from magic-infused clay, standing anywhere from six to sixteen feet tall.
Each size was encased in a different metal plating, dividing them into several distinct tiers.
In his previous life, Raven had never been short on cash, so the construct he had crafted back then was a top-tier [Protector] clad in full Ohara Steel armor.
Covered in dark blue patterns, the intricate, full-coverage Ohara Steel plate armor not only gave it a stunning appearance but also granted the guardian immense magic resistance—it was even immune to crowd-control spells.
Raven had even added a self-repair charm to it.
Of course, for this particular run, the self-repair function was disabled.
Its entrance was grand and imposing; its exit was abrupt and hasty.
The intended combat flow was supposed to be quite complex.
The heir would need to hit the protector with spells empowered by Ancient Magic, forcing out the even more powerful ancient energy contained within its body, and then harness that energy to defeat the guardian.
It was designed to test the challenger’s combat instinct and tactical acumen.
That was how it was supposed to go, but Raven knew the exact weakness of this test model.
The original protector used its self-repair feature to circumvent the flaw of leaking ancient magic when damaged.
However, the protector here wasn’t the original version.
Its physical defense was surprisingly weak—not because the steel itself was brittle, but because Ohara Steel primarily mitigated magical damage.
Against pure physical force, it was just ordinary steel.
So Raven deployed the strongest physical attack in his arsenal.
Throwing [Chinese Chomping Cabbages].
These things, colloquially known as cabbages, were outrageously fierce once turned into magical plants.
The cabbages would peel back their outer leaves, expose the sharp fangs inside, and pounce toward the enemy at blinding speed by spinning and rolling.
If that were all, they would just be slightly meaner cabbages.
But don’t forget, Raven was wearing a gear set enchanted with the [Herbology III] trait.
With an exponential increase in power, even Ranrok’s dragon would be torn to shreds.
The protector before him lasted less than three seconds before six cabbages gnawed it into seven shattered statue pieces.
And so, the Trial of Might came to an anti-climactic end.
“Congratulations to the challenger for completing the Trial of Might. The Trial of Mind is about to begin.”
The synthesized voice rang out once more, offering Raven no choices this time.
In truth, the Trial of Mind was the most important assessment for inheriting the sanctuary.
Because to Raven, a so-called heir was far less important than the residents living within the base.
How could he hand over his dependable butler and beloved pets just for some playful trial?
And that was what the Trial of Mind was truly about.
It was an interview.
If the challenger failed to gain the approval of every single interviewer, the *Field Guide* itself would strip away all abilities and memories associated with it, sending the book back to the shelves of the Restricted Section to await its next destined master.
This was a rule Raven had set himself in the past.
Of course, it didn’t apply to him; he had long since reclaimed supreme authority using a back door he had left behind.
The space shifted, and Raven knew the interviewers were in position.
He wondered who the first one would be.
Opening his eyes, he was met with nightfall, as though standing inside the Forbidden Forest.
To his left and right stood statues of a male and a female wizard holding lanterns.
Stepping beyond the circle of amber light, he felt damp mud beneath his feet.
This was the [Nocturnal Swamp], used by Raven to house magical beasts that preferred dampness and nocturnal habits.
It was home to Giant Purple Toads, Mooncalves, Kneazles, and Thestrals.
Directly ahead stood a Thestral.
Thestrals were creatures visible only to those who had witnessed death.
Long ago, wizards had even viewed them as the incarnation of death itself.
They resembled skeletal, skin-draped horses.
Unlike other winged horses, Thestrals possessed a pair of massive bat-like wings and a head strikingly similar to a dragon’s.
Her mane fell to one side of her neck.
Male Thestrals had no manes; this was a female.
She was the lord of this marshland: Funeral Belle.
At that moment, Funeral Belle was resting on a relatively lush patch of meadow, sizing up the challenger.
A Thestral’s eyes were pale and pupil-less, capable of looking straight into the soul.
Her lazy posture vanished as Funeral Belle pushed up onto all four hooves and stood.
She wanted to step closer to verify.
After all, that person was dead, and the dead could not return to life—that was an absolute law, something her kind knew better than anyone.
So Raven took the initiative to spread his arms, stepping forward gently to embrace Funeral Belle’s neck, pressing his cheek against her dragon-like face, just as he always had.
“I’m back.”
A familiar intimacy, familiar words, a familiar soul, and that familiar scent of a phoenix.
Funeral Belle was especially sensitive to the scent of Phineas Nigellus Black; after all, the opposition between life and death was even more absolute than light and shadow.
She gave a gentle nudge with her snout, sending her master—now shrunk down to a twelve-year-old—toppling onto the meadow.
Then she tucked her hooves under and lay down, resting her chin on her master’s stomach to keep him from getting up.
Even if she was upset, she still wanted things to be like before.
Who knew when this irresponsible caretaker might run off again?
Funeral Belle wanted him to make up for everything he had owed her over the past hundred years first.
Raven scratched her neck, combing her mane with his fingers to untangle the matted clumps.
Funeral Belle knew her master was trying to coax her.
Every time he brushed her mane, he would follow it up with requests that displeased her.
“I’m back for good this time—I won’t be leaving anytime soon. Once the authentication here is completed, I can come over to play with you whenever I want.”
Funeral Belle remained impassive.
“Tomorrow, we’ll go for a ride. We’ll take a lap around the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest.”
Only then did Funeral Belle relent, swaying her head gently and uttering a growling purr of dissatisfaction before letting Raven stand up.
Before Raven could say another word, Funeral Belle caught her master off guard and gave him another nudge.
Raven tumbled down once more—only this time, it wasn’t onto the meadow of the Nocturnal Swamp.
The sky here was breaking with dawn; this was the [Dawn Pasture].
Back in the Nocturnal Swamp, Funeral Belle let out a soft snort.
Though Thestrals flew fast, living in the marshland woods meant they weren’t a species particularly fond of flying.
But covering such a wide area tomorrow meant she could hog her master all to herself for at least two hours—and that was what had truly convinced her.