Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Somewhere Else

About fifty nautical miles from the freighter Hoffa had boarded...

A frigatebird hovered on the breeze, its wings outstretched, before gliding sideways and circling once before flying away.

A massive warship floated on the sea. It measured over 200 meters in length, 30 meters in width, and had a draft depth of 10 meters. Its towering gun turrets loomed like skyscrapers, and the white smoke billowing from its three steam turbines and 12 boilers cloaked the surrounding air in an ominous haze.

This was the Scharnhorst, a German cruiser that had once sunk a British aircraft carrier.

Ordinarily, at this hour of the afternoon, the deck would be bustling with activity—cleaning, loading ammunition, making repairs, or even soldiers playing cards and drinking. Yet now, the deck of this pinnacle of the German Empire's naval engineering lay eerily silent, the kind of silence where even a pin drop would echo.

Armed sentries stood tensely at the entrances to the gun turrets. Maintaining order on the deck seemed to be an insurmountable challenge for the soldiers, especially since they were confronted by five black-robed Imperial sorcerers and the notorious man seated among them.

This man, clad in a military uniform, sat nonchalantly in a chair among the sorcerers, reading a newspaper. His skin was a leathery brown-red, his physique whipcord-thin yet muscular, with sinews clearly visible on his shoulders, arms, and neck. His polished leather boots gleamed unrealistically in the soft, hazy sunlight. Behind reflective sunglasses, his face was frozen in a calm, detached expression. His immaculate blue uniform bore creases sharp as knife edges.

This was Colonel Müller Manz of the Gestapo, a man whose victims, if gathered, could reportedly fill the entire Red Sea.

From the moment these visitors had set foot on the deck, they had hardly spoken, yet the oppressive atmosphere they exuded left the ordinary naval soldiers feeling like fragile ships adrift in a stormy sea, vulnerable to destruction at any moment.

One sentry felt an itch on his backside but was too embarrassed to scratch it. Instead, he discreetly pressed against a protruding bolt on the iron wall behind him, subtly rubbing against it for relief.

A black-robed sorcerer noticed the movement, narrowing his eyes.

The soldier stopped awkwardly.

"Where is Dominic? Why hasn't he shown up yet?"

A sorcerer's cold voice broke the silence. "We've been waiting here for three hours. How much longer does he expect us to wait?"

The itching soldier forced an apologetic smile. "Apologies, Major Dominic is currently occupied and unable to see anyone. Please wait a bit longer."

The sorcerer sneered. "Half an hour ago, you said the same thing. And half an hour before that, the same excuse."

The soldier's lips twitched, but he said nothing.

Colonel Manz, still reading his newspaper, chuckled lightly. "Patience, Aldo. Major Dominic is a busy man."

The soldier visibly relaxed at the colonel's intervention.

Aldo, the black-robed sorcerer, scowled in irritation. "Why do we need to inform Dominic just to capture someone in Normandy? Isn't this unnecessary?"

Without looking up, Manz replied calmly, "It's a matter of courtesy. We can't just trespass on someone else's territory without notifying them. Even if you don't respect Dominic, you should at least show respect to the man backing him."

Heavy footsteps echoed across the deck.

"Finally!"

One of the sorcerers muttered, and the others straightened, masking their impatience.

The hatch leading from the deck to the ship's interior creaked open as several soldiers bent to push it aside.

A massive, bloated figure was carried out on a stretcher, his thick arms dangling limply over the edges. Blood dripped slowly from his fingers.

"Is that... Dominic?"

One sorcerer frowned in confusion.

"Impossible," Manz replied with a faint smile, flipping another page of his newspaper.

The soldiers carrying the stretcher approached the ship's edge and, with the same indifference as tossing out garbage, hoisted the heavy figure overboard. The unfortunate man tumbled like a ragdoll, hitting the water with a splash.

Within moments, the sea churned violently. Black shark fins emerged from the murky water, and in the blink of an eye, the body was devoured.

The soldiers returned inside without a word. The sorcerers remained indifferent, their expressions unchanging.

Not long after, heavy footsteps echoed again.

"Is it him this time?"

The black-robed sorcerers straightened once more, some adjusting their robes.

This time, a hulking, two-meter-tall man stumbled out of the hatch. His hands clutched at his mouth and chest, and as soon as he stepped outside, he collapsed heavily to the deck. His spine had snapped, the bone protruding grotesquely from his back.

"Who's this?"

The black-robed sorcerer was stunned.

"Not him," replied Manz, shaking his head again.

The hulking man on the ground convulsed, blood gushing from his back in torrents, quickly pooling at the feet of the black-robed sorcerers.

Unperturbed, a group of soldiers emerged from the cabin. They casually hauled the massive man up and, just as they had with the obese man earlier, tossed him overboard.

With a loud splash, the man hit the water, and once again, the sea erupted into chaos. Sharks swarmed, and in an instant, the two nameless victims were entirely consumed.

The black-robed sorcerers fell silent.

At that moment, a young lieutenant pushed open the iron door and approached the group, bowing slightly.

"The major will see you now."

"Finally," Manz said cheerfully, folding his newspaper and standing up from his seat on the deck.

The lieutenant led the group off the deck, down into the ship's dimly lit interior. Flickering lights cast erratic shadows over Colonel Manz's face as he walked, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze wandering with interest over the steel behemoth surrounding him.

The beige walls were mottled with rust stains that continued to spread like a disease. Every few meters, battery-powered fluorescent lamps hung from steel beams, emitting an uneven, sickly green glow.

Before long, the group arrived at the base of the deck, in an area resembling a boxing ring.

In the center of the ring, two men were locked in a brutal fight. One massive figure gripped another man's spine, repeatedly slamming his fist into the latter's abdomen. The beaten man coughed up thick, crimson fluids, and the air was thick with the stench of blood, evoking the atmosphere of a slaughterhouse.

Soon, one man overpowered the other, pinning him to the ground and mercilessly pounding him until he lay dead.

The victor rose, his gaze landing on the new arrivals. Cracking his neck, he began walking toward them.

The black-robed sorcerers exchanged smirks of disdain. "What a disgrace," one whispered. "Is he a sorcerer or just a boxer?"

Their sneers quickly faded, however, as the man drew closer.

This was no ordinary individual. Towering at three meters tall, his body was covered in scars and rippling with muscles so developed they inspired a primal sense of fear in those who saw him.

"Hey, Ethan, long time no see," Manz greeted warmly, tilting his head up to address the giant.

"Manz," the man rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. A nearby soldier removed his boxing gloves and handed him a glass of milk, the size of a human head.

The giant took the glass, downing it in one gulp. His bloodied hand left a crimson print on the milky-white surface of the glass.

Manz smiled. "You've been busy, I hear. Most of the Allied transport ships in this region have been dealt with. Grindelwald will undoubtedly be pleased."

The giant, Dominic, snorted indifferently. "More milk."

A soldier refilled the basin-sized glass with the creamy liquid, and Dominic raised it again, gulping it down.

Finished, the half-giant asked, "So, what brings you here? Isn't there enough to keep you busy in Paris, or has the Wizarding Association gotten too complacent?"

"Neither, my friend. I'm here because I've recently lost track of an important source of information. Chloé LeMay, a descendant of the alchemist Nicolas Flamel, is currently within your jurisdiction."

"And?"

"And?" Manz echoed. "Aren't you going to do something about it?"

Dominic smirked, finally focusing his intense gaze on Manz's face. "If you want to catch her, go ahead. There's no need to report it to me, Colonel."

He deliberately emphasized the rank before turning away. "More milk."

(A soldier arrived with an even larger container.)

Manz responded smoothly, "If you prefer, consider this a gesture of goodwill."

Dominic drained the new container in one go. "You've got plenty of sorcerers under your command. Let them handle it. Or have they become so useless they can't even catch a single woman?"

The cutting remark caused a stir among Manz's black-robed sorcerers. One even stepped forward, wand drawn.

Unfazed by Dominic's sarcasm, Manz laughed heartily and raised a hand to calm his men.

"Her magic is rather slippery. Once activated, it's difficult to counter. You, however, are known as a wizard killer—there's hardly a sorcerer who can escape you. So I was hoping to enlist your help."

Dominic tilted his head, slipping on his gloves without looking up. "And what's the payment for this favor?"

Manz grinned. "Let me tell you a story, Major."

Dominic grunted, signaling him to proceed.

"My grandfather, back in 1797 during the Battle of Cape St. Vincent, saw a Spanish super-sailing warship, the Santísima Trinidad. It was the only four-decked ship in Spain, equipped with 140 cannons. At the time, it was the finest warship in the world. No one thought it could lose. But less than ten years later, it was defeated at sea by the British Victory and fell into obscurity.

"When my father was young, he worked at the Vulcan Shipyard. During that time, the Qing Empire in the Far East commissioned two warships from his shipyard—Dingyuan and Zhenyuan."

Displacement of 7,000 tons, armor thickness of 12 to 14 inches, and armed with four 12-inch caliber main guns. At its time, it was the largest warship in the Far East, enjoying unparalleled prestige.

However, less than a decade after its launch, it was sunk in the Yellow Sea by the little-known Japanese Navy."

Dominic's expression darkened as Manz slowly finished speaking.

"What are you trying to say, Colonel?" Dominic asked coldly.

"I mean to say," Manz replied sincerely, "that human fate is much like these ships. Today, one may bask in glory; tomorrow, they may meet their end. No one can predict what the future holds."

He paused briefly before continuing, his tone somber. "But sometimes, through God's mercy, we mortals are granted a rare glimpse into destiny. Such an opportunity is now before us, Ethan. If you can capture Chloé LeMay, I am willing to share this glimpse into the future with you."

A moment of silence passed.

Dominic sneered. "I see now."

"What do you see?"

"I see why, as a mere Muggle, you've managed to manipulate so many wizards into serving you. Isn't that right?"

Manz's face hardened slightly but remained composed. "I offer insight into the future, yes. But that's not manipulation."

"Not interested. You may leave now," Dominic said, standing up and waving dismissively.

"Next!"

At his command, a soldier opened the cage in the arena. Two more burly men were dragged out and shoved into the ring.

Dominic rolled his heavily muscled neck, leaping gracefully into the boxing ring.

For a fleeting moment, Manz's expression darkened, but he quickly composed himself. He stepped closer, leaning against the ring's railing.

"I heard that in 1928, you defeated ten faceless gargoyles. In 1935, you single-handedly killed three Luxembourg giants. And in 1939, after slaying 36 members of the British Violet Wizard Corps, Grindelwald took you in as his disciple, earning you the title 'Wizard Killer.' Isn't that right?"

"What's your point? Get to it," Dominic said, his tone impatient.

"The Giant Slayer, the Wizard Killer, reduced to sparring with ordinary Muggles in this arena. Don't you find it dull?"

Boom!

One of the Muggle fighters was sent flying, smashing through the railings and crashing into the iron wall, reduced to a bloody pulp.

Blood splattered onto the black-robed sorcerers, who stood frozen in place, suppressing their fear.

Dominic slowly approached Manz, his towering frame casting an ominous shadow that seemed to block out all light.

"Don't presume to lecture me, Manz. If you're so displeased, why not step into the ring with me? If I'm entertained enough, I might consider helping you find this LeMay woman."

"No, I'm not foolish enough to court death."

Manz spread his hands calmly. "However, as part of the deal, I can introduce you to a worthier opponent."

"There's no one in this sea who can match me."

"Oh, but there is. Miss LeMay has a bodyguard. He's also a disciple of Grindelwald. You might have heard of him."

"Who are you talking about?"

"Hoffa Bach."

(To be continued)

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