Chapter 222: The Clown on the Razor’s Edge and the Ruthless Duel

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As a participant from Hogwarts, especially as a seeded competitor with the coveted lucky number 7, Harry drew significant attention. However, not everyone was thrilled to face a student from such a prestigious magical institution. Compared to the smaller, regional magical schools and training centers, Hogwarts—one of the three great schools of magic in Europe—offered students superior resources and faculty support.

Naturally, those who hadn't received an acceptance letter from Hogwarts often sneered behind its students' backs. They dismissed Hogwarts graduates as pampered products of privilege, akin to fattened pigs raised in a honeyed trough. In contrast, these detractors fancied themselves as wolves, hardened by the struggles of scraping for resources. They believed this survivalist edge gave them a ruthlessness that the coddled elite lacked.

Take, for instance, Harry's first opponent in this competition: a twenty-year-old wizard who had graduated from Arkham Academy of Magical Vocational Training.

From the moment he stepped onto the stage, the man fixed Harry with an odd, hostile stare.

"You're probably thinking, 'Why would someone like me, with all my advantages, come here to steal your opportunities?'" Harry said with a faint smirk.

Thanks to his heightened senses, Harry had overheard plenty of bitter mutterings at the competition venue. In a magical world where even Hogwarts graduates struggled to find employment, wizards from "backwater" schools like Arkham faced even harsher societal scorn. Duel tournaments became a rare chance for such individuals—those who felt overlooked by the great institutions—to prove their worth and rise above. Yet here was Harry, a representative of privilege, seemingly encroaching on opportunities that these underdogs believed should be theirs.

The wizard frowned slightly, his inner thoughts exposed. But having graduated several years ago, he'd mastered the art of restraint. After all, adults learned the value of not talking too much before a battle. Save the taunts for victory—this way, even in defeat, one could bow out with a semblance of dignity, claiming, "I simply wasn't skilled enough."

Taunting recklessly before knowing your opponent's strength could lead to disaster—especially in a world filled with quirky and vengeful wizards.

"I'm ready," the wizard said, nodding at the referee, his hands relaxed at his sides.

"A smart man," Harry remarked with a grin. If his first opponent had been as pathetic as the whining sore losers in the audience, this duel would have been boring. "I'm ready too," Harry added, signaling to the referee.

The two competitors moved to the center of the regulation 20-meter dueling arena, standing just two meters apart.

"Contestant 007 and Contestant 0597, both parties are prepared," the black-uniformed referee announced emotionlessly. "Perform the ritual to commence the duel."

Harry drew his ebony and ivory wand, crossing the two in front of his chest and nodding slightly. Displaying one's wand was a mandatory part of the dueling ritual. Meanwhile, his opponent—Contestant 0597—gripped a blade that appeared unrelated to conventional wands or firearms.

"Hogwarts, Harry Potter."

"Arkham, Arthur Phoenix."

Suddenly, Arthur's hostile gaze transformed into one of exhilaration. The exaggerated grin that spread across his face betrayed a twisted excitement.

"You'll make a fine dessert," Arthur said softly. At the referee's signal, the two turned their backs to each other and took ten paces forward.

"Begin!"

The referee raised his wand and declared the duel officially underway.

At the word "start," Arthur spun around, unleashing a dazzling display of magic. In an instant, dozens of glinting daggers materialized above him, their metallic edges gleaming coldly. A pale finger pointed toward Harry, and the knives shot forward with a whistle, each blade aimed at a vital spot on Harry's body.

The scene was like a flock of birds taking flight or a barrage of bullets—but in this case, the birds were razor-sharp daggers. Arthur's grotesque grin grew even wider, his nostrils flaring as if he could already smell the blood that would soon spill. His face twisted with an eerie combination of malice and delight.

But then his smile froze.

To Harry, the daggers—though faster than typical magical projectiles—moved sluggishly. He wasn't the naive boy who once struggled to follow a tennis ball spinning at 200 km/h.

Harry's lips curled into a faint smile—not one of exhilaration, but of amusement, as if he had discovered a new toy.

Among the fifty incoming daggers, forty-nine were conjured illusions. Only one was real: the disguised wand Arthur had momentarily displayed before the duel began.

Harry's ivory wand didn't emit sparks, but its trigger was pressed firmly. Invisible spell bullets shot forth in rapid succession, halting the dagger barrage mid-air. The sound of metal shrieking under pressure filled the arena.

Arthur's smirk faltered. His dagger barrage had been a distraction, meant to conceal the true weapon—the wand disguised as a dagger. Unlike normal wands, this one could cast spells even when detached from its owner, allowing Arthur to launch a decisive strike when least expected.

But his game ended before it even began.

Arthur saw Harry's mischievous smile—mocking, playful, and unnervingly calm. Harry raised his hand and flicked his fingers. With each flick, one of the magical daggers exploded into fragments, vanishing with a sharp metallic cry. The sound was deafening.

Harry had identified the real wand among the illusions. For his own amusement, he had left it for last.

"Let's see if you can impress me on your second chance," Harry said as he grasped the hilt of the wand-knife.

It wasn't merely a dagger but a concealed firearm—a specialist's dagger gun.

With a muffled thud, Harry tossed the weapon. It landed on the carpeted floor of the arena, embedding itself precisely at Arthur's feet—just grazing his toes.

"Looks like you're not dessert after all," Harry said, his grin widening. "You might be a full-course meal."

Arthur bent down, pulling his dagger-gun out with force. Then, he gracefully bowed, and as he raised his head, the excitement in his eyes flared up like fire. A dry, uncontrollable laugh squeezed from his throat, his body trembling with exhilaration.

He covered his mouth, as if trying to suppress his loss of composure in front of Harry, but the excitement coursing through him was too intense to be restrained.

"As you wish, sir," Arthur said, straightening his back. "I will make sure you're satisfied."

With a loud "boom," a colorful stream of confetti exploded in the air, accompanied by a sudden burst of festive fireworks. In the rain of ribbons, Arthur's figure vanished from sight. His eerie, manic laughter echoed through the empty dueling arena, filled with an almost deranged excitement. It seemed as though the sound was coming from every corner of the arena.

"The gift is unwrapped."

"Boom~"

A gift box, tied with a ribbon bow, appeared on the red dueling carpet. With another explosive sound, a horrifying clown—its face painted with red and white, and sporting a wild, explosive hairstyle—leapt forward with arms wide open, aiming to embrace Harry.

A wave of magical pressure surged through the air the moment the clown appeared, a force so overwhelming that it almost felt like a spell of paralysis. The clown's fiery red hair ignited, and had it not been for the magical barrier surrounding the dueling arena, the explosive shockwave would have hurled spectators dozens of meters away, leaving nothing but a bloody mess on the walls.

A combination of transformation magic, a stunning charm, and a blasting curse created this unexpected surprise for Harry, masking Arthur's apparition as he had concealed his movement with the burst of fireworks.

"How many years has this carpet gone unwashed? Aren't you bothered by the dirt?"

Amid the roaring explosions, Harry's voice was barely audible. Yet, through the chaos, a scream pierced the noise. A figure, clutching its backside, flew off the shattered floor, its form distorted by expert transmutation magic. Arthur had not teleported to a higher vantage point; the small, five-meter-wide dueling arena offered no places to hide. The arena, a 5x20x20 meter rectangular space, restricted the duel to this confined stage.

However, this disappearance trick didn't work as intended. With his magic-enhanced eyes, Harry could clearly perceive Arthur's movements—his sensory ability almost felt like cheating.

So, Harry closed his eyes, allowing himself to fully enjoy the unexpected thrill of the moment.

Arthur's face flushed white with anger, his cheeks tinged with a faint red hue. Even without his clown makeup, his expression almost mirrored the painted face of his transformed self. Being kicked in the backside might be because of his lack of skill, but closing his eyes was a gesture of complete disrespect.

But this anger lasted only a brief moment. Arthur's face shifted back into a smile. He understood now—this was not about humiliation or disdain. It was simply that he was so far outmatched that Harry had decided to let him off easy.

"You can't see the performance if you don't open your eyes, sir."

"Then keep trying," Harry responded lightly.

He slipped the ebony and ivory wands back into their holsters at his waist, then unscrewed the silencer from the end of his wand.

After all, it wouldn't do to let his opponent have all the fun. The path Harry had just discovered in magic needed further honing and refinement through battle.

"Please... you... collect... 6...9... books..."

Arthur's smile froze once more, his irritation growing. This guy was truly insufferable!

"As you wish, sir."

Arthur reached up to press his hand to his forehead, pushing his face down as if sliding the skin down in frustration.

"I hope I can make you laugh, truly laugh."

"Allow me to reintroduce myself. Arthur, the clown. Forgive me if my jokes are too cold to make everyone laugh."

His green-dyed hair, his pale white face paint, the comical red eyebrows beneath blue diamond-shaped eyeshadow, and the blood-red lips stretched in a grin so wide it looked grotesque—no one could find humor in this face. It was a far cry from any semblance of a funny clown.

Probably some form of body transformation or other strange magic, he wore a red suit, an orange-yellow tie, and a pale green shirt, with the whole ensemble bursting with bright colors.

The dagger-gun he had been twirling vanished from his hand, only for his right arm to drop, revealing a candy-colored, decorated gun. Its barrel spun, preparing for its next shot.

"I don't know what kind of performance you enjoy," Arthur said, his voice tinged with madness. "Maybe this one will impress you."

The dueling platform beneath their feet shifted like a wave, the floor bending and contorting.

"Look behind you!"

In the midst of his manic, deranged laughter, Arthur shouted. The dueling platform twisted unnaturally, bending in odd directions. A master of transformation magic, Arthur had crafted the arena into a constantly changing, chaotic stage, one that could shift with his will.

A large, inflatable hammer suddenly appeared behind Harry, looking almost harmless. However, it created a loud whooshing sound as it swung through the air. A solid tower shield materialized on Harry's left arm, and with his eyes still closed, he slapped backward with casual ease. The resounding clash of steel reverberated across the arena, echoing like a great bell.

"I'm right here."

An arm suddenly materialized out of thin air, its sword aiming for Harry's neck. But the invisible blade had already extended from Harry's right hand, placing itself in the path of the swinging arm.

A smooth, almost imperceptible cut appeared at the wrist, and the blade that had shot from his hand severed the carpet beneath, turning it into a tangle of ribbons. As Harry raised his foot, the entangled ribbons latched onto his ankle, pulling him downward with immense force. The floor beneath him rippled, transforming into a swamp-like surface. A blood-red, grinning face of a pale man reflected on the water's surface.

However, Harry didn't fall. The ribbons were snapped by the immense force, and the shattered carpet couldn't withstand the violent pull.

"You should've used steel cables."

With his right arm, holding the invisible blade, Arthur slashed downward, sweeping the blade in a wide arc. The distorted floor returned to normal, and the swamp-like illusion vanished. The transformed clown puppet that had leapt toward Harry was cleaved in half.

Living transmutation, a high-level branch of transmutation magic, was one of Professor McGonagall's areas of expertise. These puppets, imbued with false life, possessed human-like agility and could be given the semblance of "intelligence," following the caster's commands and acting on their own.

In battles with wizards, these puppets could be a major nuisance. The most frustrating thing for wizards was having their spells interrupted or interfered with, and these animated puppets were especially skilled at getting in close and creating chaos.

Unfortunately for Arthur, he had chosen the wrong target.

The scary clown puppets that leapt from the surprise magic box, clutching bombs and attempting to take Harry down with them, didn't fare any better. Arthur's expertise was in transmutation, but his spell pool seemed a bit shallow in comparison. Offensive spells weren't his strong suit.

Before the bombs could explode, they were either sliced apart by the invisible blade or destroyed by the tower shield. The two stood just thirty meters apart, and with the tower shield acting as cover, Harry charged forward, plowing through the deadly traps and transformations with ease.

Whether it was the thorny spikes underfoot, the pitfall traps, or the constantly shifting blades and axes, they were all flattened before him.

The cruelest thing in the world is facing an opponent who completely counters your strengths. If Harry had been a traditional wizard who only relied on "bang" spells, he would have been at a loss in the face of Arthur's transmutation mastery. Attacks coming from any direction would have been nearly impossible to defend against.

There was a boy who sniffled, watching helplessly as his toys were violently destroyed. He couldn't manage a smile now, and as he was about to cry, Harry had already reached him.

Opening his eyes, Harry glanced at the ruined face paint and raised his right hand.

Slap!

"A big man loses and then cries? What a joke!"

With a painful smack, Arthur collapsed onto the floor, eyes rolling back, lying motionless.

"The match is over," the emotionless referee confirmed, noting the fainted opponent. "Winner: Number 007."

Medical staff rushed to the scene and quickly carried away the unlucky boy with a swollen cheek.

(End of chapter)