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******
"Hahaha, well played, well played."
After finishing his set of punches, Harry felt refreshed as the match concluded. This Lin fellow was an honest man—he had said he entered the competition just to broaden his horizons, and he truly meant it. There wasn't a single ounce of bluff in his words.
Though Harry had received direct, personal instruction in the Panda Man Iron-Hard Fist from Uncle Tian himself, he hadn't been practicing it for long. His proficiency was still lacking, and some techniques were only half-learned—he had memorized the movements but hadn't fully mastered them.
Saying that his skills were only good for bullying little kids wouldn't be quite right—after all, with his physical foundation, even if he just flailed his fists wildly with Aura Reinforcement, he could easily take down a whole gang of children. Given this natural advantage, his current mastery of the Panda Man Iron-Hard Fist was more than enough to overwhelm mid-tier opponents. However, against stronger, more experienced fighters, he might start to struggle.
At its core, the Panda Man Iron-Hard Fist was meant to complement a fighter's existing strengths. The philosophy behind this martial art was simple—raw power can break through all techniques. It was designed to maximize the innate advantages of Panda Men. If someone like Hagrid were to train in it, he probably wouldn't even need two months before reaching the level of a grandmaster. With just one Warcry, he could strip his opponents of their ability to resist or escape. And if he followed up with a single charged punch, he could crater a dragon's skull. Two punches? That wouldn't just cause a concussion—it'd be an open-skull surgery.
The purpose of the Panda Man Iron-Hard Fist was to fully unleash one's strength, speed, and physical attributes at the most opportune moments. Even if an ordinary person reached a grandmaster level in terms of techniques and forms, they would still stand no chance against a stat monster whose raw power and reflexes were leagues beyond theirs.
"Using four ounces of force to deflect a thousand pounds"—that only worked if you had at least four ounces of strength to begin with.
This was precisely Lin Youtang's predicament. In terms of technique and mastery, he was vastly superior to Harry. He had the skill advantage by a mile. However, the difference in raw attributes was simply too great. Against Harry, fighting was like an adult going up against a child—he had no way to overcome the power gap.
But were there stronger opponents among his peers?
Of course.
As Harry stepped off the stage, his keen senses immediately picked up on a gaze directed at him from over two hundred meters away.
It came from a young man carrying a large, somewhat cumbersome sword case on his back. He wore long robes—attire completely unsuitable for battle—and stood with his arms folded, casually watching the other duels unfold from the rest area.
Harry's match against Arthur had taken slightly longer than expected. Some of the faster competitors had already finished their third-round battles and secured their spots in the Top 12.
The ones who had effortlessly secured three consecutive victories in the knockout stage—those were the opponents Harry needed to watch out for.
Harry gave a slight nod in the young man's direction before turning away with a grin. He then shifted his gaze to Lin Youtang, who was still clutching his stomach with a pale face.
"Sorry about that, didn't hold back properly. How about I treat you to a drink tonight to make up for it?"
"Martial Uncle is truly worthy of the title." Lin Youtang cupped his hands in a traditional salute. "I was the one lacking in skill. I'll probably be getting an earful from my master tonight. How about we wait until after the tournament? My master would love to meet you as well."
"I really don't deserve the title, but if there's an invitation, I'll be there. You don't mind if I bring a guest, do you?"
"Of course not. I'll make all the necessary arrangements."
The two parted on good terms, but as Lin Youtang walked away, a mix of emotions stirred within him.
For someone who had always advanced smoothly and effortlessly in life, today had been his first real taste of defeat.
But instead of frustration or despair, it ignited a newfound determination within him.
—
The elimination rounds only lasted about an hour, which was far too short to fully satisfy the audience's appetite for combat. However, the annual Youth Dueling Tournament always had a special tradition—veteran powerhouses would take the stage for exhibition matches, offering the spectators thrilling battles and professional commentary on key duels.
This tournament was never just about competition—it was a stage where young talents could showcase their potential. For those who had already attained mastery, fostering the next generation was a natural responsibility.
This supportive atmosphere was what allowed the tournament to remain eternally prestigious.
It provided young spellcasters with more than just glory—it offered invaluable mentorship. Not everyone had the opportunity to attend elite magical academies, and there were many undiscovered geniuses like Arthur scattered across the world.
Anyone who made it to the Youth World Championship was no fool.
Whatever gaps in their abilities they had before, they would surely bridge them after this competition.
By the end of the tournament, there would be no shortage of investors, sponsors, and organizations lining up to recruit these rising stars.
—
When Harry returned to the rest area, he noticed a new face beside Professor Flitwick.
The towering figure stood at least 2.2 meters tall—three to four times as broad as Harry. His muscular physique was so absurdly well-defined that it made an immediate and overwhelming visual impact.
The sheer mass of muscle made Harry instinctively recall a certain half-giant.
"Could this guy actually arm-wrestle Hagrid... and win?"
This outlandish thought popped into Harry's mind and refused to go away.
"Harry! You're back!"
Professor Flitwick beamed and waved him over. "Come here, I have someone to introduce to you."
The hulking muscle-bound man turned his head toward Harry. There was something strangely familiar about his imposing face—Harry was sure he had seen him somewhere before.
"This guy here is an old friend of mine," Professor Flitwick said cheerfully, "and also the bastard who broke my five-win streak." Floating in midair, he enthusiastically patted the giant on the shoulder.
"Ivan Ivanovich Ivanov—the Soviet Union's very own 'Human Nuke'—Big Ivan. He just got back from the Abyssal Battlefield a couple of days ago. As soon as he received the invitation, he came over to watch the tournament. I just happened to run into him while you were on stage. It's been nearly fifteen or sixteen years since we last met."
"Big Ivan, this is Harry—the kid I was telling you about. Pretty solid, don't you think?"
Big Ivan sized Harry up with a single glance before giving a small nod. His deep voice carried a thick Russian accent, making it a bit hard to understand if one wasn't paying attention. "Good kid. My boy wasn't half as sturdy as him when he was thirteen. I should introduce you two sometime."
Despite his intimidating appearance, Big Ivan was actually quite approachable. He and Professor Flitwick had developed a friendship through battle—they might have been opponents in the ring, but it was precisely because of that rivalry that they had mutual respect for each other.
"It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Ivan!"
The moment Harry confirmed his identity, his eyes practically sparkled with excitement.
"I caught a glimpse of you last Christmas! I was in the Soviet Union for the Winter Hunt Tournament and ran into a young Frost Tyrant. Later, I got to see you fight an enraged Frost Tyrant up close! Your Animagus form was absolutely incredible! Right then and there, I swore that I would learn it myself. I spent the entire past year working toward it, and I finally just barely met the requirements. I plan to officially start my training this summer!"
"You're my idol!"
Harry's genuine enthusiasm took Big Ivan by surprise, his brows raising slightly.
"Last Christmas? Oh—" He suddenly clapped his forehead as if recalling something.
"Right! That dumb bear was in a horrible mood when he woke up. Some idiot tore open an Abyssal Rift right in his den, and instead of just sitting on it to snuff it out, the fool decided to smack it. Ended up shattering the rift, demolishing his own home, and then ran around throwing a tantrum. Cleaning up after him was a nightmare."
He turned back to Harry, eyes gleaming with interest. "But damn, kid—you really had some bad luck. Even a juvenile Frost Tyrant isn't easy prey. If you ever run into another one of those stupid bears, let me teach you a move that works great on them."
Then, he added with a grin, "Of course, it only works on cubs. Once they grow their frost armor, those idiots don't really have any weak points anymore."
Harry puffed up slightly with pride. "Actually, I wasn't scared."
"That little guy was already injured when I found him. I had no way to escape, so I had no choice but to fight. And I won."
"…Wait a second." Big Ivan narrowed his eyes. "You mean to tell me… that the bear we had for dinner that day was your kill?"
He suddenly slapped his thigh and let out a deep chuckle.
"I knew something was off—the butchering was awful. The texture was completely ruined."
Harry blinked innocently.
How was he supposed to know that they'd take the half-eaten bear he fought and turn it into dinner?
But before Harry could say anything, Big Ivan's expression turned serious.
His massive hand landed on Harry's shoulder, his grip firm.
"Courage is commendable," he said, his voice dropping into a low rumble. "But reckless fighting is absolutely unacceptable."
"Especially once you step onto the battlefield—there, recklessness only leads to one outcome: death."
His piercing gaze locked onto Harry's. "I've seen too many bright young men—just like you—turn into nothing more than a box of ashes because of their own arrogance. Some didn't even leave behind ashes to bury."
Big Ivan knew exactly what awaited these talented young fighters. The battlefield would come for them all.
They were the future—the ones who would inherit the burdens of war. But if they died too soon, their potential would be wasted.
Success at a young age had a way of clouding one's vision—it made people look up toward the sky, always chasing greater heights, while ignoring the pitfalls waiting at their feet.
"I understand."
Harry nodded seriously, his expression firm. After being thrashed in a full 360-degree beatdown by Professor Flitwick, he knew exactly how deep the gap was between himself and the real powerhouses.
"Good." Big Ivan gave him an approving pat on the shoulder before turning back to Flitwick. "You've trained a fine student, Filius. But why leave him in Hogwarts? He should come to Kordostoriz instead. That's where real men go."
Then, he bent down slightly, his massive frame looming over Harry, but his expression was almost fatherly. "You like hunting, kid?"
"Come to us." His voice was rich with excitement. "Right next to Kordostoriz is the world's greatest magical hunting ground. Back when I was in school, I snapped the neck of a full-grown Ice Dragon with my bare hands. You can find anything there."
Then, his gaze flicked down to the black ebony and ivory wand at Harry's waist.
"And this little toy? It's time to upgrade. How can a real man use a gun?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "These wands—designed centuries ago—are outdated relics. We're developing new models. If you come to me, I'll have our finest wand craftsmen upgrade yours!"
"A real man fights with a cannon!"
With a loud thump, Big Ivan pounded his broad chest. Suddenly, with a metallic clank, a ZU-23-2 twin-barrel 23mm anti-aircraft gun unfolded from his back.
His own body was the mount, the gun barrels extending like an extension of his arms.
"THIS—this is what a real man should wield! It takes more skill than those silly gun-wands, but for a strong young man like you? Perfect!"
---
"The hell?"
Harry rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
Was this… the legendary AK Rowling universe at work?
If he trained harder, could he strap an entire 1130 CIWS autocannon to his arm and fire ten thousand rounds per minute?!
Forget the puny M134 Minigun—7.62mm rounds were child's play compared to the glorious might of 30mm shells!
As he stared at the gun-arm fusion, the inevitable evolution into a humanoid Gundam felt… disturbingly realistic.
---
"Look at you—you've scared the kid."
Professor Flitwick, face darkened, sighed in exasperation. "Since you like him so much, why not just teach him a thing or two?"
Big Ivan scratched his head, then grinned. "Fine. But Filius—you owe me a drinking night."
Then, his massive arm swooped down, wrapping Flitwick up like a plush toy.
"Fifteen years ago, when I was about to head to the Abyssal Battlefield, I invited you to my house for a drink. Why the hell did you stand me up?"
Flitwick screamed, struggling uselessly against their ridiculous size difference. "I'm allergic to alcohol! I only drink soda! Cherry-flavored!"
"Relax! If you drink fast enough, the allergy won't have time to kick in! I have plenty of experience!" Big Ivan roared with laughter, dragging the poor professor off.
---
Despite being kidnapped into a drinking match, Flitwick thanked every deity he knew for training such a fine student.
Because when the night started with Harry boldly announcing—"I'll drink this barrel of vodka first to honor my idol!"—his fate was sealed.
With his shirt thrown off, he and Big Ivan clashed barrels in a drinking contest so legendary, the sheer force of their laughter shattered three enchanted windows.
The magic crystal glass panes might as well have been tissue paper.
And just like Hagrid, Harry had now unlocked the ability to unleash an earth-shaking battle roar fueled by vodka.
---
"Come find me during the holidays."
Big Ivan's eyes remained sharp, even as the vodka haze set in. "I didn't bring enough tonight. Next time, we drink properly—and I'll teach you a move. It'll make your Animagus truly unique."
"Cheers!"
With that, they chugged down the last barrel, the night ending with a triumphant vodka burp from Big Ivan.
---
Completely wasted, Harry was half-carried back to his room by Fleur.
Between a delicate sister who needed protection and a gentle, scolding older sister figure, well… one of them was winning points fast.
---
"You're not doing this again, Harry. Understood?"
Fleur stood over him, arms crossed, her scolding gaze somewhere between exasperation and amusement.
---
"I'm not drunk," Harry muttered, swaying slightly. Then, he lifted his head, locking eyes with Fleur.
"…I'll prove it. Let me show you a trick."
Fleur, unimpressed, cracked her knuckles and coldly smirked. "Oh? Go ahead, then."
---
"Behold—The Instant Sleep No-Talk Technique."
Harry tilted back—and collapsed into sleep mid-sentence.
A dumb grin lingered on his face, and half the bed was left open—as if instinctively inviting someone to take the other half.
Fleur stared at the sight for a moment before shaking her head with a chuckle.
With a fond sigh, she gently pulled the blanket over him, making sure he was comfortable. Then, with a soft flick of her wand, the lights dimmed.
---
"Goodnight, Harry."
---
"…Mmn… Night…"
A sleepy, half-mumbled response came from the peacefully snoring Harry.
Fleur's smile deepened.
---
"And you said you don't talk in your sleep."
---
(End of Chapter)