The Knights struggled.

But their hands were tied by vines, and even the swords on their waists were entangled.

"You evil wizard, let us go, let's fight one on one if you dare!" A knight exclaimed and struggled hard, but all he could do was to shake his hips slightly.

All petrified!

Harry couldn't bear to watch and cast a spell to petrify him.

"You damn beast." Another man cursed, but before he could finish a few words, a vine was roughly stuffed into his mouth with a whoosh, blocking his words.

"puff"--

One sprayed water from his mouth and landed on the vines.

Wet the one closest to him.

All the knights watched expectantly, and a second, ten seconds, a minute passed, and nothing happened.

Harry waited too.

He didn't sense any aura from the saliva, whether it was magic or danger...

"What are you expecting?" After a while, he couldn't help but ask.

"The holy water has no effect!" The man who sprayed the blood screamed in panic, and their eyes were full of shock.

Harry looked at them and shook his head. "What do you think wizards are? Bugs? Something you can kill with a shot of insecticide?"

Look at their eyes.

Apparently that's what they thought.

"Ugly bastard! If you want to kill us, do it quickly." The knight shouted with a ferocious face and closed his eyes tightly.

The other knights were also prepared to die bravely.

Harry tilted his head back and looked at them.

This group of people did not pose any threat, whether to Gryffindor, to himself, or even to the normal sixth and fifth year students at Hogwarts. As long as they were not too panicked, they could easily deal with this group of people.

As for the little wizard who was able to pass through the forbidden forest and the traps in the previous village, even if he had no brains before coming here, he should have grown them by now.

"What are you going to do with them?" The Sorting Hat poked him.

Harry waved his wand.

The vines entangled the knight they met in the tavern and strangled him neatly: "The culprit cannot be left alive."

"As for the others..." Harry raised his wand and pointed it at them: "Remember my name, I am Godric Gryffindor."

The Sorting Hat exclaimed.

He cast a forgetfulness spell to tamper with their memories, and a sleeping spell to knock them out. The vines tore off each of their left arms, twisted their swords, and piled them up and threw them together.

"Hey, how come you say you're Godric?" The Sorting Hat twisted.

Harry said confidently: "This is Gryffindor's memory. I am now playing Mr. Gryffindor and reliving his experience, so naturally I have to say his name."

Seems to make sense?

The Sorting Hat nodded thoughtfully, somewhat convinced: "Then you cast a forgetfulness spell on them?"

"Change the image of me in their minds to Mr. Gryffindor." Harry was still confident.

The Sorting Hat poked him hard: "You can't do this, you are Harry Potter."

Harry shook his head: "Yes, I am Harry Potter."

The Sorting Hat was startled.

"I'm not sure what his choice was." Harry said softly as he walked towards the boat docked in front of the lake. "Perhaps with Mr. Gryffindor's character, he would let these people go. He would believe more in chivalry?"

"But this is my choice."

He stepped onto the boat and it swayed slightly. The Sorting Hat said nothing but hummed another little tune.

Harry took the helm and flicked his wand, and the boat started moving toward the center of the lake.

The fog gradually spread.

The road ahead was unclear. Even when Harry waved his wand, the fog refused to dissipate and became thicker.

It floats.

Harry also waited patiently.

After an hour or a day, the fog suddenly dissipated and an island in the middle of the lake appeared before him.

Harry moored the boat to the shore and walked up to the island.

The island was not big and was protected by magic, so the plants did not grow too densely. After walking a few steps inside, a cobblestone path appeared in front of him. Harry walked along it and came to the center of the island in the middle of the lake, where a thatched cottage stood.

Next to the thatched hut, there is a grave with a line of words engraved on the cross-shaped tombstone.

"Here lies the grave of the purest knight in Great Britain, the only saint who could lift the Holy Grail, Gaharad."

Harry bowed in respect.

He waved his magic wand, and a dead branch turned into a little man. He pushed open the door and walked into the abandoned hut. Soon the little branch man came out, looking cheerful, proving that it was safe inside.

Harry walked in.

The furnishings in the house were simple, and a simple wooden board divided the house into two parts, with the bedroom inside and the kitchen outside.

He picked up the pan and looked at the back, where a layer of charcoal ash had accumulated. "It has been used for a while, but the charcoal ash is not thick, so it must have been there for a short time."

"Rotten apples, meat, um... and half-drunk wine. The people who lived here left in a hurry."

"Is it a follower of Gaharad, or is it..."

Harry frowned and walked towards the bedroom.

The furnishings here were even simpler: a bed, the bedding on which had no magic cast on it and had long been corroded and torn; and a wardrobe. He pulled off the loose door and opened it to take a look. As expected, the clothes inside had also been corroded by time.

"Male clothing."

"But the size is a little small, the shoulders are wide..."

Very much like something Ciri would wear.

Even though she didn't choose to be a demon hunter like herself, she grew up among demon hunters and had many of the same habits as them, preferring clothing that was convenient for combat.

So she lived here for a while?

And a long table at the head of the bed.

There were several books on display, and one could vaguely make out the titles: history, poetry, and magical theory.

There is nothing else besides this.

Ciri left no clues.

Harry continued to check. There was no secret compartment or cellar. It was just an ordinary room. He could only walk out of the room and go behind Gaharad's tomb.

Behind the thatched cottage.

A square stone half a person's height with the Gryffindor sword stuck in it.

The Sword in the Stone.

Harry smiled knowingly. He had reason to believe that when Gryffindor discovered the island in the middle of the lake, Galahad's relics would never be like this. Was this just a little bit of his bad taste?

He jumped onto the stone.

Both hands on the hilt.

It's just like the feeling of putting on the Sorting Hat when entering school.

It seemed as if there was a voice asking in his ear: "Do you regret what you have done?"

With a grunt——

The sword of Gryffindor was pulled out smoothly with almost no obstruction.

The illusory voice paused, then dissipated with a snap.

The inner torture ended before it even began.

A wooden box appeared naturally on the stone.

Harry waved his wand and tapped it lightly, injecting magic into it.

With a click, the wooden box opened.

A projection emerged and landed on the open space in front of Harry. The figure made his heart skip a beat.

It's Ciri!

She swung her sword and dodged, demonstrating her swordsmanship.

A doubt in Harry's mind was resolved.

Is this where Gryffindor learned swordplay?

Wait for the swordplay demonstration to be completed.

Ciri stopped, her gaze seemed to fall on Harry from across the long river of time, across thousands of years, across this layer of Gryffindor's memory: "Go, go find Avalon."

Avalon?

Harry was stunned.