Harry Potter: Glory Bows to Me

The air suddenly became quiet.

"Click."

With the crisp sound of a metal chain breaking, the scarlet stone door slowly opened, and wisps of gray-white mist poured out as if they had life.

Amanta subconsciously clenched her wand.

"We're going...in?" Luna tilted her head slightly, her eyelashes fluttering. "I always feel like this door smells like butterbeer that's been sealed under a spell for hundreds of years."

"There's no spell that can keep Butterbeer for hundreds of years." Hermione frowned.

"I'm just expressing my feelings." Luna smiled nonchalantly, her skirt lifted slightly, and she was the first to step in.

"Luna!" Hermione whispered, hurrying to catch up.

"Don't let her go in alone." Harry followed immediately.

Neville also took a few steps forward, then stopped and looked back: "Amanta, you... seem to be a little unwell?"

Amanta quickly came back to her senses and shook her head: "It's okay, I'm a little sleepy."

At the moment when the blood gate was completely opened, the throbbing that seeped from the depths of her soul almost made her stagger.

A familiarity that is unexplainable.

Merlin's breath.

She could feel it.

After the seven of them stepped into the Blood Gate one by one, the gray fog gathered behind them, as if nothing had ever existed.

The next second, the ground shook and the scene unfolded before our eyes.

This was a spacious, ancient hall. Its dome was high, its walls mottled with stone. In the center sat a massive round table, its top inlaid with a golden knight's coat of arms. A faintly glowing emblem floated above each seat: Lancelot, Gawain, Geraint...

Around the round table, ancient chairs of various shapes surrounded it, with faintly shimmering inscriptions appearing on the backs of the chairs:

"The ministers of King Arthur's Round Table are yet to be summoned."

There was a moment of silence.

"...Is this...the Round Table of the Twelve Knights of King Arthur?" Hermione walked forward in disbelief and gently touched the inscription on the edge of the table with her fingertips.

"Do you even know what you've done?" The Ministry of Magic official, who had remained silent the entire time, finally spoke, his tone filled with suppressed anger. "You Hogwarts students have disrupted the ceremony without permission... and even kicked me in here!"

Everyone turned to look at him.

"It's time I introduced myself." He glanced at them coldly. "My name is Sol Wilton, and I work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It took me half a year to infiltrate this place, and now I've become the burial companion of you underage wizards."

"I thought you were in cahoots with them," Hermione responded politely. "You were standing by the door, and I couldn't help myself."

"You kicked me." Thor gritted his teeth, his tone aggressive, "and from behind."

"Not kicking, pushing. With your feet," Hermione corrected calmly.

"You are a minor assaulting a Ministry of Magic official—"

"Sir," Amanta interrupted him, her voice calm, "perhaps now is not a good time to pursue responsibility."

Thor's breath hitched, but he finally said nothing.

"Okay, okay, stop arguing." Harry scratched his head. "Shouldn't we just figure out what this table wants us to do?"

Neville looked carefully at the twelve seats on the round table, his brows furrowed. "Are we supposed to choose seats? There are names on them... the names of the Knights of the Round Table?"

Hermione stared at the round table. "Perhaps these seats aren't just for decoration."

Amanta took a step forward and stood in front of the ancient stone table, her eyes slowly sweeping over the names floating above the seats.

Lancelot, Gawain, Geraint, Gareth, Galahad, Bors, Gaheris, Bedivere, Kay, Lanmaroc, Percival, Tristan.

“These are all knights of King Arthur,” she said. “And I suspect each of us has to choose an identity.”

"What kind of casting game is this?" Thor sneered, "I'm not participating. I want to wait for this illusion to end—"

"It won't end," Julius said suddenly, "unless you pass successfully."

He looked directly at Amanta.

"You feel it, right? This place resonates with your blood."

Amanta didn't deny it.

From the moment they entered the Round Table Hall, her heart felt like it was on fire, burning, beating, and even aching.

In the center of the round table, there was an ancient emblem inlaid with a pattern of two intertwined snakes embossed on it.

"So what do we do?" Harry looked at the emblem curiously. "Everyone sit down? What happens then?"

"History." Luna suddenly said, "I think... we are going to enter a certain period of history."

Everyone looked at her.

She gently twirled the moon-shaped pendant on her wrist and murmured, "This is a relic, and relics are traces of memory. If we were to play the role of them, perhaps we could experience that memory... and become part of the story."

"You mean we're going to put on a play?" Harry frowned. "But I've never learned to ride a horse, let alone wield a sword."

"I'd like to see myself in knight's armor," Hermione said softly.

Harry hesitated for a few seconds between Gawain and Bedivere, and finally walked to a seat engraved with the "Oath" emblem and sat down.

“Then I choose this one,” he said.

Amanta looked at him, her eyebrows raised: "Do you know who he is?"

"He's the one who finally returned the king's sword to the lake, right?" Harry paused, his eyes clear and firm. "He's loyal and consistent. He sounds like my kind of person."

Julius glanced at him noncommittally, the corners of his lips raised slightly, as if in mockery.

"Then I would choose Lancelot." Neville said seriously, "He is also the most loyal knight."

"I choose Galahad." Hermione said calmly, "The one closest to the Holy Grail."

"I want Tristan." Luna pointed to a window seat. "He's a singer, not a warrior."

"I don't like these myths," Thor snorted. "But since I have to choose—Percival, whatever."

Julius had no choice, he just looked at Amanta, as if waiting for something.

"What about you?" he asked her softly.

Amanta's eyes fell on the empty seat in the corner with a snake pattern on it.

She walked over slowly.

At that moment, the entire hall was shaken. The emblem emitted a faint light, and an unfamiliar name appeared on the stone pedestal—

"Mordred"

Everyone was stunned.

"Who's that?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"He's King Arthur's illegitimate son," Hermione replied gravely. "In history, he was a traitor, the knight who assassinated King Arthur..."

"But in some versions, he is not a traitor," Amanta said softly, looking at the name, "but the cursed heir."

As the others gradually took their seats, Julius slowly walked to the obsidian-patterned chair on the north side of the round table and brushed his fingers over the inscription:

"Lanmarok"

He sat down.

No explanation.

Only Amanta noticed the faint smile that flashed across his eyes.

"Lan Mallock," Hermione whispered, "He is the knight who most resembles a king in tragedy, and he is also the one who was betrayed by Mordred."

"Then I'd be quite suitable," Julius murmured, staring at the seat across from him where Amanda sat. "Isn't it... Miss Modred?"

silence.

At this moment, the round table began to vibrate, and the floating lights in front of the twelve seats shone. A voice rang out in their minds:

“The Round Table is not complete, history is not set.

Knights, please take your seats and reenact your destined fate."