"..."
"...What did you just say?"
William lifted the metal helm off his head, crossing his hands atop Norbert. At this moment, the Fire Dragon was already roaring and flapping its wings, having flown into mid-air, as both man and dragon surveyed the small figures on the ground below – indeed, William could read lips, but the guy on the ground was radiating light, and William didn't have super-hearing abilities, so he really couldn't tell what the other person was saying.
Luckily, the guy on the ground seemed to have this passive ability, he became aware of it, and his figure began to rise –
Yes, probably using some kind of brilliant flying magic, he simply yanked himself up from the ground.
Ares hovered in mid-air, the pale gray rain curtain forming a clear divide between the two. Rain still couldn't touch William at all, yet it slowly streamed over Ares's bare skin, which emitted a renewed bronze glow. One had to admit, this guy did have a good physique, the molten gold-like fury in the eyes of men had already subsided, replaced by a deep scrutiny.
"I said—"
This time, Ares's voice rolled like distant thunder, penetrating the rainy curtain and clearly reaching William's ears, "Inheritor, your strength is commendable. Hermes, that traitor, doesn't always exaggerate... I recognize you now." He paused, the layer of twisted fog on his face slowly dissipating to reveal a well-defined face.
Upon hearing this, William raised an eyebrow, his redwood wand casually twirling between his fingers, the remaining electric light crackling from the tip, "Realizing you can't beat me, you plan to talk your way through... All you old white men always seem to pull this kind of stunt? ...Never mind, I'm in a good mood today, go ahead and say whatever you want quickly."
Though not actually in a good mood, he still needed to talk things over, William had no intention of making a move again.
Speaking, his gaze swept over Helbo, still "unconscious" in the mud, "What? Based on your earlier reference to him, are you playing... a large-scale role-playing game?"
Ares's golden eyes showed no fluctuation, seemingly ignoring the sarcasm in William's words, instead continuing his "self-dialogue," "Inheritor—you're holding onto a power that shouldn't exist in this world, its presence will only lead to endless conflicts—"
"Hey hey hey—OOC much? A little disrespectful to the character, aren't you the War God? Isn't war a good thing for you?"
William interrupted loudly, preventing the topic from falling bizarrely into the other's rhythm, simultaneously understanding something—what the other person referred to as power was definitely not that damned Pendant Box, no matter how almighty Voldemort was, he couldn't possibly cause a world-scale conflict—
After all, he's hardly some peerless beauty renowned across the globe...
Then, given the power he held in his hand, which was strong and might result in conflict (at least currently attracting a bunch of ancient Greek flies), aligning these pieces back to the old issue, Isadora's inheritance—the "Secret Vault" brimming with emotional energy from a vast majority of Scotland's Wizards and Muggles.
Sure enough, that's what they're after again.
Why then, collect Voldemort's Soul Artifacts? Just to annoy me? Or perhaps to divert attention?
But if that were the case, this "War God" shouldn't be here when William appeared—of course, ignoring the possibility of some fool concocting something cliché like "War God Ares has no brains, simply itching to defy plans and fight"...
So, further guidance is needed...
Having decided, William waved the Pendant Box resting in his palm, "Power beyond the mundane? Really talking about this thing? A soul shattered into countless pieces having such an effect? Are Soul Artifacts truly rare objects?"
"—It's not this."
Ares shook his head, surprisingly straightforwardly dismissing William's "guess," "A pitiful soul fragment, digging its own grave without knowing, if not for its peculiarity, it wouldn't even have the chance to participate in the plan—" The corners of the man's mouth tugged into an imperceptible curve.
"Peculiarity?"
William didn't care about the truth of his words, planning to go along nonetheless, appearing quite genuinely curious (and also truly curious), "What's peculiar about this guy? Is lacking a nose such a rarity among you?"
Naturally, that was pure mockery; aside from the remnant soul within Nagini and Voldemort himself, all currently known Voldemort remnants possess noses and hair.
"...Join us."
Ares didn't follow William's rhythm further, refusing to answer subsequent queries, instead slightly opening his arms, the long spear in his hand transforming into radiance and vanishing, "Bring along your power and loyalty, we'll bestow upon you the mantle of eternal life—" Speaking, his tone, though indifferent, couldn't hide the satisfaction within his words.
Eternal life, a topic forever replete with temptation, he believed no mortal could resist such allure...
"Is that all?"
"...You might not understand, what I mean by eternal life is not that wretched soul desecration just to barely linger in this world, it's a kind of perfect and fulfilling..."
"So, what then?"
William squinted, remaining unshaken—what nonsense, a perfect eternal life, if these "Ancient Greek Gods" truly held such technology, then how could the vile Helbo, allegedly Hermes, messenger of the Gods, deity of commerce, husbandry, and deceit, invent "Soul Artifacts" as such.
If perfect eternal life were achievable, where did these guys disappear to in modern times—he didn't believe these people who postured as Gods in ancient tribal times, harvesting beliefs and wealth, could remain quiet as a startled flock of quail for the subsequent near millennia.
There's definitely a story behind this.
"...You'll regret it."
Ares squinted, the golden light squeezed into a slit, then he seemed intent on simply leaving a harsh line, his figure descending, lifting Helbo from the ground—
"Who said you could leave?"
And from behind, William locked his visor, countless golden streams arose behind him, turning into statues etched with Magic Patterns, enclosing Ares layer upon layer in the center, the dull sound of stone armor colliding causing a sense of panic, "Don't you love fighting? Coincidentally, I also enjoy fulfilling the role of a host—"
...
Half an hour later, Dumbledore finally arrived at the battlefield.
The elderly gentleman's crescent-shaped glasses sprinkled with water droplets, the Muggle vagrant still trailing him. The elder adjusted his glasses, then turned to glance at the chaotic battlefield, his gaze ultimately focusing on the severed arm within the mud at the center, emitting a faint golden glow even separated from its owner—
"What do you want to say?"
William recognized the old man's hesitation.
"...You really call this a Wizard duel?"
After a brief silence, Dumbledore spoke quietly.
"Don't worry, Principal, I absolutely won't teach any of this during classes—"
"...I actually hope you teach these... then I could audit a few lessons."