Chapter 231: A Duel Must Be Elegant

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"Professor Flitwick, I'm back to compete!"

Harry waved at Professor Flitwick as he arrived at the venue for the European Young Wizard Duel Championship, just barely making it in time for the mid-May competition. Moving quickly, he picked up his participant badge. This time, it wasn't the lucky 007—it was 001, a ranking he earned based on his performance in the qualifiers.

Harry's overwhelming strength during the preliminary rounds had caused quite a stir, with countless participants studying his techniques in an attempt to prepare. His last-minute arrival only added to the attention he was already receiving.

But Harry couldn't care less about such things. As long as it wasn't an international event featuring the same insane, P-tier competitors as himself, he had little interest in these so-called competitions. Honor? What use was that? Could it fill his stomach? Even for bragging rights, wouldn't it be far more impressive to casually show someone the hundreds of millions of Galleons sitting in his vaults or casually summon a mountain of gold? For someone as blunt as Harry, that was a much better flex.

"Fleur?! What are you doing here?"

Harry had just finished greeting Professor Flitwick when he spotted someone he could never mistake—Fleur Delacour. Completely wrapped in a thick, silk robe that only revealed her striking blue eyes, Fleur was as stunning as ever, standing out in the crowd despite her modest attire.

"If I hadn't seen the participant list while visiting Madame Maxime, I wouldn't have even known you were competing in the Young Wizard division," Fleur said with a hint of reproach, giving Harry a sidelong glance.

"You didn't even bother to tell me."

"Well..." Harry scratched his head with an awkward smile. "It's just that these kinds of competitions—bullying kids, really—aren't very entertaining to watch."

"But don't worry! For the world championship in early June, I'll definitely bring you along. You can sit in the family section! Aunt Petunia and the others can't come, so you're the only one I've got."

"Ugh, that's so greasy."

Fleur playfully poked Harry in the chest, pushing him away with mock disdain, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

"After the match, let's go out and have some fun. It's been months since I last saw you, and I've missed you terribly."

"Perfect timing—I've found an amazing spot I absolutely have to take you to!"

"Where is it?"

"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?"

"Hold on a sec. I'll be quick. The arena matches might take some time, but I've got a little trick up my sleeve."

The top eight players on the leaderboard each occupied a platform at the start of the match, tasked with defending it for 48 hours. However, every six hours, there was a two-hour break for rest and recovery. At the end of the tournament, the eight competitors who successfully defended their platforms would advance directly to the World Cup Finals in early June. There, 96 wizards—selected from eight regions—would battle for the title of Duel Champion in both the Platform Duels and the Free-for-All Arena.

This was bound to be an excruciatingly drawn-out competition, testing the contestants' endurance, resilience, and intellect. The last eight standing wouldn't necessarily be the strongest, but each one who advanced would possess their own unique combat wisdom.

Harry wasn't foolish, but he didn't particularly enjoy overthinking things, so he always opted for the simplest, most effective approach.

For example—

The first challenger stepped onto Harry's Platform One. Contestant 035 looked intimidating, even more so than Harry. Standing at around 1.95 meters tall, his grotesquely oversized arms were so overdeveloped they didn't even hang naturally at his sides. This wasn't the physique of a muscleman—it was a bloated monstrosity, the kind of physique that made people uneasy just looking at it.

"I get it. I get it all," Harry said dismissively, waving his hand before the hulking man could even open his mouth to spit out his threats. "Let's get this over with quickly and save everyone some time."

"I—"

The brute had barely started speaking when Harry interrupted him, finishing his sentence mockingly:

"—am going to rip your head off and use it as a chamber pot, or maybe a ball to kick around, right? I already said, I get it."

"Your message has been received. Can we start now?" Harry glanced at the referee and nodded, signaling that he was ready.

"What's the matter? Too many steroids clogging up your vocal cords?" Harry taunted, giving the challenger a sharp glare. Despite his usual nonchalant attitude, this was the same Harry who had once obliterated Voldemort's forces under a different alias—his killing intent alone was enough to make the muscle-bound oaf falter. The man stumbled back half a step, his knees wobbling.

The black-robed referee coughed lightly, sensing that things were starting to go awry. "Contestant 035, please prepare for the duel immediately, or the second challenger will be called up to take your place."

After issuing the warning, the referee glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye and whispered, "No deliberate killings on the platform, kid. Don't make any mistakes."

"If he can't even take one hit, that's not my fault," Harry replied coldly, his expression detached and chilling, as if he were staring at a corpse. His tone sent shivers down the spines of those nearby, but ultimately, the challenger hesitated only briefly before nodding. He refused to believe he couldn't withstand even a single strike.

"Both sides ready. Duel, begin!"

The referee's announcement echoed across the arena. The two participants raised their wands in a simple gesture of respect before taking their places at the red starting lines on the 10x50-meter standardized dueling platform. Unlike the preliminaries, the European finals offered much more room to maneuver.

As soon as the starting signal sounded, the musclebound challenger moved with shocking speed. Despite his bulky, clumsy appearance, his reflexes were unnervingly quick. In one smooth motion, he turned, raised his wand, and pulled the trigger to unleash his spell sequence.

But by the time his wand was even raised, Harry was already standing in the center of the platform, calmly lifting his right fist.

"A duel must be elegant," Harry said, flashing him a sharp grin.

"Mul-Gaar-Nos." (Strength-Unleash-Strike)

The Million-Ton Punch!

Though Harry's devastating punch lacked the boost from the Strength Release Potion he had once used to deliver a legendary strike, even his natural strength—equivalent to a tenth of Hagrid's—was far beyond what any ordinary person could contend with.

The dueling platform let out a mournful wail the instant his fist made contact, followed by a deafening boom like a thunderclap on a clear day. Dust, debris, and splinters of wood erupted into the air, shrouding the massive arena in chaos.

A plume of smoke and dust, rising over ten meters high, obscured the spectators' vision completely. The protective magical barrier designed to contain stray spells during the duel had been shredded to nothing in an instant. A strong gust of wind swept through the arena, clearing the airborne debris to reveal the aftermath.

It was as if a meteorite had struck. What remained of the dueling platform were mere fragments at either end, with a massive crater in the middle. Standing at the heart of this devastation, arms crossed and unscathed, was Harry.

"Declare it over," Harry said coldly.

His original opponent had been flung dozens of meters away by the initial shockwave. If it weren't for the protective armor spell he had cast as part of his opening sequence, he might not have survived at all. Even so, his bloated, over-inflated muscles offered little defense against the sheer force.

"For the next guy," Harry added, cracking his knuckles, "I won't stop at just sending him flying."

With a casual snap of his fingers, Harry caused the scattered wood and debris to reverse their trajectory, piecing themselves back together in seconds. The platform was restored to its original, pristine state, as if nothing had happened.

"I propose a vote," Harry announced, turning to the other contestants. "How many of you are willing to forfeit your challenge against me?"

"Without me in the mix, maybe the rest of you will have a better chance to shine. Don't you think?"

The other competitors, who had been mid-duel on nearby platforms, paused and exchanged uneasy glances. If Harry had seemed only slightly stronger before, there might still have been thoughts of taking him down through strategy or cunning. But now, faced with such overwhelming strength, it was clear they weren't even on the same playing field.

Perhaps in the chaotic melee rounds, teaming up against him might offer a glimmer of hope. But in the one-on-one dueling format, no one wanted to be his next opponent.

After a brief moment of hesitation, someone shakily raised their hand. One by one, others followed suit, until consensus was reached.

It wasn't uncommon for absurdly powerful contestants to show up at these events. Even Professor Flitwick, who had won five consecutive Dueling Platform Championships in his youth, was once considered a "monster" in the field. However, unlike Harry's overwhelming displays of raw strength, Flitwick had built his legacy on his unparalleled speed and precision.

The organizing committee, well-versed in handling such situations, quickly convened the referees for a vote. Within minutes, they decided to seal Harry's Platform One entirely, leaving the remaining seven slots to be determined by the other platforms.

"All done," Harry said breezily as he strolled back to the resting area, looking utterly relaxed.

"See? Didn't I tell you? These kinds of boring, unwatchable matches are a waste of time," Harry quipped to Fleur, flashing her a grin before turning to Professor Flitwick.

"Professor, didn't I showcase the pride of Hogwarts out there? Everyone must be thinking, 'Only a student of the five-time champion could pull off something like that!'"

Flitwick sighed, resting his head in his hand as if nursing an oncoming headache. He took a sip of soda laced with cherry syrup and replied, "You really are something, kid. Well, you're done here, so go ahead and enjoy yourself. Just make sure to come back by the end of the month. You're not allowed to cut it close for the World Championships, understood?

"Remember, Harry, the world is full of geniuses. There are over two million witches and wizards worldwide, and every year, a few exceptional talents emerge.

"But only a handful ever leave a lasting mark in people's memories. Treat the world with humility, and you'll gain far more in return."

"I won't forget, Professor. Thank you," Harry said, smiling earnestly.

Harry gave Professor Flitwick a respectful bow before taking Fleur's hand. In a flash, they Disapparated from the scene.

"Where are we going, Harry?"

Fleur, now transported to a familiar place, looked around. The Eiffel Tower stood in the distance, and they had arrived in Paris, walking along the banks of the Seine River.

"How did we end up back here? Are you thinking of visiting my house? My parents and Gabrielle are off on a world tour, so no one's home," Fleur teased.

"No one... cough cough cough," Harry stammered, his mind straying before he quickly pulled himself back. With Fleur's playful smile, he knew the words were meant to lead him astray. He had to be careful not to fall into that trap.

"We're going to meet someone," Harry said, trying to regain his composure. "You may not know them personally, but I'm sure you've heard of them many times."

They strolled leisurely along the banks of the Seine, the morning light just beginning to break over Paris. The cool dew from the early morning mist clung to Harry's black dress robes, which he had worn for the duel, as they walked along the cobblestone path. The air was still thick with fog, which slowly began to dissipate.

On the opposite side of the river stood the grand Louvre, and they passed by the small Angel's Ice Cream Shop near Saint-Michel. Though the shop wasn't open yet, with a few quick movements, Harry returned with two cones of hazelnut-covered ice cream.

Not far ahead, the Notre-Dame Cathedral echoed with the soft sounds of priests and children singing hymns, and it seemed they were heading toward the entrance of the church.

"Harry."

"What's up?"

Fleur suddenly stopped, leaning on the railing by the river. She removed her hood, letting her silver hair cascade down like a waterfall. The dew-covered grass swayed gently in the breeze, as though dancing to greet her.

"If one day—just if—" Fleur turned her head, resting it on Harry's shoulder, her voice soft. "If we got married, what would you think about holding the wedding here?"

The first rays of sunlight, tinged with gold, caught the stained-glass windows of Notre-Dame, casting a dreamy glow across the scene. Yet, even the magical light couldn't steal the brilliance of the girl beside him.

"That sounds wonderful. On that day, I'll make sure the whole of Paris celebrates."

"Really? You think something like that's possible?"

"It's easy," Harry replied, his grin wide. "On that day, I'll announce that I'm taking Paris, and the people here will raise their hands in the air, hailing their great and holy ruler."

"Hahaha!" Fleur laughed at Harry's joke, then playfully pinched his waist. Harry instantly squirmed, putting on a grin of feigned politeness.

"I'm just kidding, just kidding! Even Grindelwald couldn't blow up Paris, so what makes me think I could, right?"

"Hmph," Fleur muttered, turning and walking ahead, her steps light and quick, almost like a deer hopping through the woods.

"Wrong way, hey, wrong way!" Harry called out after her. She had already walked several meters ahead before he noticed the mistake. Even though her face was hidden under her hood, Harry could imagine the confused expression in her eyes.

Fleur turned on her heel, her arms suddenly lifted in the air like a kitten being picked up.

"A lady should be graceful and dignified. We're going to meet someone important soon," Harry said, trying to keep the situation light.

"Hmph," Fleur grumbled, crossing her arms. "It's your fault, Harry. You're so childish."

"Come on, don't be like that. Gabrielle always says you like it," Harry teased.

"I'm not a child!" Fleur snapped, extending her foot. "My shoelace is undone."

"Of course, of course, let me tie it for the big sister," Harry replied, crouching down.

Just as he knelt, Fleur quickly spun around, her foot pressing down gently before she leapt onto his shoulder.

"Who's the childish one now?" Fleur said smugly, her grin wide as she perched atop Harry.

"Oh, right," Harry replied, shaking his head with a rueful smile. "I guess I'm just destined to be the one doing all the work."

With a playful snicker, Harry straightened up and started running with Fleur still on his shoulder.

They passed through a grand gateway that had suddenly materialized from the morning mist, entering a magical, hidden mansion in Paris. Even a brief glance at the luxurious estate left them in awe—its splendor far surpassed even the Louvre they had passed earlier.

"This is…" Fleur's voice trailed off as she had an inkling of where they were, though she wasn't entirely sure.

"This is Nicolas Flamel's private estate. Pretty impressive, huh?"

(End of Chapter)