Chapter 221: A Clear Path

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In Harry's eyes, magic had dazzled him twice in his life.

The first time was when he held the ebony and ivory wand for the first time and, with a nervous voice, recited his first spell. The faint glow of Lumos illuminated the brilliance of the magical world before him.

The second time was in Nurmengard, inside Grindelwald's laboratory. There, he gripped the Spear of Longinus and felt the sharp edge of magical power in his hands.

Not even his mastery of Animagus transformation had brought Harry the same indescribable joy.

Harry had always thought of himself as a warrior. In his mind, a true wizard should be like Gandalf—ready to charge headfirst into battle, whether facing a Balrog king or a lord of the underworld. Clad in heavy armor and wielding a greatsword and tower shield, a wizard should apparate right into the fray and carve a path of glory with a single, decisive strike!

In the Muggle world, firearms were all about "pew pew pew," lasers flying and plasma scattering. The battlefield lacked the soul-stirring smoke and flames of war. Despite the blood and death, something vital seemed absent, as though the very essence of battle was missing.

In the wizarding world, spell combat was more like "whoosh whoosh whoosh," with magic beams and bursts. Though the explosive sounds of magic bore some resemblance to gunfire, wizards quickly outgrew such theatrics. Magic bullets, loaded into enchanted clips, were ultimately just illusions dressed up to look impressive.

In this world, which felt both real and slightly unreal, Harry often found himself yearning for something more tangible. What stirred his blood, what truly made his heart race, was the visceral sensation of heavy armor and a greatsword—the essence of primal warfare. Stripped to its core, war was nothing more than raw, unrelenting close combat—fists meeting flesh and blades drawing blood.

Grindelwald had once laughed at Harry, saying, "What era do you think this is? Charging in with a sword? Aren't you afraid of being turned into Swiss cheese by a hail of curses?"

To be honest, Harry wasn't afraid. Among the three Deathly Hallows, only the Resurrection Stone provided any significant power boost for an Awakened one. However, the other two were far from useless. In fact, compared to the Resurrection Stone, the Elder Wand and the Cloak of Invisibility were much more practical. Though a true Awakened might scoff at these artifacts, as someone who was only half-Awakened, Harry found them immensely useful.

With these tools, the path Harry envisioned—the one he wanted to walk—suddenly became achievable.

"How much longer until we reach Austria, Professor?" Harry turned his head and asked Flitwick.

"About thirty minutes," Flitwick replied.

Harry stood and opened one of the carriage doors. The interior of the Thestral-drawn carriage was a spacious, open-plan design, complete with seven or eight rooms for resting, as well as private chambers for practicing magic.

Sliding his ebony and ivory wands back into their holsters, Harry reached for the silencer attachment at the front. With a light tug, he detached it and held it in his hand. After splitting the Elder Wand in two, Harry had reverted it to its factory-default form, much like the Spear of Longinus. No longer able to transform into a spellcasting medium, the Elder Wand's fragmented state fit snugly into Harry's grip.

"Protego Maxima."

Raising his left hand, Harry conjured a solid shield, which materialized over his arm. The half-length Elder Wand in his grasp became its handle. Typically, Protego summoned a spectral shield to block or absorb incoming spells. With mastery of the spell, the shield could solidify over time, eventually transforming into full-body armor capable of deflecting attacks from any direction.

Though Harry hadn't yet mastered the spell to that degree, he didn't need to.

Dueling competitions prohibited the use of enchanted or alchemical tools, as well as potions. However, if one had the skill to brew potions on the spot in an open duel arena, it wasn't against the rules—though such feats required extraordinary circumstances and were almost never attempted.

While the Cloak of Invisibility was banned, the Elder Wand's silencer attachment—part of the ebony and ivory wand set—was entirely within the rules. After all, no one had stipulated that a silencer couldn't be detached and used separately!

When swung, the solid shield even stirred the air with a noticeable gust. However, its lightweight feel lacked the heft Harry desired. Ideally, he'd have preferred a four- or five-hundred-kilogram tower shield in his hands. His strength was just enough to wield such a massive weapon without tiring too quickly.

In his previous life as a staunch materialist, Harry had always appreciated the sensation of weight—solid, unyielding mass in his grasp.

"Sectumsempra."

A five-foot-long invisible blade extended outward. With just a light sweep, the sturdy magical target bore a deep gash. While some spells couldn't be used in this state, gripping the massive blade once more didn't bother Harry in the slightest. Sacrifices had to be made for progress. After all, this was only the first attempt. Perhaps, in the future, he could discover a way to integrate both ebony and ivory into combat together.

Regardless, he had finally understood—finally found—the path of magic most suited to him, the one that filled his heart with joy.

"Only children make choices," Harry murmured, sliding the silencer back into place. "One day, I'll have it all."

He pushed open the door, just in time to see Professor Flitwick gathering the contestants. The destination was near, and everyone needed to prepare.

The venue for the preliminary round, the Glenkor Arena in Austria, was part of a privately owned estate. Its owner, a renowned and fabulously wealthy dueling master, had won the World Wizard Dueling Championship three times. While his record didn't quite match the illustrious Professor Flitwick's, he was nonetheless a respected elder in the dueling community. Now 170 years old and in the twilight of his life, his passion for dueling remained undiminished.

This arena was one of the most famous large-scale dueling grounds in Europe, capable of hosting one to two thousand duelists for spectacular bouts.

The preliminaries were straightforward, without complex rules. Over the span of 48 hours, the wizards here would engage in seven duels. Each duel was far from a casual game; of the more than one thousand participants, fewer than one-tenth would advance. The competition in these early rounds was fierce.

As Hogwarts representatives, Harry and his peers enjoyed some minor privileges—such as priority in receiving their entry numbers. Harry was assigned number 007. In the magical world, the number 7 was widely considered the most powerful and magical in many cultures. Professor Flitwick believed it would bring Harry good fortune.

"This is just the beginning," Harry remarked with a confident smile. "If I need luck to handle something as small as this, I might as well pack up and come back in a few years."

"Don't underestimate your opponents, Harry."

Professor Flitwick chuckled, giving Harry's arm a reassuring pat. "Do your best. While the skill level here varies widely, these wizards all have sharp minds. Surprises and unexpected twists happen when you least expect them."

"Perhaps you'll even find the first spark of inspiration for your magical path here."

"But I've already found it, Professor," Harry said with a radiant smile that left Flitwick momentarily stunned.

"Already?" Flitwick murmured, suddenly questioning his own perception. "Have I really fallen this far behind the times?"

(End of Chapter)