Chapter 387: A New Body

As he was watching, a ghost hound on the other side suddenly barked. Hoffa was startled and vanished like the wind. In just a few steps, he rushed toward the source of the sound, leaping through two door curtains, passing through three narrow alleys, and even an antique shop, finally arriving at the back of a seafood market.

A cargo ship from New York Harbor was docked at the dark waterside, with several workers unloading cargo onto a motorboat. The ghost hound was hopping around the goods.

The workers unloading the cargo appeared to be Thai. They had dark Asian complexions, their bodies covered in tattoos. Their ears and lips were pierced, and they spoke in a high-pitched language that Hoffa couldn't understand. He hadn't had the chance to observe them for long.

Suddenly, a sinister green light shot out from the darkness, striking the leaping ghost hound. The hound let out a brief yelp before dissolving into stardust, vanishing into the air.

Hoffa immediately turned around, highly alert, staring at the direction from which the green light had come.

"Who's there?" someone asked.

With the deep voice, an old man emerged from a dark chamber, holding a cane and puffing on a pipe, cloaked in a heavy cape. Beside him was a girl with tattoos covering her arms and legs. She had so many tattoos that her neck and limbs appeared dark blue.

The tattooed thugs by the ship saw this and immediately drew weapons from below the deck—mostly sharp curved blades or bloodstained clubs. They stood back to back, scanning their surroundings warily.

"No need to hide. Come out," the old man said in broken English.

Realizing his Disillusionment Charm had been seen through, Hoffa didn't bother hiding anymore. He stepped out of stealth, carrying a suitcase.

A young man in black hunting attire appeared from thin air. His outfit was adorned with many leather straps, giving it an antiquated look. In his right hand, he carried a long leather case, and the back of his left hand bore a strange violet tattoo. His overall demeanor was peculiar. The surrounding Thai thugs and the old man were momentarily stunned, while the tattooed girl licked her lips with her tongue.

"Who are you?" the old man asked, pointing his pipe at him.

Hoffa tilted his head in confusion as he looked at the old man. "Strange… The magic in the outside world has almost disappeared. How is it that you still have magic?"

The old man was startled by Hoffa's words. "You're an outsider?"

Hoffa chuckled and said, "Your English isn't even fluent, yet you call me an outsider? Tell me, which one of you here isn't an outsider?"

The old man's face darkened. The girl beside him reached for her waist and drew a short dagger. Seeing this, Hoffa's left hand trembled with excitement.

The old man took a long puff from his pipe, exhaling smoke, while the surrounding thugs silently closed in on Hoffa.

But Hoffa paid no mind to their movements. He held his suitcase and spoke calmly, "Tell me, where are you planning to send these organs?"

"As expected, a meddler. And an outsider at that," the old man sneered maliciously. "If you want to know where they're going, why don't you see for yourself? Once your heart and corneas have been harvested, we'll satisfy your curiosity."

As soon as he finished speaking, blades flashed, and over a dozen thugs charged at Hoffa. The old man also cast off his cloak, pointing his cane at Hoffa as intense magical energy began to gather in the air.

Hoffa didn't react, because he knew someone else wouldn't be able to sit still any longer.

"Let's go!" Miller shrieked impatiently.

He dragged Hoffa's body into a crouch, pressing his left hand against the ground.

A raging inferno erupted from the ground, its temperature unbearably high. In an instant, it engulfed Hoffa, forming a dragon-like ring of flames. Then, with a dragon's roar, Miller yanked his left hand, causing the blazing fire dragon to spew molten debris in all directions.

The armed thugs, still ten meters away from Hoffa, were struck by the fiery projectiles before they could even reach him. They clutched their faces and bodies, writhing in agony on the ground.

On the other side, the old man shouted something in an incomprehensible language. A dozen skulls shot out from his cane, flying toward the two in the flames.

"Such petty tricks, and you dare show off before me?" Miller laughed loudly. "Foolish!"

He raised his palm, unleashing five semi-transparent beams from his fingertips. Like fire burning through paper, they effortlessly pierced through the flying skulls and struck the cane-wielding old man directly.

With the surge of terrifying magic, what had been a twilight sky darkened, and the moonlight intensified, illuminating the turbulent magical battlefield.

The old man was sent flying by the beams, crashing through a rolling shutter door and slamming into the wall behind it. The immense magical force distorted the air, cracked the ground, and made him scream in agony.

The horrifying beams lasted for a full ten seconds. Hoffa watched Miller's spell-casting hand with a strange feeling—Miller must have been holding back for a long time. Now that he had the chance to unleash his power, he was destroying everything without restraint. Hoffa wasn't sure how much attention this would attract, but one thing was clear: Miller's magic had grown far more refined than it had been at Hogwarts. He no longer needed incantations—sheer magical power alone was enough to defeat enemies.

As the beams finally ceased, the ground burned, and hot debris fell into the water, creating thick plumes of steam.

Just as Hoffa was about to tell Miller to stop so he could interrogate the old man, a sudden sharp sound came from behind him. Turning around, he saw a figure rushing out from the smoke, blade in hand, aiming straight for his fingers at lightning speed.

This kind of attack was nothing to Hoffa. He lifted his suitcase, ready to counter.

But just as he was about to strike, Miller suddenly shouted, "Wait!"

Hoffa raised an eyebrow. Of course, he wasn't about to wait and let his fingers get chopped off. He immediately swung the suitcase into the attacker's stomach. The figure was sent flying, crashing into a pile of wooden crates with a loud thud, their fate unknown.

In a single exchange, the organ smugglers had been utterly wiped out by Hoffa and Miller.

Hoffa took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he walked toward the old man Miller had blasted into the wall. He still had many questions for him.

But just as he reached him, a rustling sound came from behind. He turned around to see that the person he had struck into the crates was staggering back to their feet. Judging by the tattoos, it was the girl who had been with the old man.

"Oh?" Hoffa raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

She was still standing after taking a hit from his suitcase. Though he had only used a fraction of his strength for interrogation purposes, it was still impressive.

The tattooed girl wobbled toward Hoffa.

Hoffa thought for a moment, then raised his suitcase, ready to use twice the force this time.

Suddenly, the girl picked up speed. Hoffa lifted his arm, but just as she reached him, she shouted, "Brother-in-law!!"

Hoffa froze. Glancing at his hand, he realized the tattoo on his palm had vanished. The next moment, Miller controlled the girl's body, clinging onto Hoffa excitedly, twisting and turning.

"Brother-in-law, do you like this body?" Miller said gleefully, moving the girl's arms and legs. "Look at this figure, so charming! And check out this tongue—it even has piercings! These Muggles really know how to have fun."

"Why didn't you pick a male body?" Hoffa gritted his teeth, suppressing his fury. "I thought you'd possess the old man."

"What? That old man?! Ugh! No way! Who'd willingly be an old geezer? Of course, I'd pick a cute girl! By the way, this one has piercings in some interesting places. Want to see?"

As he spoke, Miller winked and began lifting the girl's shirt.

"Get lost! Who the hell is your brother-in-law?!" Hoffa roared, kicking the tattooed girl into the river.

The old man on the ground trembled, not daring to move. Hoffa nudged him with his foot, flipping him over. The old man squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to be dead.

Furious, Hoffa pressed his suitcase against the old man's head, his voice ice-cold. "Are you going to talk, or should I use the Imperius Curse to make you?"

The old man shot up in an instant, prostrating himself on the ground. "I'll talk! You're the boss! I'll do whatever you say, not a single complaint!"

Hoffa stared into the old man's eyes, thinking how someone so spineless could still use magic. Even a wizard like Ardebeth had lost his powers, so how was this man different? He couldn't understand it. But at this moment, he didn't care. He pressed the suitcase harder against the old man's head and asked coldly, "Where are you planning to send these organs?"

Sent to the Life Extension Paradise.

The old man answered instantly, without the slightest hesitation.

Hoffa: "Life Extension Paradise? Where is that?"

Old Man: "It's located in the Elder Hospital in New York City, but we don't know the exact location. We just send the highest-quality organs there from time to time, get paid, and that's all we know."

Hoffa stared into the old man's eyes. Seeing that he wasn't lying, he continued asking, "Why are you able to use magic?"

The old man was taken aback, then shook his head. "I don't know. Honestly, I don't even know why others can't use magic. My magic has never had any problems. Maybe it's because I pray to the God of Wealth every day," he muttered.

"The God of Wealth?" Hoffa's heart stirred. "What is that?"

The old man pointed deeper into the darkroom. Well, well, turns out even here they worshipped a statue of Sylby. It was a smug-looking figure, holding money in one hand and a gun in the other, standing proudly behind a small incense burner. Hoffa clenched his teeth at the sight.

Behind him, the sound of water splashing echoed. A soaking-wet Miller crawled out of the river, wringing out his hair with a sullen expression as he walked toward Hoffa.

The old man saw Miller and, as if he'd seen a ghost, pressed himself against the wall, chuckling nervously. "Young man, I really... I really don't know anything. If you want to find out what these hearts are used for, just go to Life Extension Paradise. Don't ask me anymore. I really don't know."

"One last question!" Hoffa interrupted him. "Tell me everything you know about this God of Wealth."

"You mean this one?"

"Who else?"

The old man shook his head. "I don't know. When I got here, people were already worshipping him. The statues here do look different from the ones in my hometown. But I've heard some rumors—some say he is the richest existence in this world. As long as you satisfy him, he can grant you any wish."

"Any wish?"

"Maybe. But I don't know. I'm just a low-level worker, serving those high-ranking people. I really don't know more than that. Please, don't make things difficult for me," the old man pleaded pitifully.

Miller, still dripping wet, walked up beside Hoffa.

Hoffa nodded and gave an order.

"Obliviate."

"Damn it."

The tattooed girl cursed. "You beat me up and still expect me to do your dirty work?"

"Hey!" the old man shouted, "Young man, I've told you everyth—"

Before he could finish, the tattooed girl, Miller, raised a finger and pointed it at his forehead.

"Obliviate."

A blinding white light flashed. The old man's expression gradually turned blank. The spell was so powerful that he slumped to the ground, unable to speak a single word. He had forgotten everything. And then, to everyone's surprise, he started giggling idiotically, as if he had never been happier.

Life Extension Paradise

Hoffa looked at the Sylby statue in the darkroom, stroking his chin in thought. So, the hearts were being sent to hospitals to extend people's lives? Was this business arranged by Sylby? Could organ trading alone really sustain all of his insane activities?

Besides, if it was just about selling organs, wouldn't that be a bit too low-level?

Hoffa couldn't believe that the man who had tormented him for so long was just an organ dealer. That would be an insult.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Hoffa made a decision—he would head to Life Extension Paradise immediately to investigate Sylby's source of funds.

His tone grew serious as he instructed, "Miller, restore everything back to normal, and turn all these people into teapots. I'll go find a car. We'll disguise ourselves and head to Elder Hospital in New York."

Hoffa, as always, issued his commands, but this time, Miller didn't follow as expected.

"Miller? Miller?"

Hoffa turned his head, but Miller was nowhere to be seen.

His expression changed instantly, a sense of unease creeping into his heart. He rushed out in quick strides, shouting Miller's name.

He didn't have to go far. Soon, he spotted Miller sitting outside a seafood restaurant, legs crossed, holding a plate in his hand and feasting on a large bowl of sashimi.

Hoffa sighed in relief, but at the same time, he shook his head helplessly, pressing a hand to his forehead with a deep sigh.

He walked over with his suitcase and sat beside Miller.

"Done? If you're done, get me a portion too."

Miller glanced at him sideways, a wriggling octopus tentacle in his mouth, and told the restaurant owner, "Same as mine, another serving!"

"I'm not eating," Hoffa said coldly.

"Why not?"

"No money," Hoffa replied.

Miller casually pinched his fingers together, and suddenly, a stack of Franklin bills appeared out of thin air.

"Your treat."

"Where did you get that money?" Hoffa was surprised.

"Come on, I'm a spellcasting genius. You think conjuring a few pieces of paper is hard for me?"

Miller whispered, slapping the cash onto the table.

The restaurant owner, seeing the money, beamed with joy.

Soon, a large plate of sashimi was served on a bed of ice. Seeing the wriggling squid tentacles and bright yellow sea urchin, Hoffa's headache worsened.

"Eat up," Miller urged.

"You eat. I'm not hungry." Hoffa pushed the food toward him.

"You're not eating? Why not? Why not?!" Miller's eyes widened. "What's wrong with you? Are you addicted to self-torture?"

Hoffa, of course, wouldn't eat. Until he completed his mission, he rejected any material indulgence. He wouldn't allow anything to shake his resolve. If Miller wanted to indulge in gluttony, that was his choice. Hoffa would not partake. To make his stance clear, he simply sat in his chair and closed his eyes to rest.

However, seeing Hoffa's demeanor, Miller slowly put down his chopsticks, his gaze growing darker.

"I see how it is," Miller sneered. "I see now. Hoffa Bach, well played!"

Hoffa had no idea what he was talking about. With an annoyed expression, he reminded him, "See what? Just eat!"

Splash!

Miller flicked his wrist, and a cup of sake splashed directly onto Hoffa's face.

Stunned, Hoffa opened his eyes, staring at Miller in shock, completely caught off guard.

"You're blaming my sister, aren't you?" Miller glared at him, his face grim.

Sake dripped from Hoffa's face as he muttered in disbelief, "How am I blaming your sister?"

"Oh please, Hoffa, you're a terrible liar!" Miller's voice turned piercing. "Your expression already gave you away. That's right, it's all my sister's fault! She made you eat those things. And then she dr

agged you into—"

"Shut up!!"

Hoffa shot to his feet, golden flames igniting in his eyes. He leaned forward, pressing his hands against the table. His fingers dug into the metal surface, leaving deep imprints.

But Miller didn't flinch.

"If you want my help, then suck it up," he said smugly.

Through gritted teeth, the furious Hoffa forced out a few words.

"Just. Eat. Your. Damn. Food."

(End of Chapter)

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