"So, Harry, you must understand—compared to helping Cyrus, the more important thing now is protecting your own safety! I know you are an incredibly brave child, but now is not the time to take risks."
"I understand, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said with a smile. "Recklessness isn't bravery, right?"
Dumbledore was momentarily taken aback, then returned the smile.
Harry's growth had far exceeded his expectations.
All along, Harry's talent, his courage, and his deep emotional nature were things Dumbledore had deeply valued. But there was one thing that had always worried him—Harry's impulsiveness.
But now, Harry had grasped the most important truth. From now on, he would no longer act rashly, nor would he hesitate in fear. Dumbledore believed Harry was destined for great things.
"Goodbye bye professor."
After saying goodbye to the portrait, Harry found Ginny and the others and recounted everything he had just learned.
"So we still don't know where Cyrus is," Ginny said in disappointment, looking at Harry. "That Deluminator… can it help us find him?"
"Don't do anything foolish, Ginny," Hermione said firmly. "What we need to do right now isn't to go after Cyrus—but to wait for him to come back."
"But what if he can't come back?!" Ginny shouted, her voice rising in frustration.
She was like a small lioness gone wild.
"You didn't hear what Dumbledore said? Or did—"
"Even Dumbledore isn't always right! Everything you're saying is just a guess!"
Ginny was so worried that she simply refused to give up unless she saw Cyrus with her own eyes. Neither Hermione nor Ron could really deal with her. She'd never been the type to listen to Ron—even though he was her older brother, at home, he was always the least authoritative.
"It is a guess, but Dumbledore's guesses almost never miss," Harry said.
But Harry was different. His calm words carried tremendous weight—and they brought Ginny back to her senses.
Sometimes, Ginny and the others felt that when Harry spoke, he sounded just like Cyrus or Dumbledore.
And in truth, Harry was mimicking them—not just in tone, but in the way they thought.
He had realized that sometimes, speaking calmly carried far more power than shouting or raising one's voice—just like now.
"Compared to Death or even Cyrus, our strength is far too insignificant, Ginny. Cyrus's enemy isn't Death Eaters or Peter Pettigrew—we'd only get in his way."
"I.. sob.. I'm just… really worried…" Ginny deflated like a punctured balloon, all her strength draining away.
Hermione quickly caught her in a hug, keeping her from collapsing.
"Yeah, we're all worried. But this is Cyrus we're talking about. Hasn't he always come through? Not even Azkaban or Dumbledore could hold him back," Harry said.
"Even Death fears him!"
...
Meanwhile, in the realm of death, things weren't as hopeful as Harry and the others imagined.
Death targeting Harry might have been simply a matter of convenience—it didn't mean He was too weak to face Cyrus directly.
In fact, after failing to deal with Harry, Death had finally turned His full attention to Cyrus.
Perhaps due to the Deathly Hallows, He hadn't acted personally—but an endless army of the dead had appeared before Cyrus, coming at him relentlessly, without pause!
And those enemies… were not unfamiliar to Cyrus—
Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Voldemort, and Herpo…
And of course, there were far more than just them—countless souls of the dead. But those others left little impression on Cyrus.
They all bore faces familiar to him. Death had somehow freed their minds—these revenants were aware they were fighting Cyrus, yet they couldn't resist it. Again and again, they were struck down by him, only to rise from the earth once more.
"He's trying to wear you down."
The one who said this wasn't Dumbledore, nor Grindelwald—it was Voldemort.
That pitiful soul, like a puppet controlled by Death, launched attacks from every devious angle, trying to land a strike on Cyrus.
But to the Cyrus of now, Voldemort's power was no longer any real threat—not even enough to cause him trouble. Yet he kept reviving endlessly, as if he could never truly be destroyed.
"Thanks for the reminder, Voldemort." With a flick of his wand, Cyrus blasted apart every enemy in front of him, then stepped back and raised the golden cup, taking a deep drink.
He had no idea how long he'd been in this world. Time didn't flow here, yet he could still feel hunger gnawing at him.
Fortunately, he had reforged the Cup.
And in the endless battle, the Diadem kept his mind clear.
The Sword was firm in his grip, and Slytherin's Locket guarded his chest, shielding him from deadly curses.
To be honest, these four magical artifacts seemed as though they had been created specifically to conquer death.
The Cup gave him endless stamina, the Diadem kept his will from being eroded, the Locket protected his physical body… and as for Godric Gryffindor's Sword—Cyrus had long since discovered that ghosts struck by it took far longer to revive than those destroyed by spells.
Once again, he slashed through Dumbledore's form. The expression on the old man's face looked agonizing.
Perhaps Death, from the very beginning, had been trying to shake Cyrus's resolve by using such methods.
But He had miscalculated—Cyrus never once hesitated to draw his sword.
Up to now, he'd lost count of how many times he had "killed" Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
His arm had gone numb from it—and even Herpo, despite dying repeatedly, was beginning to grow numb to it as well.
In the beginning, Herpo had spat curses full of venom and hatred when he saw Cyrus appear before him.
And now?
Cyrus practically wiped him out the moment he showed his face!
"Tom was right, Cyrus," Dumbledore said once more as his body reformed from the sand.
The number of souls was as endless as a sea of sand. "Death is wearing you down. Even with the Deathly Hallows and the relics of the Four Founders, you can't fight endlessly without limit."
If Cyrus relaxed for even a moment, Death would seize the chance to strike, shattering the Elder Wand's curse and claiming Cyrus's soul.
Cyrus didn't need Dumbledore to explain—he already understood this perfectly.
"So, what brilliant suggestion do you have?" he shot back, even as he lopped off Grindelwald's head.
With a sweep of his wand, thousands more wraiths were obliterated. But soon after, their undying bodies once again filled every dune.
"I recall," Dumbledore said, casting the Killing Curse at Cyrus with a pleasant smile, "you also have a particularly wicked spell that lets you command the dead to fight for you?"
"Sounds like it's time to use it."
"Bloody Hell: Infernal Abyss? Can it even work here?"