The secret chamber within the Map Chamber... that stone room where even the air seemed to be soaked in pain, finally greeted a slightly different stir today from the usual.
The massive stone trough filled with the neon green, sizzling Magic Potion was emitting a deep and continuous buzzing sound.
The potion, as thick as jelly and exuding a pungent odor of sulfur and decayed Herbology, was rapidly draining through specially designed holes at the bottom of the stone trough, revealing the unusually smooth interior that had been submerged in potion for so long.
As the potion level continued to drop, a curled-up, almost inhuman form was exposed to the air.
That was Helbo—or more accurately, Hermes, the god of deceit and commerce, the earliest capitalist, and the messenger of the Gods.
However, at this moment, he resembled a heap of sludge stripped of bones and consciousness, slumped at the cold, curved bottom of the stone trough.
The black bandages on the man's body, adorned with glowing blue Runes, had long become tattered under the daily erosion of the Magic Potion, some places even fused with the flesh that had grown unknowingly, slightly rising and falling with his barely discernible breaths.
The thick black cloth covering his eyes had slipped halfway, barely hanging on his crooked nose, revealing one eye completely devoid of light, leaving only an endless hollow golden pupil, his gaze unfocused, staring at the ceiling above the stone trough, as if still trapped in that endless cycle of agony.
Until the image of William, accompanied by slow, deliberate footsteps, once again appeared at the edge of the stone trough, Helbo's body, seemingly withered to the point of losing all response, convulsed uncontrollably as if struck by a high-voltage current.
This seemed not to be resistance, nor vigilance, but a deeper reflex, deeply imprinted on the nerves and soul.
"It seems that this phase of the 'treatment' can come to a temporary halt, Mr. Helbo."
William's voice rang out steadily, lacking both mockery and sympathy, as if stating an objective fact unrelated to him, "I hope this rare period of 'recovery' will help you sort out some chaotic thoughts, understand a few issues... for example, your position..."
"Speak!! I'll speak!! I'll say everything!! I beg you! Let me speak, I'll say anything!!!"
Before William could finish speaking, Helbo wailed in a voice that tore at his vocal cords, mixed with sobs and terror.
He struggled like a fish stranded on a dry riverbed, desperately but futilely trying to lift his seemingly thousand-pound head, scar-patched limbs moving powerlessly on the smooth, cold bottom of the stone trough, the softened nails scratching against the stone but making no sound.
Clearly, his mind was completely in disarray, fear of William utterly overwhelming all reason and dignity, the cunning old creature, wise for nearly a millennium, no longer considered bargaining or trying to preserve a god's trump card, his sole thought now was to prevent himself from being thrown into that... that hellish place for which there aren't even suitable words.
No one knew his feelings over the past month. The potion concocted by some insane individual endlessly tormented his body, the unbearable sensation almost driving his already fragile soul insane within minutes, but—
That Demon (William) had foreseen this, leaving a Spirit Magic mark that would mend Helbo's 'wounds' every time he was on the brink of collapse.
Thus, he was clear-headed enough to experience yet again that cycle of torment, and because the wound healing was too effective, Helbo couldn't become numb to the suffering, which led to his mind teetering on the brink of collapse for a long time, so he had no thoughts of pretense now—
At all costs, he must appease this man!
"It was all me—I awakened those slumbering bastards, or rather, I extended their time of slumber, they should have awoken seven hundred years ago, but I, I altered the time—I swear, not many of those guys survived, absolutely not many!"
The man's words were somewhat incoherent, his voice distorted and out of tune due to urgency and fear, tears, snot, and drool uncontrollably running down, mixing together to messily cover the lower half of his face, then drip onto the cold, filthy bottom of the stone trough.
"The Secret Vault! It was for that Secret Vault!"
He began to emphasize his motive, seemingly unaware that William already knew about it, continuing to speak, "The energy aggregate that condenses countless emotions, mastering that level of power, I could repair the soul damaged by researching the Soul Artifact and then... dominate the Wizarding World, instead of lurking like a rat in the gutter."
"What a cliché reason."
Standing behind William, Grindelwald couldn't help but chime in. Noticing William's gaze, the old man continued with an unchanged expression, "Of course, I was a cliché person once too, don't say you've never considered such things—"
"I haven't."
"... So hypocritical."
On the other side, fearing that William might believe he was still hiding something, Helbo continued to ramble, his words pouring out like beans from a wide mouth jar, squeezing against each other, nearly impossible to hear or decipher—
"I told Hera, the Secret Vault could help her utterly kill that stud Zeus, that greedy woman indeed chose not to wake the Divine King, whom I couldn't handle, decided to use this power to defeat you instead—of course, I knew they couldn't achieve such a thing, those guys were just a cover, I guided them to find Voldemort's Soul Artifact, saying that its uniqueness could allow it to contain the Secret Vault's energy for a short time—they believed it."
"Of course," Helbo continued to add, "this plan was fake too, my true plan was to use the Soul Artifact's uniqueness to connect him with his original body, you kept that guy alive, right—I thought if I let him stir up trouble, he could get close to you—"
William remained standing calmly at the edge of the stone trough, his hands casually in his pockets, no emotion on his face, as if listening to a story that had nothing to do with him, even turning his head slightly to exchange a glance with Grindelwald, who had just taken off his hat, revealing his bald head.
Noticing that William showed no response to his 'heartfelt confession,' not even a trace of a smile, fear surged like a tide swiftly drowning the reason Helbo had left.
Hence, he frantically searched his memories for any remaining information, like a gambler driven to desperation, desperately trying to play his last chips to impress the dealer, even if it meant gaining a brief respite from the entrance to an infernal realm.
"... I also prepared some contingencies! Many, many contingencies! I know! I know direct confrontation is difficult to gain any benefit in your presence... your vigilance made it hard for Voldemort to cause commotion, hence distractions were needed, to cause you trouble in the most unexpected places! For instance... those Fire Dragons! Yes! Fire Dragons!"