Chapter 316: The Black Iron City (IV)

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"They look like just a couple of kids." 

Nearby researchers whispered among themselves, curiosity laced in their voices. After all, it wasn't every day that someone barged into this classified, highly secure magical research site. 

"That boy? A kid? Have you ever seen a two-meter-tall child? He's built like a damn giant. I wouldn't be surprised if he could wrestle a bear and win." 

"Still, what a stroke of bad luck. Even if they got here by accident, the Aurors will probably have to wipe their memories. Hope they send someone skilled for the job—mess it up, and they'll be brain-dead." 

"This is the highest-level classified research zone. No one gets out unless the research is complete. Think about us—we haven't left this godforsaken place in three years. Those mountains, those trees—they're all fake. By Merlin's rotting corpse, this place is a damn prison!" 

"At least when we finally get out, we'll be world-famous. Isn't that why you came here in the first place?" 

Their conversation was a jumbled mess of complaints and speculation, but in a place where researchers had been locked away for years, any kind of novelty was welcome. 

Even with state-of-the-art entertainment facilities, nothing simulated real life—not truly. 

As the researchers muttered amongst themselves, the two figures surrounded by a ring of Aurors finally made a move. 

But they did not drop their weapons. 

Nor did they raise their hands. 

Instead, a crisp snap of fingers echoed through the tense air. 

Snap. 

In an instant, one of the Aurors flinched. A reflexive twitch of his finger triggered the spell he had been preparing, and a barrage of pre-arranged incantations shot forward. 

Scarlet beams of magic surged through the air—only to vanish against an almost imperceptible magical barrier, dissolving without so much as a ripple. 

Harry's gaze swept over the tense group before him. His voice was calm, even indifferent. 

"This place is my predecessor's gift to me—a warehouse for his toys." 

"I am its rightful and legitimate inheritor." 

The Aurors stiffened, but before they could react further, Harry's arm slipped around Fleur's waist, gently pulling her closer as if to ease her lingering unease. 

"You may not understand this," he continued, his voice smooth, unwavering. 

"But I don't need you to." 

With a casual flick of his finger, a ring of unseen energy rippled outward. 

A pulse of magic spread across the entire underground chamber. 

In an instant, Apparition was sealed. Portkeys and Floo networks—anything that could facilitate escape—were severed as if an unseen force had choked the life from them. 

"I don't appreciate being threatened with violence," Harry remarked coolly, his gaze lingering on the Aurors who had fired. 

Then, with a subtle shift of his grip, he pulled Fleur fully into his embrace. 

"Close your eyes for a moment," he murmured. "I need to take out the trash." 

Truthfully, when it came to dealing with "small fry," Fleur was even more terrifying than Harry. 

If she chose to, she didn't even need to fight. 

The mere release of her raw magical essence would be enough to turn every single one of these Aurors into helpless, mindless puppets. 

Her presence alone was a force more potent than the most lethal enchantment—something far beyond the allure of the Sweet Sweet Fruit from One Piece. 

No one who fell under her spell could ever resist. 

Not even she could undo the effect. The best solution? Erasing their memories entirely. 

Once, it had been just a month's worth of memories. 

Now? It might take years. 

Yet, instead of using her power, Fleur simply obeyed, pressing her cheek against Harry's back. Eyes closed, she focused only on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

In the span of mere seconds, Harry's thin magical shield had withstood a concentrated barrage of over two hundred spell attacks from nearly thirty Aurors. 

At last, the once-unshaken barrier rippled—as if on the verge of shattering. 

Harry remained unfazed. 

To him, this was nothing. 

It wasn't even a technique—just the simplest application of raw magical energy. Not even a proper spell. 

But the Aurors? 

Their backs were drenched in cold sweat. 

Even a fully grown dragon would have collapsed under such a relentless magical onslaught. 

Yes, magical creatures had powerful natural defenses, but that only went so far. 

If quality alone couldn't pierce through their resistance, sheer quantity certainly could. 

"Are You Done?" 

Harry's voice rang out, cutting through the fading hum of magic. 

In an instant, the battlefield dimmed. 

The last remnants of glowing spellfire fizzled out, leaving the chamber eerily silent. 

His tone remained as calm as ever. 

"Most of you didn't attempt lethal spells against me. So, I won't make a bloody mess of this place."

Harry raised the ivory-white firearm, leveling it smoothly. "A select few among you have made a grievous mistake today. I hope you remember it—forever." 

"Bone-shattering." 

"Limb-tearing." 

He pulled the trigger. 

Four bursts of crimson exploded in the crowd, blood and bone fragments scattering like grotesque fireworks. 

Harry lowered the gun, his expression serene. "I'm simply returning the favor." 

"Now, we're even. I trust the rest of you understand, don't you?" 

He gestured casually toward the spots where bodies had been—where their remains still dripped onto the stone floor. His smile was disarmingly clear, almost innocent. 

"They tried to kill me," he explained, tone light, as though commenting on the weather. "So they died. You didn't, which is why you're still breathing." 

It was a simple truth. Undeniable. 

Yet, when the words left his lips, they carried a chill so deep it seemed to freeze the very marrow of those who heard them. 

"I am a reasonable person." 

The room shuddered—not physically, but in the hearts of those present. 

Fear. 

Respect. 

And something else—something more insidious. 

A twisted, instinctive gratitude. 

Because they were alive. 

And the dead were dead. 

The world was simple. 

Just like this. 

A Clean Slate 

With a quiet command, "Sanitize." 

The splattered blood and shattered bones dissolved into nothingness. It was as if the executions had never happened. 

The lingering scent of blood dissipated with his next spell. 

"Gale Sweep." 

Gone. 

Erased. 

Reality scrubbed clean with a few whispered words. 

Harry's gaze flicked toward a figure edging toward an exit. 

A single gesture. 

The only physical passage leading outside sealed shut in an instant. 

Molten black iron bled into the doorway, glowing red-hot before solidifying into an impenetrable mass. The resulting structure twisted into a lock—a door that no magic would open in mere seconds. 

That was his timeframe. 

And it was more than enough. 

"Don't even think about leaving until I'm done here." 

His voice was casual, but the weight behind it crushed any thoughts of defiance before they could form. 

Harry ran his fingers through Fleur's hair, his touch light. 

"You can open your eyes now." 

She had been protected from the noise, the chaos. A simple barrier spell had kept the worst of it from reaching her ears. 

Now, as she looked up at him, the room had returned to its former calm—bloodless, undisturbed. 

Harry turned his gaze back to the surrounding figures. 

"I believe our little misunderstanding has been resolved, yes?" 

He didn't need to wait for an answer. 

Weapons clattered to the ground. 

Every single Auror, soldier, and enforcer in the room nodded—unanimously. 

No hesitation. No resistance. 

After all, they were just professionals. 

Hired hands. 

There was no patriotism in their work—no grand ideals of justice. Whether police, Auror, or mercenary, they were no different from monks drawing a paycheck at a temple. 

Loyalty was an illusion. 

Survival was real. 

Harry cast a glance toward the massive construct looming in the chamber. 

"You've been studying these for quite some time, haven't you?" 

His tone shifted—lighter, almost amused. 

"Who's in charge here? Come give us a proper tour, why don't you?" 

"It would be such a shame to miss the full experience without a guide." 

All eyes turned toward a single man. 

A man who, under the crushing weight of those silent stares, nearly collapsed to his knees. 

(End of Chapter)