Chapter 236: I Bet Your Gun Has No Bullets
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A new legend has emerged in Qizhadelo. According to the lucky few who barely escaped with their lives, they can only recall that on a certain mid-May evening, while they were happily dividing loot, drinking, and flirting with the adorable Arlonian maids in their camp, the sky suddenly turned dark.
Though it was already night, the moon and stars had been shining brightly—until that moment. Darkness fell, and a man wreathed in rolling black clouds, his bloodshot eyes burning red with madness and fury, appeared above their camp. He called himself Voldemort. He claimed that a highly respected predecessor had visited him in a dream and reprimanded him:
"Little Voldy, as a Dark Lord, you must uphold your title! How many have you killed yesterday? How many today? Your KPI is still far from being met—how do you even sleep at night?"
So, the diligent Dark Lord took his mentor's advice to heart, got up in the dead of night, and started working. No one knows if it would take three days and nights to cut from the Southern Heavenly Gate to the Eastern Road of Penglai, but one thing was certain: it took him less than a single night to slash his way from the southernmost point of Qizhadelo's magic disturbance zone to its northernmost tip!
From 9:00 PM until 12:30 AM, in just three and a half hours, the frenzied Voldemort—acting as if he had taken a stimulant—completed a half-circle sweep around Qizhadelo. Any camp that failed to conceal itself properly and was unlucky enough to be sniffed out was obliterated.
The moment he arrived, he unleashed a few rapid-fire Avada Kedavra chain bolts, driving the scattered crowds together. Then came the Avada Laser Cannon—one blast to clear the field. And after that? A looting spree—no, a battlefield cleanup operation—so practiced and efficient that it couldn't possibly be more refined.
With a single overwhelming Finite Incantatem, nearly all enchanted alchemy items were shattered—whether they were spatial pouches, circus-sized tents, or cages holding fresh captives. Everything disintegrated into ruin. Countless 9mm-caliber gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and copper Knuts erupted from the wreckage, forming a storm of bullets that poured into an open money bag. Valuable leather, magic cores, and rare herbs soared through the air, sorting themselves into their rightful pockets. The entire process took less than ninety seconds.
Meanwhile, the unfortunate souls who had stepped outside the camp to relieve themselves were left dumbfounded. They had only squatted for a few minutes—how had their entire home vanished?
But after Harry left, the lucky ones who, for various reasons, hadn't immediately fled all rushed into the camp's ruins. While the cash and easily liquidated valuables had been swept clean by Harry, the remaining loot was far from worthless. This was treasure amassed by anywhere from a hundred to several hundred people, obtained through relentless hunting and pillaging in Qizhadelo. Even the discarded scraps were worth no less than millions of Galleons.
Now, these once-owned riches had become abandoned spoils, lying around like unclaimed trash, waiting for the fortunate to claim them.
To those who had perished, Voldemort was a ruthless, cold-blooded Dark Lord. But for the remaining lucky survivors, the dream of overnight riches had just become a reality.
They didn't even have time to draw their wands and fight over the loot. Wasting time bickering was pointless—it was better to start packing up as much as possible, grabbing whatever they could.
Over 40% of the camps along Qizhadelo's eastern border were hit. This time, unlike the earlier half of May, 'Voldemort' wasn't aiming for complete annihilation, yet his slaughter efficiency far exceeded previous raids, and the chaos he stirred was on an entirely different level.
A horde of scavengers risked their lives to tail him, forming a procession of looters. Some even covered their faces and raised white flags, volunteering as guides. Without them, Harry wouldn't have been able to locate so many camps.
Unfortunately, they underestimated Voldemort's ruthless nature. After using the guides to their fullest, and once the increasingly greedy looters had stuffed themselves to their limits, the Dark Lord's sinister grin reappeared—right above their heads.
Meanwhile, in Australia, Tom Riddle had just stepped off a plane—nothing but an ordinary, ridiculously handsome man. He sneezed dozens of times in a row, completely oblivious to the fact that thousands of kilometers away, on the African continent, his name was once again spreading like wildfire.
At last, the Dark Lord Voldemort had stepped beyond the confines of tiny England. He had finally cast his shadow and spread his terror upon the grand stage of the world.
The unmistakable Avada Laser Cannon blazed through the night, its eerie green glow carving a bright, hellish path into the abyss.
---
Harry tiptoed back into the house. Though it was his first time visiting Fleur's home, it somehow felt like he was returning to his own. Without even meeting him, a house-elf had recognized him immediately, opening the door and thoughtfully presenting him with a pair of house slippers in exactly the right size.
His guest room was on the second floor. After passing through a cozy living room filled with plush cushions, he climbed the spiraling marble staircase to reach the upper level. His bedroom was at the end of the hallway. Once they arrived at the door, the house-elf silently retreated. Along the way, she had informed Harry that fresh clothes had been placed by his bedside and that he could enjoy a hot bath before getting some rest.
The bath, with its constant supply of warm water, was designed like an indoor hot spring. Enchanted walls and ceilings shifted in response to his presence; the moment he stepped into the water, the surroundings transformed into an open field of tall grass swaying in the night breeze. Above him stretched a vast, brilliant galaxy, with countless stars illuminating the sky.
As he lay back, his body completely relaxed, and all the day's exhaustion seemed to melt away under the shimmering starlight.
Harry was indeed exhausted—cosplaying as Voldemort wasn't exactly easy. While dealing with those poachers was no different from slaughtering chickens to him, and it didn't leave even the slightest psychological burden, the fatigue on both his body and mind was undeniable.
Gentle snores echoed through the bathroom. The warm water enveloping him felt like a return to a mother's embrace, and countless soft, invisible hands seemed to be kneading his weary muscles, gradually melting away his accumulated exhaustion.
Perhaps ten minutes passed, maybe half an hour. A faint splash of water stirred Harry from his light nap. Instinctively, his muscles tensed, but as he raised his hand, he suddenly remembered—he was no longer in Qizhadelo.
"Where did you go? You look completely worn out," a soft, slightly husky voice drifted into his ears.
"Obviously, I was out making money to support you," Harry replied lazily, not bothering to open his eyes. "I can't just live off you like a freeloader, right?"
"Oh? Then you can cover my bill later."
"What did you buy?" Now mildly curious, Harry cracked his eyes open just a sliver. Fleur was sitting at the edge of the bath, clad in a nightgown, with only her fair, delicate feet dipped into the water.
"Just some cosmetics," she replied casually. "Madame LeMieux offered to gift them to me, but I felt a little guilty about accepting something so expensive for free."
"How much?" Harry asked, indifferent. He had just finished harvesting—or rather, looting—his latest crop of bandits, netting well over a million Galleons in cash alone. On top of that, he still had a massive haul of non-Gringotts-issued 9mm magical currency waiting to be exchanged, including gold, silver, and copper bullets in calibers like 5.56, 7.62, and 5.8mm. Roughly estimating the total, with materials included, he had raked in at least ten million in goods—equivalent to half a month's worth of black market transactions in Qizhadelo.
"About a million," Fleur answered.
"Oh, that's not too bad," Harry said absentmindedly. For ordinary makeup, a million would be an outrageous sum, but these were specialized cosmetics designed to suppress Fleur's supernatural allure—high prices were to be expected. A million Galleons seemed reasonable.
"A million francs," she corrected. "Enough for about ten uses."
"Pfft—!" Harry choked on his own spit and coughed violently. "Wait a minute..." He quickly did the mental math. "That's… roughly 1.69 million Galleons. For ten uses?!"
"Honestly, I wouldn't mind if you found yourself a sugar mommy," Fleur mused.
Harry's face twisted in distress. His income simply couldn't keep up with Fleur's current level of spending. He couldn't just keep righteously intervening and rescuing endangered magical creatures every other day—after all, even crops needed time to regrow before being harvested again. If those poachers all switched careers, where the hell was he supposed to get more money?
"See? I told you it was too expensive," Fleur murmured, playfully nudging Harry's chest with her toes. "How about I just sell the Sunstone jewelry—"
"That was a personal gift, given to you by someone very specific," Harry interrupted, shaking his head firmly. "And she's way scarier than Madame LeMieux. No way."
In Harry's mind, Daenerys ranked far higher than even Nicolas Flamel himself. The Sunstones—one for him and one for Fleur—had been given without hesitation, despite Flamel eyeing them greedily for ages. If there was even the slightest chance of displeasing such a powerhouse, Harry would rather take a financial hit than risk offending her.
"Money can always be earned again," he muttered, deep in thought. Almost unconsciously, his hand reached out and grasped the mischievous little feet playing around his chest. They were soft, smooth, and carried a faint scent of lavender. Wait… Fleur was using the same bath products as him?
"Don't you dare put my feet in your mouth!" A rubber ducky smacked Harry right in the forehead.
Turning his head, he caught sight of Fleur frozen in place, her face flushed red. After a long, awkward pause, she finally squeezed out a single word:
"Dirty."
"I was lost in thought, okay? I had no weird intentions whatsoever. Please believe my very suspicious-sounding excuse," Harry replied with an absolutely straight face. Unfortunately, his choice of words utterly betrayed him. "I mean—"
"What's dirty about them? I'll just wash them for you."
"Hey, stop that! That tickles!"
Laughter echoed through the bathroom as the two of them ended up splashing water at each other, rolling around in a playful struggle.
Out of nowhere, Fleur pulled out a water gun and blasted Harry mercilessly, forcing him to shield himself while dodging her relentless attacks.
"You're cheating!" Harry yelped, eyes darting around for cover.
But before he could react, Fleur suddenly stepped forward, placed a quick kiss on his forehead, then giggled mischievously as she tossed the water gun aside and skipped out of the bath.
Harry remained frozen in place for a long moment, blinking in confusion. Scratching the back of his head, he muttered to himself:
"Wait… did I just get looked down on?"
"One day, I'll show you what it truly means to be the world's number one alpha male!"
Feeling utterly stifled, Harry submerged himself beneath the water, only the rising bubbles betraying his frustration.
Early the Next Morning —
A lovingly prepared breakfast quickly dispelled the lingering resentment from the previous night. After being given a proper tour of the house by its mistress, Harry suddenly realized—he actually had some free time on his hands. Aside from delivering the recently arrived shipment to Daenerys later, he had absolutely nothing to worry about until early June.
With the Resurrection Stone and the Lightning Elemental Armor taken by Nicolas Flamel for research, Harry had no way to continue refining elemental threads to reinforce his armor. His practical combat training had also reached its final stages. Truth be told, fighting poachers wasn't all that intense. While some of them did pose a threat to him, the truly powerful ones had already come to a chilling realization after last night's incident—Harry was downright terrifying.
It wasn't that they couldn't defeat him, but rather, he possessed the ability to Apparate within areas of magical turbulence. While such a feat wasn't unheard of—given enough skill, talent, and magical control, it was theoretically possible—every individual who mastered this technique was an absolute nightmare to deal with.
If he couldn't win, he could simply teleport away, whereas his enemies had no choice but to run on foot. Even if they transformed using Animagus to boost their speed, no amount of running could ever outpace teleportation. Anti-Apparition barriers were also unreliable in high-magic fluctuation zones. Against an opponent like that, the best option was to avoid facing him in such areas altogether.
"Why don't we go out and have some fun?"
Upon learning that Fleur had taken an extended leave, Harry didn't hesitate to prioritize something far more meaningful than reinforcing his theoretical knowledge.
"Where to?"
Seated on the swing in the courtyard, Fleur swayed gently, her long legs—previously always wrapped up—now fully exposed beneath a pair of denim shorts. Her skin, as pure as milk, shimmered under the sunlight. Or rather, she herself seemed to be glowing.
"Isn't the World Championship happening in early June? We should head over in advance, scout things out, and, you know, avoid any potential issues with acclimatization messing up our form."
Harry came up with a perfectly valid excuse for their trip.
"But before that, we need to drop off the delivery at Qizhadelo. You should also take the chance to thank Daenerys. Though, how do I put it..."
"She's a bit... eccentric?"
"A little quirky, yeah. One moment she insists on being called 'Your Majesty,' the next she wants to be 'Big Sis.' Two thousand years—ahem—being cooped up in Qizhadelo with no way to leave has probably driven her half-mad. Especially now that she knows just how exciting the outside world is. Learning too much but not being able to experience any of it firsthand… that's gotta be rough."
Harry had barely even heard of half the things on Daenerys' shopping list. Judging by the names, though, most seemed to be entertainment-related—board games, war chess, that sort of thing. Thankfully, Nicolas Flamel, the premier walking vault, had helped with the purchases. Otherwise, even with a year or two, Harry alone wouldn't have been able to gather everything. Some items required scouring the entire world, and a few had long been discontinued, available only as unopened collectibles in private hands.
"So, shall we get going?"
"Sure!" Harry set down his teacup and stood up.
"Catch me!"
Fleur kicked off from the swing with force, soaring gracefully into the air, her body stretching out in a weightless arc.
"Careful, don't fall."
With a few quick strides, Harry reached out and caught the airborne girl. Cloaks billowed as they wrapped themselves in their travel gear, and in the blink of an eye, their figures vanished from the front garden, flickering toward the distant horizon.
(End of Chapter)