Chapter 324: Past and Present

On the other side of the arena, a young boy stood motionless. Though he bore a striking resemblance to Hoffa, his eyes were devoid of expression, staring blankly ahead. He looked like a robot from a Terminator movie—except this robot was made of flesh and blood.

Even so, the sight was unsettling.

Hoffa waved at him, but the boy didn't respond.

Barty let out a sigh of relief. He hadn't recognized Hoffa's eleven-year-old self yet. Instead, he asked in disbelief, "That kid… that kid is your opponent?"

Hoffa turned his head, his expression serious. "What kind of magic can you use?"

"I know a bit of Dark Magic—things like the Unforgivable Curses," Barty admitted awkwardly. "But I don't have a wand, so I can't cast anything."

"Damn it," Hoffa muttered in frustration. "Then you better stay far away."

"Is that kid tough to deal with?"

"He's manageable."

Hoffa spoke with concern. He wasn't afraid of this younger version of himself—this was his eleven-year-old self from five years ago. His eye color hadn't even changed yet, so he couldn't be that strong. But what worried him was who might appear next.

Long ago, he had encountered mimic monsters born from Underworld worms. The last time, he had used septic potions to kill his doppelgänger. But now, he had nothing. He needed to gather as many resources as possible if he wanted to survive Death's game.

"Go underground and find that silver-haired girl. Ask her if she has any septic potions."

"Can you handle this alone?"

"Don't argue. Just do as I say."

Hoffa quickly ordered, "Go and come back fast."

As they spoke, the boy opposite them slowly pulled a wand from his waist. In his hand, the wand elongated and transformed into a silver gauntlet, wrapping around his arm.

Seeing that, Hoffa felt as if he had traveled back in time. He still remembered his last visit to Helheim, where he had used wand transformation just like that to defeat various enemies.

Barty slowly drifted backward.

His movement was like a gazelle awakening a cheetah. The boy on the other side of the sandy ground stepped forward, raising his gauntlet and smashing toward Barty.

"Not a chance!"

Hoffa grabbed a handful of sand from the ground, flipping his hand to transform it into a blood-red longsword. With a metallic clang, he blocked his younger self's attack.

The boy showed no reaction to being stopped. He merely stepped back two paces before twisting his body, swinging his gauntlet. In the blink of an eye, the gauntlet morphed into a massive sword, as wide as a door, slashing horizontally at Hoffa.

Boom!

The sand blade in Hoffa's hand transformed into a crimson round shield.

The massive sword in the boy's hand struck the shield, sending sparks flying. Hoffa bent his knees slightly. Was it just his imagination, or was his first-year self far stronger than he remembered?

Floating above them, the balloon-like Avada exclaimed excitedly, "There it is! The fundamental wand transformation. Though it's just the basics, it showcases unparalleled talent. But is this really all Death has sent as an opponent?"

As Avada spoke, the broadsword pressing against Hoffa's shield sprouted countless serrated teeth. The saw teeth began to spin, emitting an ear-piercing buzz. In an instant, the broadsword transformed into a meter-long chainsaw.

BZZZZT!

Sparks flew!

The shield was sawed in half in the blink of an eye.

But it wasn't over. The chainsaw sliced across Hoffa's chest, sending a spray of blood into the air, carving a deep wound down to the bone.

"Shit!"

Hoffa staggered back a few steps, cursing as he clutched his chest.

He had underestimated his opponent. The boy in front of him might be a copy of his younger self, but he was much stronger than Hoffa had been at that age. At eleven, Hoffa couldn't even comprehend how a chainsaw worked, let alone transform a wand into one.

After landing a hit, the boy didn't stop. He rushed toward Hoffa with the chainsaw in hand, his momentum overwhelming.

Hoffa could only retreat, widening the gap between them. As he backed away, the sandy ground around the boy churned, morphing into obstacles to trap him. The boy dodged left and right, chainsaw swinging wildly, cutting through the barriers. But in the end, he was caught in the grasp of the Shattered Hold.

Hoffa barely had time to catch his breath before the boy, still on the ground, transformed his chainsaw into a rocket launcher. The entire scene took a bizarre turn. He aimed the launcher and fired a missile.

"Hah?"

Hoffa was dumbfounded. In all his years, he never knew wand transformation could be used this way.

The missile shot toward him in an instant. Hoffa reacted on instinct, pointing a finger at the projectile. Midair, the missile turned into a water balloon, bursting with a loud pop and drenching him.

Through the misty water, he saw the boy on the ground, wand in hand, pointing at him once more.

Suddenly, an intense burning sensation spread across Hoffa's skin. The clear water that had splashed onto him transformed into a substance akin to concentrated sulfuric acid, scorching his body to the point where smoke began rising from his flesh.

The body granted by the Reaper dulled most pain, but Hoffa knew that if this vessel were destroyed, his defeat would be imminent. Without hesitation, he threw himself to the ground, attempting to use the sand to scrub away the corrosive liquid on his skin.

However, the moment he fell, the sand beneath him morphed into countless razor-sharp iron thorns. If he landed on them, he would be pierced through in an instant—less than half a meter away, less than half a second to react.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Hoffa pointed a finger at the ground. The sand, which had transformed into iron thorns, shifted again, turning into a pile of soft, white foam. He landed gently within it, sending tiny white specks flying into the air.

"Look at that! A flawless demonstration of Transfiguration!" Avada, sitting atop a floating balloon, shouted excitedly. "Where else but in the Reaper's Secret Realm can you witness such a battle?"

As soon as his words fell, the white foam around Hoffa surged violently and transformed into a deep pool. In the distance, a small boy, trapped by the sand, waved his wand expressionlessly. In an instant, the surface of the deep pool solidified into tempered glass.

Damn it! I wasn't this strong in my first year!

Hoffa cursed inwardly. Trapped beneath the glass, he closed his eyes.

Bringing his hands together, he channeled all his mental power, seizing control of the sand that bound the boy. The grains extended, growing into towering trees. The tree crowns unfolded, morphing into massive, sharp hands.

Crunch!

The colossal hands of sand twisted in opposite directions like a rag being wrung out.

The gruesome scene drew satisfied cheers from the ghostly spectators in the stands.

"One to zero!" Avada, still atop the balloon, raised his arms in excitement. "Hoffa Bach has just given his past self a brutal lesson! See? A few extra years of experience really do make a difference!"

The deep pool on the ground vanished, revealing Hoffa sprawled in the sand, coughing violently. His body was riddled with pitted, eroded wounds from the acid.

Plop.

A crushed head fell from the sky, landing right at Hoffa's feet.

Staring at the younger version of his own face, Hoffa's body trembled slightly.

So this was the first opponent sent by the Reaper? A first-year version of himself. While this past self had yet to master Thunderbird transformation, his foundational Transfiguration skills were nothing short of extraordinary.

Yet, in less than ten exchanges, his own body had already suffered irreparable damage from the acid. A deep unwillingness gnawed at him—his opponent hadn't even needed to use any other magic. Pure Transfiguration alone had nearly defeated him. He had the potential for such skills, but his mindset had always been confined to the wizarding world. He had never considered turning a wand into a Muggle weapon.

And this was just one opponent. If the next was even stronger…

Sure enough, Avada spoke again from the balloon, "In the Eternal Arena, plenty manage to win the first round. But ninety percent of them die in the second challenge. I wonder—can this young legend withstand the pressure of facing himself?"

"Now, let's welcome our next contender—Hoffa Bach from the present! The Son of the Night God!"

As Avada's feverish voice rang out, the massive doors on the other side of the arena rumbled open. A blood-red, triple-ring symbol flickered ominously in the dark corridor.

Avada chuckled and tilted his head slightly. "Oh, by the way, just so you know… Helheim does have nighttime—if the Reaper wills it. Hahaha!"

Beyond the Bridge of the Past, in the endless void and frigid winds, a colossal figure—Hrasvelg, the Devourer of Corpses—slowly closed one of its massive eyes.

Instantly, the light across the Reaper's Secret Realm dimmed, including within the Eternal Arena. As darkness blanketed the sky, the sandy battleground below began to glow with a blood-like radiance.

The ghostly spectators, unfazed, somehow pulled out glow sticks and started waving them wildly, whistling with excitement as if they were attending a superstar's concert in the realm of death.

Rustle… rustle…

The footsteps stopped.

A figure, identical in age to Hoffa, appeared on the other side of the dueling ground. He had gray hair, golden eyes, and a bare upper body. A blood-red, triple-ring symbol gleamed menacingly on his chest.

"Blood."

Compared to the previous boy, this one displayed a few more emotions—an expression of bloodthirsty frenzy. He licked his lips repeatedly, muttering the word "blood" under his breath.

The moment Hoffa laid eyes on him, his face turned pale.

Just as he had feared.

The Reaper had sent him three opponents—his past, his present, and his future selves.

If his past self had been merely a Transfiguration expert, he could counter that with mental strength. But his present self… not only retained that expertise, but also possessed a powerful physical body. Meanwhile, Hoffa had none.

Defeat was almost certain.

"One has Hoffa Bach's body, the other his soul. So which one is the real Hoffa Bach?"

"Or perhaps… they both are? Or neither?"

Avada, standing atop the balloon, clutched his head dramatically, bending backward at a ninety-degree angle. He lifted his microphone skyward and let out a maniacal laugh.

"These kinds of questions are so confusing! So frustrating! Hahaha!"

As Avada's frenzied voice echoed through the arena, Hoffa glanced back. Barty Jr. hadn't returned yet.

BOOM!!

His gray-haired, golden-eyed counterpart attacked.

In the blink of an eye, he vanished.

A massive shockwave shook the ground. Hoffa barely had time to duck as the wall behind him was shattered with a single punch. The sheer force of it was terrifying.

Amid the flying debris, he caught sight of the golden-eyed version of himself—his gaze was hollow, devoid of emotion, like the perfect killing machine.

"Blood."

The other Hoffa spoke again.

"Miller!!"

Hoffa retreated with all his strength, clutching his head and shouting Miller's name.

He understood one thing clearly—this version of himself was in his nighttime state.

There was no way he could win alone.

He needed Miller's help.

"Miller, can you hear me?!"

(End of Chapter)

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