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From behind, the old streets of the Western Sky seemed to rumble with a strange, thunderous noise. But Harry, who had already rented a flying boat and left, had no intention of joining the commotion. It was only a little past nine in the evening—plenty of time to spare. Besides indulging the sudden whims of a certain white silk enthusiast, Harry was also preparing for a long night back at the hotel, where he still had other things to take care of.
For instance... he needed to bless the sword he had bought for a hefty eighty-eight thousand. Even though he was still somewhat of a novice when it came to wielding it, surprises often came in unexpected ways, didn't they?
Thinking about this flying sword that had been left untouched for nearly half a month, Harry felt a little uncertain. If he had chosen to skip this year's youth dueling competition and waited another year—until he had fully mastered his Animagus transformation and integrated all the new skills he had been learning—he might have dared to challenge the world championship qualifiers. If the competitors were on par with Professor Flitwick, who had competed at twenty-eight, he wouldn't expect a top-three finish, but breaking into the top twelve? That was well within his reach. As long as he didn't have the misfortune of facing a seeded champion early on, his chances were solid.
But now...
He was stuck in a frustrating in-between. He had learned a vast array of powerful techniques, yet he had only scratched the surface of each. His foundational skills, now that he had finally found a direction, still had enormous room for improvement. What he lacked was time—time to grow.
His match against Lu Chuan that morning had forced him to face reality. Compared to his peers, he was undoubtedly strong, but much of that strength came from the immense natural advantages of being an Awakener. Both Awakener magic and Awakener script granted him overwhelming dominance against standard spellcasters.
However, that gap could easily be closed by true prodigies—those born with metaphorical golden fingers.
The world was vast, and even in this era of dwindling Awakeners, England alone had produced two in the past century: Senior Seti and his own mother. And what was he? A half-baked amateur.
But because Awakeners generally had a "reclusive" nature, they rarely made public appearances. Not every Awakener was like Senior Seti, who had found his path early—the path that led straight through the gates of true Awakening.
Lily had not been so fortunate. She hadn't discovered what she truly wanted, what defined her very essence. She had yet to realize that she didn't need to concern herself with the expectations of others or the constraints of the world's rules. And by the time she finally understood the power of her "guardian" nature, the green light of the Killing Curse was already upon her.
In that moment, she chose to wrap the fragile bloom of her newfound strength together with her love, sealing them inside a gift box. A gift for the one behind her—the person she cherished above all else.
Half of that gift had been passed to Harry, making him brilliant and destined to shine. But countless stars adorned the sky, and in this vast world, he was far from the only one meant to sparkle.
"Li Jiannan."
Harry shook his head. He had a nagging feeling that tomorrow's duel would be an ordeal. Initially, he had no intention of embarrassing himself by wielding his barely-mastered flying sword, but under the invisible pressure he felt, he had no choice but to prepare a little extra—just for peace of mind, even if it ended up being useless.
"Fleur, are you ready? I'm going to bless this sword!"
"Ready..."
Fleur, who had just finished her bath and was applying body lotion, tilted her head in mild confusion. But when she spotted the "gift bag" lying on the bed, she let out a long, drawn-out sound of realization.
"Ohhh~~~"
"Harry, I've noticed you're getting more and more—"
"More and more appreciative of your beauty, right?" Harry interrupted, his tone serious.
Fleur picked up a pair of pink-and-white stockings, holding them between her teeth as she leaned in and settled onto his lap. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gazed into his eyes.
"You talk a big game, but you don't even dare to touch. So tell me, little brother... do you actually have what it takes?"
Harry took a deep breath, nearly blurting out "I'll show you right now!" But in the end, he clenched his teeth and, with a fierce glint in his eyes, growled:
"Just wait. In a moment, I'll show you exactly how my hands can make your dreams come true!"
"But right now—" Harry grinned mischievously, snatching up the white silk. "First, let's buff my attack speed."
After a few minutes of enchanting, the flying sword—previously stored in its case—was placed on the low table before him. The longest fragment of the Elder Wand, now split into four, served as its hilt. Though the assembly was complete, it remained nothing more than a dull, ordinary blade until it was properly honed.
Extracting one's own blood was a significant drain on most people, but for Harry—whose physical capabilities far surpassed human norms—it wasn't much of a burden. He had already done his research, consulting Xiong Dezheng, one of the panda-people who also practiced flying sword techniques. According to Xiong, a single night's rest was enough to recover. The amount of blood needed wasn't even as much as what a girl lost during her period—so what was a grown man whining about?
Pressing the blood-extraction crystal to his forehead, Harry felt a faint pull, making it easy to focus his mind and magic on that single point. A mild dizziness washed over him, similar to the light buzz of intoxication. Within seconds, a sharp sting pricked his brow, and when he removed the crystal, a tiny red bead, no larger than a mung bean, glowed at the crystal's tip.
That single drop of crimson filled Harry with an odd sensation. He could sense its location, even control the magic infused within it.
When he pressed the crystal against the gemstone embedded in the sword's guard, the blood bead seeped in. As Harry channeled his magic, the once-dull blade seemed to dissolve into mist, rippling like the surface of a disturbed pond.
Thin crimson threads spread across the sword's length, weaving through the cold steel. Slowly, an almost imperceptible bond formed between the weapon and its master.
Once the last traces of blood vanished into the blade, the connection solidified. The rippling steel now gleamed with an unprecedented, razor-sharp brilliance. Without a sound, the sword had been honed—but for this particular flying sword, this was only the beginning.
This blade came from the Abyss—the Nine Nether Realm. Every material used in its forging was a "gift" from the abyssal demons. In fact, the entire essence of a demon lord had been poured into it. And now, as its edge was sharpened, the unique power of that demon's magical core awakened.
In the sword cultivation world, such abyss-forged weapons were known as "Gambler's Swords." Each one cost at least sixty to seventy thousand, but the odds of obtaining a useful enchantment—or even an extra enchantment—were abysmally low, less than one percent. Sure, that was better than the drop rates in those pay-to-win mobile games, but most of the enchantments were utterly useless trash.
If the sword didn't roll a good attribute, then it was no different from a cheap, mass-produced blade worth only a few hundred. That was the cruel reality of the Gambler's Sword—one bad pull, and all your investment went down the drain.
But at that moment, a halo of shimmering rainbow light pulsed from the Elder Wand fragment wrapped around the hilt. Bit by bit, it seeped into the sword's glowing, razor-sharp edge.
"Yes! This is the moment! Offer the gambler's tribute—white silk!"
A pair of soft pink-and-white stockings was presented as a sacrifice. The instant they touched the blade, the delicate fabric was sliced cleanly in half. Watching his offering be accepted, Harry finally exhaled in relief, muttering like a man possessed:
"Come on, give me a sword spirit! If not that, at least an enchantment with poison! The righteous Sun Knight may not use poison arrows, but there's nothing stopping him from having a poisoned sword!"
"Why poison, though…" Fleur mumbled in confusion. But then—she froze.
"Wait… are you saying my feet—"
"I'll eat."
"???"
Fleur glanced down at her feet, then back at the outstretched hand reaching toward them.
Oh no. Was this part of his plan all along?
(End of Chapter)