Chapter 303: The Third Elder Wand

I must get this information to the Dark Lord!

At this moment, Barty Crouch Jr.'s mind was consumed by this single thought.

He glanced around and suddenly realized—he was surrounded.

There was no need to mention the Hogwarts professors like McGonagall. The Aurors from the Ministry of Magic had skillfully enclosed the Death Eaters within their formation. And that wasn't all—wizards from MACUSA, Durmstrang, and even the International Confederation of Wizards were present...

Just a single glance confirmed it—his eyes immediately met Bellatrix's, filled with provocation.

That woman was waiting for them to make a move!

Even though the Death Eaters had completely taken control of the French Ministry of Magic, they were still vastly outnumbered.

More than a decade ago, the Dark Lord had been able to wreak havoc in Britain partly because the international community had refused to intervene.

But now, the situation was entirely different.

Trapped in the stands with no way to move, Barty Jr. knew that if he acted rashly, the Death Eaters would be wiped out in an instant.

The Death Eaters had never been stronger—but their enemies were just as formidable.

He couldn't act rashly, but someone else could—Severus Snape.

From the very beginning until now, Snape had been nowhere to be seen.

Barty Jr. couldn't be sure whether the Dark Lord had already given him a specific task or if he was simply too afraid to show up after the attack yesterday. It wouldn't be surprising—Snape's betrayal was unforgivable, and the moment he appeared, he would undoubtedly become the target of immediate attack.

But where had he gone?

Barty Jr. had no idea, and all he could do was worry anxiously.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore and Grindelwald continued casting powerful spells in all directions, disguising it as an intense battle.

They appeared to be working in perfect harmony—but that was just an illusion.

In reality, the two of them were still engaged in a battle of words.

"I believe we've managed to deceive him," Dumbledore said.

"Perhaps," Grindelwald replied noncommittally. He wasn't as concerned about that—what he truly wanted to know was whether the things Dumbledore had said earlier had been sincere.

Of course, there was no need to ask. He already knew the answer.

No matter how amicable Dumbledore seemed right now, the rift between them was vast. The only reason Dumbledore had chosen to compromise was for the sake of the greater good.

"But let me remind you, Albus," Grindelwald said, his voice both pained and affectionate. "The Dark Lord is indeed dangerous, but so is Cyrus. He will kill you—I saw it." 

"Thank you very much, Grindelwald." 

Dumbledore responded with nothing more than a smile. He appeared completely unfazed, but in reality, the opposite was true. 

"I don't believe Cyrus would kill me," he said. "He might try to defeat me—that wouldn't be too difficult for him—but I don't think he would take my life. Are you certain the person you saw was really him?" 

After all, Voldemort now had a face that closely resembled Cyrus's. 

Given the Dark Lord's extraordinary magical prowess, if he used human transfiguration, it wouldn't be so easy to see through. 

Dumbledore suspected that the person Grindelwald had seen wasn't actually Cyrus, but Voldemort instead. 

He didn't care about his own life or death, but what worried him was the possibility that their plan might have failed. 

But Grindelwald didn't see it that way. 

"Do you think my magical eye can't see through a mere transfiguration?" he countered.

Grindelwald possessed an unparalleled magical eye, a gaze as piercing as Odin's divine sight, allowing him to see both the past and the future. Even Moody's magical eye could see through the Invisibility Cloak—one of the Deathly Hallows. With Grindelwald's immense magical power combined with this extraordinary vision, nothing in the world could truly remain hidden.

If the person he saw really was Cyrus, then Dumbledore actually felt relieved.

"Death is not something to be feared," he said.

He even seemed a little pleased.

To him, this world was a vast prison—as long as he lived, he would continue to be tormented by love, the past, regret, and responsibility… And more than anything, if he died, perhaps he would finally have the chance to apologize to Ariana.

"It's nothing more than a grand adventure!" he said with eager anticipation.

"You and I both know that's a lie," Grindelwald mercilessly shattered his illusion.

The wizarding world had ghosts, but their existence didn't mean they retained everything from their past lives. In truth, ghosts were more like lingering memories—not true souls, but the remnants of those who feared death and refused to let go of the living world.

Not to mention, Ariana had not even become a ghost.

She had been an Obscurial, and under normal circumstances, Obscurials struggled to use magic at all.

For people like them, magic was more like fuel for the Obscurus.

Whether a world after death truly existed—even wizards could not say for certain.

In truth, both Grindelwald and Dumbledore believed it was an illusion. Just like the legend of the Deathly Hallows—did the so-called Death really exist in this world?

Most likely not.

They both saw it as nothing more than a tale, and the so-called three Hallows were merely powerful artifacts created by three exceptionally skilled brothers. As for the world after death, what could it possibly hold aside from endless sleep?

Perhaps, with their immense magical power, they could leave behind a lingering echo of their thoughts in this world for a brief time—but that would not be real.

It would be nothing more than a lie, a comforting illusion for both themselves and others.

Just like the words people often said: "Tomorrow will be better."

But could anyone truly guarantee that?

"Even if it is nothing more than a deep slumber, that is what I need," Dumbledore said with a smile.

Grindelwald looked as if he wanted to say something more, but Dumbledore cut him off before he could, swiftly changing the subject.

"Alright, it's time for us to act. We proceed as planned."

Dumbledore put away his wand and cast a glance toward the ceiling.

Despite the many layers of space separating them, the sound of exploding spells echoed through the air, ringing loud and clear.

Harry Potter was being pushed back step by step.

Voldemort raised his wand high, striding forward with confidence as spells shot out like flashes of lightning.

His movements grew more flamboyant, and his billowing robes swelled in the wind, spreading like the wings of a great bird.

He exuded an overwhelming majesty, and with each spell he cast, there was an unstoppable force behind it!

Harry was completely outmatched. He struggled to keep up, barely managing to dodge and maintain a shred of dignity while evading Voldemort's relentless assault.

Yet, Voldemort harbored no suspicion.

In truth, with multiple layers of magic and the power of the Deathly Hallows enhancing him, Harry's magical strength had nearly reached Cyrus's level.

Just the inheritance of Morgana's magic that Cyrus had transferred to him was enough to make Harry's magic comparable to Grindelwald's.

On top of that, he had the three Deathly Hallows boosting him. Though Voldemort's magical power was undeniably greater, something strange kept happening—

Every time his spells were about to hit Harry, they either weakened or narrowly missed him altogether.

This was the power of the Invisibility Cloak.

It might have looked like an ordinary piece of enchanted fabric, but legend spoke of its ability to evade even Death itself.

Its power was not just concealment—more importantly, it was protection!

But Voldemort did not realize this.

In fact, he thought Harry dodging his spells was perfectly natural—because he believed Harry was Cyrus.

This level of skill was nothing extraordinary for Cyrus, and Voldemort even felt that "Cyrus" wasn't performing as well as he had in the Department of Mysteries.

"Don't tell me this is all you've got, Cyrus!" Voldemort shouted.

At the same time, he launched another attack!

Boom!!!

A spell shot out like a venomous serpent, streaking through the air with lethal precision, aiming to deliver a fatal blow.

"Ah!"

Harry gritted his teeth, managing to block the spell, but the effort drained him.

Every one of Voldemort's attacks felt like a heavy hammer striking his body.

If this continued, even if he were as sturdy as an iron bell, sooner or later, the relentless force would cause him to shatter from exhaustion.

Just as that thought flashed through his mind, Voldemort's next spell cracked like a whip, lashing against him.

Pa!

The spell exploded on impact, and Harry was sent flying backward, crashing to the ground.

A look of doubt finally appeared on Voldemort's face.

"What are you doing, Cyrus? How can you be so weak?" he asked, perplexed.

There was even a trace of anger in his voice, as if the sight of a weakened Cyrus was an insult to him.

It was natural for him to think this way—not only because he believed Cyrus was born from a fragment of his soul, but also because Cyrus had defeated him multiple times before.

Cyrus had destroyed his body, forced him into desperate measures, driven him to manipulate time, and reclaim his Horcruxes.

Voldemort had prepared so much to finally defeat Cyrus. But now, this victory felt unworthy of his efforts.

It was too easy.

For a fleeting moment, Voldemort considered questioning whether the person in front of him was truly Cyrus.

But just as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it.

Who else but Cyrus could stand before him for this long?

Even though this Cyrus was far weaker than expected, his magical strength was still beyond what any ordinary wizard could possess.

There was only one explanation—

"You split yourself?" Voldemort asked.

Voldemort immediately recalled the battle in the Department of Mysteries.

Cyrus had used a duplication spell to catch him off guard, wounding him through trickery. If not for that, his old wand wouldn't have betrayed him at the time.

"Do you think the same trick will work on me twice?" Voldemort asked coldly.

A clever tactic might be impressive once, but using it a second time was nothing but foolishness.

"Enough."

Voldemort straightened his posture and strode toward Harry, towering over him with arrogant disdain.

"Don't make me look down on you, Cyrus. Call out your duplicate—otherwise, I won't hesitate to kill you right now!"

He threatened mercilessly.

But Harry could only feel helpless.

The power he possessed now was already the result of countless enhancements. He felt stronger than he had ever imagined, perhaps stronger than he could have ever achieved on his own in a lifetime.

Yet, in front of Voldemort, it was utterly insignificant.

To Voldemort, he wasn't even close to Cyrus's level.

The realization struck Harry with a crushing sense of failure.

He felt, more than ever, that he was no match for Voldemort.

However, his gaze dimmed slightly—whether he was a match for Voldemort no longer mattered.

After all, his mission wasn't to defeat Voldemort, but to die—to let Voldemort personally kill him, right?

He even thought that maybe he shouldn't be holding the Elder Wand, or using Cyrus's magic at all—perhaps then, he could die even faster.

Voldemort would probably kill him with a single spell.

Faster than falling asleep.

So, he simply closed his eyes, using his own death as a final mockery of Voldemort.

"There is no duplicate, Voldemort. You've dreamed of killing me for so long—why don't you just do it now?"

His strange behavior only made Voldemort feel even more suspicious.

The Dark Lord, who clung desperately to life, immediately became wary. He didn't believe Cyrus would just offer himself up to die so easily—there had to be some kind of scheme.

"What kind of trick are you playing, Cyrus?"

Without making it obvious, Voldemort took a cautious step backward.

Seeing this, even Harry couldn't help but shake his head.

At that moment, he truly found Voldemort to be utterly pathetic.

"You're nothing but a pathetic coward, terrified of death!"

But Voldemort ignored him.

He quickly turned around, his sharp gaze scanning every corner—he was convinced that there had to be some clue hidden nearby!

"Come out, Cyrus."

He called out harshly, summoning the illusory duplicate of Cyrus that he believed must exist.

At that moment, Cyrus, who had been watching everything from the shadows, let out a helpless sigh.

Voldemort's fear of death was even greater than he had expected, and it was making his plan more difficult to execute.

After weighing his options for a moment, Cyrus decided to reveal himself.

Since Voldemort already believed he was just a duplicate, then why not use that misconception to his advantage?

"I was actually planning to ambush you, Voldemort."

Cyrus stepped forward, and interestingly, he was also holding the Elder Wand in his hand.

Seeing this, Voldemort became even more convinced that his assumption had been correct.

"There is no such thing as a third Elder Wand. Just as I expected—you are nothing more than a duplicate," he said smugly.

Meanwhile, Harry's face showed clear surprise.

He knew better than anyone that this was not a duplicate.

He couldn't understand why Cyrus had suddenly chosen to reveal himself, nor where the supposed third Elder Wand had come from.

But no matter what, Harry knew one crucial thing - Since Cyrus had now claimed to be a duplicate, he had to make sure not to expose any flaws in the deception.

Fortunately, at that moment, Voldemort had his back to him, missing the brief flicker of surprise on Harry's face.

"These childish tricks won't work, Cyrus."

Voldemort sneered, adjusting his stance, shifting from a vulnerable two-sided pincer into a more balanced three-way standoff.

Even though he still had to face two opponents at once, Voldemort felt no fear.

He had never feared direct combat—the only thing that concerned him was the possibility that Cyrus and Dumbledore had set a trap.

"Let's see if you've run out of tricks."

He smirked coldly.

But Cyrus didn't waste time talking.

Instead, he launched an attack immediately.

Compared to Harry, Cyrus's strength lay not just in his magical power, but in his profound magical knowledge and exceptional combat skills.

The moment he moved, a black serpent shot forward like a lightning strike.

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