Merlin stared with mounting horror at the pitch-black dimensional space churning ominously beneath his feet.
"What exactly is happening? Did you orchestrate this?" he demanded of the malevolent presence.
The swirling black mist drifted with almost mocking slowness within the imprisoning void, its movement seeming to simultaneously represent response and cruel mockery.
In material Britain, deep within the ancestral Sorent family manor, the current head of that ancient bloodline sat in deep meditation, systematically recovering his depleted magical strength.
As Erwin successfully drew the Sword of Gryffindor free from its ancient prison, the Sorent patriarch's eyes snapped open with sudden awareness.
His penetrating gaze seemed to pierce effortlessly through physical barriers and vast distances, somehow witnessing Erwin's crucial movements despite the impossible separation.
He shook his head slowly with resigned acceptance.
"So the ancient Divination proves correct after all. The Sorent family must follow this new current regardless of our preferences or historical allegiances."
Back in the abandoned temple, Erwin remained completely unaware of these distant observers and their reactions.
He maintained absolute focus exclusively on the Sword resting in his steady hands.
Concentrated blue magical energy flowed smoothly from his wand's tip, extending in visible streams toward the Sword of Gryffindor with clear purpose.
The ancient blade immediately began trembling violently in visceral response, actively resisting the intrusive foreign energy.
Erwin pressed down with increased force, his grip remaining absolutely firm and unyielding.
"You are holding power that does not legitimately belong to you," Erwin murmured, his inner voice remaining calm but carrying undeniable commanding authority. "You were artificially elevated to a height you cannot independently sustain. Now, it is time to return what was borrowed."
The Sword seemed to somehow understand his declaration, its violent vibrations intensifying dramatically as it desperately attempted to slip from his controlling grasp.
Erwin released a contemptuous snort.
The combined power of the stars and the warm, nurturing golden magic of Hufflepuff surged powerfully outward from his body, pressing down on the Sword with overwhelming force.
Instantly, the Sword of Gryffindor blazed with absolutely blinding light. Red and azure hues intertwined and shimmered in complex patterns across the blade's surface.
Erwin released a soft, knowing breath of understanding.
Only magic can effectively resist magic. Universal law.
The brilliant red and shimmering blue light were both clear manifestations of divine power—the highest form of magical energy.
The distinctive azure light unquestionably belonged to Merlin himself.
But the crimson radiance?
Erwin's heart skipped an excited beat as implications crystallized.
Could it genuinely be that King Arthur—a supposedly mere mortal human—somehow wielded divine power during his legendary reign?
It made perfect historical sense when examined logically. In the ancient legends, before Merlin finally arrived for the apocalyptic final battle, Arthur had successfully held defensive lines against Morgana's overwhelming dark armies for extended periods.
If Arthur genuinely hadn't possessed access to divine power, he could never possibly have withstood Morgana's devastating dark magic with purely mortal strength alone, regardless of courage or skill.
Truly worthy of the title "King," Erwin thought with profound respect.
Erwin's two accessible divine powers—starlight and earth—locked directly with the two opposing forces contained within the Sword, creating an immediate precarious stalemate.
Erwin's brow furrowed slightly with mild concern at the resistance.
His initial assessment had been fundamentally correct: this process would require substantial time investment.
However, ultimate failure wasn't a realistic possibility. If the original power owners—Merlin or King Arthur themselves—were physically present and actively resisting, they might have successfully held him off indefinitely.
But relying exclusively on the gradually fading lingering power trapped passively within the Sword simply wasn't remotely sufficient for sustained defense.
It was merely a question of time before Erwin systematically overwhelmed the residual resistance.
He deliberately calmed his breathing into a meditative rhythm and began the methodical process of eroding the opposing forces, the Sword of Gryffindor continuing to hum with increasingly desperate protest.
Within the Ravenclaw's Diadem resting on Erwin's brow, Lady Rowena Ravenclaw slept peacefully on in blissful ignorance, completely oblivious to the monumental struggle occurring in the external world.
She remained thoroughly unaware of Erwin's dramatic growth in power and capability—entirely unaware that he had progressed to a level genuinely capable of keeping her consciousness trapped in perpetual slumber indefinitely if he chose.
At Hogwarts, the Second Competition Task continued its chaotic progression.
Time passed steadily as Erwin maintained absolute focus on hiswork, his perception of the outside world fading almost completely as he immersed himself totally in the delicate process of controlling and redirecting the conflicting magical energies.
Back at the castle, after a full day of frantic development and resource gathering, all four competing school delegations had successfully acquired various items to replenish their depleted strength and provide tactical advantages.
As the sun rose on the competition's second day, the Cavendish family team officially entered the arena as planned.
In the Forbidden Forest's depths, they encountered the complete ten-member Beauxbatons group almost immediately.
The resulting confrontation proved a absolutely crushing defeat for the French academy.
The Cavendish family members were explicitly prohibited from using direct offensive magic according to competition rules, but they had brought an absolutely absurd abundance of prepared magical items and artifacts into the arena.
Aside from a few genuinely powerful artifacts they would automatically drop upon personal defeat, the remaining available tools proved more than sufficient to give the desperately outmatched Beauxbatons students an absolutely brutal time.
If not for Fleur Delacour's decisive tactical action—employing an ancient protective ward combined with clever environmental spell use to physically block the pursuit path—Beauxbatons might have suffered complete elimination in that single encounter.
They managed a desperate escape, but their carefully accumulated resources were almost completely depleted. The exhausted girls finally located a concealed hiding spot, now terrified equally of encountering other competing schools and the merciless Cavendish forces again.
The previous violent exchange had made one critical fact absolutely clear: the Cavendish operatives showed absolutely no mercy whatsoever.
Fleur leaned heavily against a massive tree trunk, her normally composed face etched with visible exhaustion. The other girls surrounding her looked similarly battered and demoralized.
"What do we do now?" one asked with obvious desperation. "We've used the vast majority of our acquired items already. If we encounter another school delegation in direct combat, we're completely finished."
They all turned expectantly to Fleur, silently waiting for her leadership decision.
Fleur pondered the deteriorating situation thoughtfully for a long moment. "We're operating at severe disadvantage now. The Cavendish forces possess far too many powerful items for us to win any direct confrontation. But that overwhelming advantage actually proves Erwin's underlying strategic reasoning correct—these Cavendish operatives are carrying artifacts powerful enough to dramatically influence the entire match outcome."
She paused meaningfully. "If we genuinely want to survive and advance, there exists only one realistic remaining option: we specifically target the Cavendish operatives themselves."
The assembled girls looked at one another with obvious hesitation and concern. "But they're demonstrably far too strong for direct engagement."
"I have a developing theory," Fleur continued with growing confidence. "With so many powerful items distributed among them, Erwin's ultimate goal clearly isn't simply eliminating all of us systematically. I estimate with reasonable confidence they won't remain together as one overwhelming force. We were simply unlucky to encounter them during their initial forest entry. They'll almost certainly scatter into smaller groups to cover more territory."
The girls nodded slowly; the tactical logic made sense.
"I discovered several useful communication items during our earlier scavenging," Fleur explained, displaying four small objects that functioned essentially like magical radios. "I'll carry one personally, and you three will form a coordinated mobile group carrying the others. We'll deliberately split our remaining forces. While searching for additional resource items, we specifically look for isolated individual Cavendish operatives. If we successfully locate one, we use these communication devices to coordinate a concentrated assault."
She met their eyes seriously. "I have a strong intuition that the Cavendish family forces hold the genuine key to ultimate victory in this challenge."
"But operating alone carries extreme danger," another girl objected reasonably. "The individual risk is far too high for such small groups."
"With the limited items we currently possess," Fleur replied with absolute conviction, "staying together as one group virtually guarantees we'll lose decisively if we meet another complete academy delegation. Since we're facing almost certain defeat regardless, we might as well take the calculated gamble on a high-risk, high-reward strategy."
The girls nodded with reluctant acceptance and renewed determination. Since they were facing likely elimination either way, an aggressive gamble represented their only realistic hope for advancement.
In the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts, a substantial group of professors had gathered in the small observation room behind Dumbledore's main office, watching the live broadcast of the competition's dramatic developments on enchanted screens.
They typically assembled here during natural lulls between their regular teaching classes to monitor student progress.
Old Tom occupied a position among them; with Erwin absent on his personal mission, the elderly retainer was directly overseeing all Hogwarts operations.
Dumbledore looked toward Professor Maxime with an expression carrying genuine admiration.
"These students from Beauxbatons Academy," he observed sincerely, his tone colored with respect, "possess truly extraordinary courage and tactical adaptability under pressure."