Chapter 372: Changing Attire

Hoffa gazed at the turbulent world within the illusion, feeling a sense of unease. This was the most bustling place in the world. Groups of people flocked from all directions, gathering in cities like London and New York. And within those cities, banks and exchanges were where the largest crowds assembled.

An invisible wave of desire radiated from the trading floors, rippling out across the world like water. Those touched by these ripples reacted like dogs catching a scent—they abandoned whatever they were doing and moved toward the source of the allure.

Chloe held Hoffa's hand and whispered in his ear, "Hoffa, if you want to find magic, you must find that one thing—the only thing that never changes. Only if you find it will magic return, and all wishes can…"

Chloe's figure grew increasingly blurry, her voice gradually fading away.

A crisp, light sound rang out, jolting Hoffa awake from his slumber. He sat up straight and saw Nicolas Flamel holding a small bell in his hand.

"Sorry, Bach," Flamel said leisurely, tucking the bell back into his pocket. "The Philosopher's Stone potion is quite expensive. I couldn't let you sleep too long, or I'd have to charge extra."

Hoffa relaxed and leaned back into the recliner. He had to admit, this sleep was far more restful than the one he had on Grimoire Square.

"You saw her?" Flamel asked.

Hoffa nodded slowly.

Flamel retrieved the soul stone from Hoffa, looking pleased. "My dear granddaughter sent me a dream, telling me I must find you. Now that I've completed my task, off you go, off you go."

Still immersed in his conversation with Chloe, Hoffa paid no attention to Flamel's impatient dismissal.

"The only thing that never changes… If I find it, magic will return."

He had heard something similar before.

Then it struck him—Miranda had once told him, "As long as you find the Heartstone, magic will reappear."

For a time, Hoffa had believed the Heartstone was something Miranda had fabricated, merely a means to lure him to Hogwarts so that Sylby could push him back into a dream.

But now, Chloe had said the same thing. Did that mean the stone truly existed?

Flamel, seeing Hoffa sitting there motionless, impatiently smacked him on the back of the head a few times. "Hey, kid, what's the deal? Planning to stick around forever?"

Hoffa grabbed Flamel's sleeve and asked, "Flamel, have you heard of the Heartstone?"

Flamel froze for a moment before curling his lips in disdain.

"Who hasn't? The Heartstone, the Wishing Stone—there are plenty of names for it. It's said that only the most powerful wizards leave such things behind when they die. Some say it can grant wishes—any wish. But I've never believed in that nonsense. The wizarding world is full of strange rumors, but in all my years, I've never seen a dead man fulfill the wishes of the living."

"But you created the Philosopher's Stone, didn't you? Isn't that the stuff of legend—turning metal into gold, granting immortality?" Hoffa asked, perplexed. "Are there really things you don't believe in?"

Flamel rolled his eyes. "Do you believe advertisements too?"

"The Philosopher's Stone is magic—it's alchemy!" Flamel scoffed. "Any skilled alchemist can create it. But the Heartstone? Hah! I've lived for centuries and never seen one. It's probably just some myth, a folktale, some abstract nonsense."

Hoffa continued staring at him.

Flamel waved a hand impatiently. "Oh, quit your whining. Even if top-tier wizards did exist, the Half-Blood King would surely be one of them. If you're so desperate for a Heartstone, why don't you burn him into a rock? If even he can't produce one, then no one can."

Hoffa: …

Flamel shoved Hoffa, clearly eager to get rid of him. But just then, one of the many crystal coffins in the room suddenly trembled.

A moment later, a hand pushed open the coffin lid, which fell to the ground with a scraping noise. Both men turned their heads toward it.

A young man dressed in ancient black hunting attire emerged from the coffin. His face was scarred, and he held a cruciform sword. As soon as he sat up, he started coughing violently.

Flamel looked at him in surprise and muttered, "Did I misremember the time? Was he supposed to wake up today…?"

Hoffa watched the scarred youth cautiously. The man clutched his head, appearing groggy, but there was an undeniable aura of ferocity about him—one that only came from years of battle.

Flamel bent down and murmured in a language Hoffa couldn't understand, speaking rapidly into the young man's ear.

The scarred youth responded in the same strange tongue, exchanging words with Flamel. Then, finally, he climbed out of the coffin, looking around in confusion—until his gaze landed on Hoffa. He pointed at Hoffa and said something.

Flamel nodded, then turned to Hoffa and translated, "Bach, he says he's very interested in your clothes and wants to buy them. What do you think?"

Hoffa was surprised—this was the first time he had received such a request.

"Who is this person?" he asked.

Nicolas Flamel replied, "He is Bedivere, the last squire of King Arthur, also known as the Last Knight."

A knight of King Arthur.

Hoffa's eyes widened.

A legendary figure like this had survived to the present day and was now lying in Nicolas Flamel's cellar. Today was certainly an eye-opener for him.

Flamel continued, "Bedivere was naturally curious and restless. He spent the first half of his life following the king into battle. However, after Arthur's death, he found me in a monastery and told me he wanted to go to a future without knights. At that time, I was already a somewhat renowned wizard. Bedivere asked if I had a way to fulfill his wish. I agreed and gave him a potion made from the Philosopher's Stone. So much time has passed that I even forgot when exactly he was supposed to wake up."

A knight of King Arthur asking him for clothes—how ridiculous.

Hoffa thought to himself as he sized up the man across from him. The man, in turn, was also examining him.

"It's fine if you don't agree," Flamel said. "It was just a spur-of-the-moment request. If you're unwilling, I'll let him find clothes elsewhere."

"No," Hoffa said abruptly. Without hesitation, he began taking off his formal suit. "Tell him I really like his outfit as well. If we're going to exchange, he should give me his clothes in return."

In the blink of an eye, he stripped down to nothing but his underwear, moving so swiftly that Flamel clicked his tongue in astonishment. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Flamel walked over to Bedivere and whispered a few words into his ear.

Bedivere suddenly understood and, without hesitation, began removing his own clothes as well.

Soon, in the middle of the cellar filled with coffins, stood two completely naked men. Flamel, muttering complaints under his breath, moved his aging body to help them change outfits.

Hoffa, dressed in the Black family's clothing, clearly did not fit the style of Bedivere's era. In the process of putting it on, he nearly wore the inner vest on the outside.

Similarly, Hoffa was unfamiliar with Bedivere's ancient hunting attire. The outfit had multiple straps, was snug but intricate.

Fortunately, Nicolas Flamel, having lived through multiple centuries, was well-versed in the fashion of different eras. With his assistance, Hoffa quickly changed into the black hunting attire. Though somewhat worn, it fit much better than the Black family's outfit. He could move freely without worrying about being restricted by his clothes. Clearly, it was an outfit designed for combat.

Once dressed, Bedivere, now wearing the Black family's clothes, walked toward Hoffa with a commanding presence. He spoke rapidly in a language Hoffa could not understand.

After finishing his speech, the knight gave Hoffa a deeply traditional noble salute before extending the sword in his hand toward him.

Flamel translated, "He says you are a generous man, and in you, he sees the reflection of the sky. He hopes you will take good care of this sword. It is a weapon of ancient royalty, and after the fall of the royal lineage, it has longed to reunite with true power once more."

Hoffa accepted the sword. The blade gleamed with a chilling light and was remarkably heavy—its material unknown. The guard was adorned with an eagle's head and talons, an emblem that seemed to resonate with him, a Ravenclaw.

He shook hands with Bedivere and then asked Flamel, "Can you ask him why he doesn't want to keep his old clothes?"

Flamel translated the question into Old English. Bedivere responded briefly, and Flamel turned back to Hoffa. "Bedivere says the age of knights has ended. He does not want to leave this place dressed in the past."

With that, Bedivere exchanged a few final words with Flamel, put on a hat, and left the cellar.

The age of knights had ended.

Hoffa looked down at the black hunting attire he now wore. He thought to himself: it wasn't just the age of knights that was ending. At this rate, even the age of wizards would soon come to a close. What would come next?

"Stop standing there thinking about it. These people have nothing to do with you. Let's go—you have more important matters to handle. Don't waste time here," Flamel urged.

Hoffa knew this wasn't the time for idle conversation. There was still much to be done.

Following Flamel, he returned to the entrance of the villa. Outside, the sky was painted with hues of burning red clouds. He had only taken a short nap, yet it was already dusk.

Hoffa glanced at the gray horse standing by the door, then at Flamel beside him. Thinking about the thrilling adventure that would take place fifty years in the future, he spread his arms wide.

"Flamel."

Flamel hesitated for a moment but then opened his arms as well. They shared a brief hug. Flamel patted Hoffa on the shoulder and whispered, "Albus Dumbledore might assign you to France. If things get difficult there, you can use my name. I'll be heading there in a few days too."

Hoffa was surprised. "Sending me to France? Why would he send me to France?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Flamel replied.

(End of Chapter)

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