Harry Potter: I am the Legend

English Channel

Aboard the deck of the Scharnhorst, a row of sailors and children knelt on the ground, their heads bowed. Behind them stood a squad of heavily armed soldiers, rifles in hand. The strong sea wind whistled past, causing the straps and iron plates on the soldiers' helmets to clash, producing crisp, metallic sounds.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven."

A pair of black boots walked past them. As the figure walked, he counted aloud. Reaching the end of the row, he turned and counted back in the opposite direction. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven."

At the center of the deck

Müller Mans sat on a chair, his face devoid of expression but his eyes sharp and calculating. He watched the kneeling sailors and the man counting them. The casual counting irritated him. These damned wizards were so inefficient—what could have been resolved with two rows of captives had been turned into one long line. He wondered if they had ever studied basic arithmetic.

"Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve."

The counting voice drew Müller Mans into the whirlpool of his memories. He recalled the sound of a black robe brushing past him and the pale-haired figure it belonged to.

It was a bitterly cold winter three years ago. He had been dispatched from Munich's elite unit to Berlin to carry out a special mission. He vividly remembered stepping off an Opel truck and seeing a line of hundreds of people stretching endlessly.

In a dark hall, Grindelwald had similarly counted with a detached air. Mans could still feel the cold touch of the man's icy fingers as they brushed across his forehead, as sharp and cold as a blade. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight."

No one dared meet Grindelwald's gaze. His voice drifted through the cold night like a specter.

"I care not whether you are Muggle or wizard. Before we proceed, I want to know the quality of your souls," he had said. His voice was calm yet piercing.

"Thieves and robbers speak of souls. Laborers and sailors speak of souls. Merchants, politicians, warriors, assassins—all speak of souls. Muggles and wizards alike claim to have souls. But what is a soul? Can anyone answer me?"

The long line remained silent under the chill of his touch.

"No answer? It seems the time for awakening has not yet come. Flowers raised in greenhouses know nothing of the soul—they don't need to. Only when a person is stripped of everything can they understand the essence of the soul. Only in pain and humiliation can one touch the soul's true nature. I believe everyone has the potential to awaken their soul, and the key to unlocking that potential is suffering. Without suffering, there is no soul. So, to find the one I seek..."

He drew out a black wand and smiled faintly.

"Crucio."

A flash of red light.

Present Day

"Sir." The voice of his subordinate pulled Mans out of his reverie. He slowly raised his head. "Have you finished counting?"

"Thirty-seven people," came the low response.

"Only thirty-seven?"

"Yes."

"Did you find them?"

"No. We've searched everywhere within a 20-nautical-mile radius, including the seabed, but there's no trace of Leme or Bach."

"I see..." He sighed, muttering to himself, "We lost two association wizards just to capture thirty-seven Muggles. How foolish of me."

"What should we do next?" the subordinate asked uneasily.

"Head directly to mainland Britain. We must prevent Leme from escaping before we arrive."

"No, I mean... what about Aldo and Anker?"

The question deepened the lines on Mans's forehead. He walked to the edge of the deck, staring at the vast ocean and the rolling white clouds in silence. The captured Muggles shivered beside him, trembling like planks drifting on the waves, unsure of their fate.

"Leave them be," Mans finally said. "We've done our best. If we can't find them, we must at least control the damage to an acceptable level."

After he spoke, the black-robed subordinate remained motionless, staring at him.

"What? Did you not hear my orders?"

"Mr. Mans," the subordinate leaned in and whispered, "I must remind you of something. Aldo may be disposable, but Anker... Anker belongs to the Kliest family, one of the most prominent wizarding houses in Europe. Their influence extends beyond the wizarding world—they're well-known even in Muggle circles. Anker's father is a high-ranking member of the association. If we fail to locate him..."

"You're saying my life will be at stake?"

"Highly likely."

Back in the Dream

The bizarre and ever-changing nature of the dream once again defied Anker's expectations. The rocky, jagged cave from moments ago had transformed into smooth, impenetrable walls without a single seam.

He touched the wall, muttering, "Does nothing make sense anymore?"

Hoffa thought to himself that expecting logic in a dream was absurd.

Though watching Anker's frustration gave him a small sense of satisfaction, the gnawing unease in his heart refused to dissipate.

Nearly two days had passed, and Hoffa still had no idea where his real body was. Perhaps it was drifting aimlessly at sea, or worse, captured by others.

The most troubling part was his complete inability to store even a sliver of magical energy, leaving him utterly powerless to take control of the dire situation.

Chloe suddenly called out from behind, "Hey, you two, look over here!"

The two turned to see Chloe pointing at the ground with a puzzled expression. They walked over to where Aldo had fallen and noticed another path had appeared five meters away.

The path formed a hole-like entrance, leading downward with broken steps that seemed to spiral into darkness, as if it were a gateway straight to hell. A faint breeze wafted from within, brushing across their confused faces, adding to the mystery of the cave.

Anker swallowed nervously. "Why is there wind coming out from underground? What does this even mean?"

Hoffa replied, "You ask me, but who do I ask? Judging by the situation, something down there probably wants us to go in." He picked up a small rock and threw it into the hole. It tumbled down with a series of crisp clinks before disappearing, seemingly bottomless.

"I'm not going down there," Anker refused without hesitation. "Who knows what's waiting for us down there."

"No one's forcing you," Hoffa said calmly, stepping back to sit beside Chloe. His expression remained composed.

"Hmph."

Anker also sat down, his gaze darting between the mysterious new hole and Hoffa, his thoughts clearly churning.

In the small cave, barely thirty square meters, Chloe couldn't help but clutch the boy's arm beside her. Her fear was palpable.

Feeling her trembling hand on his elbow, Hoffa felt a pang of guilt. Normally, he would have been glad if Chloe finally admitted defeat and sought reconciliation. But now, what was the point of reconciliation?

After a while, Anker grew restless and stood up, glaring at the still-unconscious Aldo. "Sitting here won't solve anything," he muttered. "We need to figure out a way to leave."

Hoffa, seated cross-legged by the fire, responded serenely, "I'm not stopping you from trying."

"Is this your idea of cooperation?"

"I never forced you to cooperate with me."

"Fine, fine. So you and this Miss LeMay plan to just sit here and wait for death?"

"That wouldn't be so bad. At least she's pretty. Not a bad deal for me."

(The hand gripping his arm let go.)

Anker seethed with rage, grinding his teeth audibly in the darkness of the cave. Hoffa couldn't see his face but imagined the veins on his forehead must have been bulging. He had also figured out Anker's intentions.

"Anker," Hoffa said quietly, "no matter what you say, I won't go down there and risk my life for you. Besides, didn't we just agree earlier? You gather information, and I find a way to get you out. Am I wrong?"

"You!"

"Or were you just making empty promises?"

Anker's face twisted through several emotions before he finally clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. "Rock-paper-scissors. That's the fairest way. Loser goes down to scout."

Hoffa chuckled. "No."

"You son of a..." Anker strode angrily toward him.

"Anker."

"What?!"

"Have you considered this—when Aldo wakes up, what will he think of you? Whether we leave or not, right now, in this tiny group of ours, you might end up isolated and without support."

Anker froze mid-step, glaring at him with eyes nearly bursting with fury.

"You win, Bach," he said finally.

He yanked a torch from the fire and marched toward the hole. Standing at its edge, he said coldly, "Fine. I'll check it out. But when I come back, I hope you're still here, clinging to your pathetic lives."

With that, he descended the dark stairs without a backward glance.

Hoffa leaned over the edge of the hole, watching as Anker's figure, illuminated by the torch, disappeared into the darkness. He let out a long sigh.

"He's gone," he said to Chloe.

This was the first time in days he and Chloe had sat alone together, discounting the unconscious Aldo. He felt they needed to have a proper conversation.

Chloe sat by the fire, her expression cold. "Is scheming all you know? Do you enjoy it?"

Her tone was sharp. His earlier comment about having her as a "burial companion" had clearly offended her. Even in this bizarre, ever-changing environment, she wasn't about to let it slide. Perhaps she never intended to reconcile with him at all.

"You're still mad at me?" Hoffa asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Don't you feel any guilt? If you hadn't been so impulsive back then, would I have to go to such lengths?"

"Fine! Sure! It's all my fault, everything's my fault," Chloe snapped, turning away with a huff.

"Glad you think so," Hoffa replied dryly, unwilling to argue further. He simply stared at the hole where Anker had disappeared.

For some reason, unease gnawed at him.

In the normal world, he would've been glad to see the Imperial Wizard Association's lackeys perish. The more, the merrier. These people were all Grindelwald's lapdogs.

Especially Anker—this guy had been out to get him since day one. Even now, his thoughts seemed to revolve around saving his own skin at Hoffa's expense.

But in this moment, Hoffa found himself hoping Anker would return safely and tell them this was a gateway back to the real world.

He shook his head at the absurdity of his own thoughts. The odds of that happening were about as likely as Tom Riddle growing up to do charity work or Chloe becoming a chainsaw-wielding maniac.

(Chapter End)

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