Harry Potter: I am the Legend

At such an awkward moment, someone unexpectedly stepped forward to break the tension. For Pierre, this was no less than a pillow being delivered to someone dozing off. He immediately showed a satisfied smile, bowed slightly, and said, "Of course, Miss Spencell. As long as you're willing to speak, we're all happy to listen for the entire day."

Overjoyed, he even stepped down personally to push Sylbie's wheelchair onto the platform and placed the microphone near her mouth.

However, Sylbie shook her head and said, "At Beauxbatons' centennial celebration, even the headmaster stands to speak. Sitting in a wheelchair would be highly improper. Fortunately, I've sponsored countless schools and people across Europe. Among those present, there is one wizard who once received my sponsorship upon entering school. That wizard is now renowned in the magical world. I hope that young wizard will consciously step forward and help his former benefactor stand with dignity to deliver this speech."

Everyone looked at each other, not knowing who she was referring to.

But Hoffa knew exactly who the old monster was talking about. He noticed Sylbie's malicious smile, and hatred simmered in his heart. He had no idea what this schemer was plotting again, but whatever it was, Hoffa wouldn't believe a single word she said.

Moreover, he was worried about how to get close enough to deliver a fatal blow. Now, this schemer was inviting him forward. Although Hoffa knew Sylbie might have a backup plan, he wouldn't miss such a golden opportunity.

He stood up and slowly walked forward along the hall.

Pierre exclaimed with surprise, "So the wizard you sponsored is Hoffa Bach! I knew it! Wonderful! Hoffa, quickly help Miss Spencell up—she is one of Beauxbatons' most distinguished guests."

He spoke to Hoffa in a condescending tone, but Hoffa no longer had him in his eyes. As he passed by, he instinctively pushed Pierre aside. The action left Pierre stunned.

Sylbie slumped in her wheelchair, her voice delicate. "Be gentle... I'm very fragile."

Hoffa had been tense, but standing before Sylbie now, all his nervousness vanished. He mocked, "I'm afraid you'll wet yourself again if I pick you up."

"Hehehe..." Sylbie trembled with laughter. "Not this time. I emptied myself beforehand."

The inexplicable conversation left the prominent Beauxbatons alumni bewildered. Pierre felt deeply humiliated—not just personally, but on behalf of the entire Beauxbatons institution. No one should engage in such disgraceful dialogue at such a solemn event.

"Hey! What are you talking about?" he shouted.

Hoffa's smile faded, and he asked coldly, "Where is Miranda? Why didn't she come with you?"

"What, missing your dream wife?" Sylbie sneered. "Such a pity... I'm a cripple now, unable to do anything to your lovely wife. Otherwise, I'd really like to test the depth of your love."

"Hey!" Pierre could no longer bear it, shouting loudly, "You two are—"

Swish!

Without warning, Hoffa swung his arm.

A blinding flash of cold light appeared.

A hiltless, razor-sharp feather blade slashed down toward Sylbie's neck.

"Hmph."

Sylbie's eyes flickered, and she lightly tapped the crystal ball in her hand.

Invisible ripples spread out.

Everything froze—Hoffa mid-swing, the shocked Beauxbatons alumni, the furious Pierre, the petals falling from the sky, and the streamers swaying in the breeze—all suspended in time.

Only Sylbie trembled slightly. The crystal ball clinked to the ground, rolling and transforming into black smoke that spread slowly through the hall.

Sylbie muttered with disdain, "How annoying... Beauxbatons is always so lavish. It makes me nauseous. Pierre, you little parasite, tell me—how much do you spend on decorations and banquets each year?

But... that's your hobby. I like these pretty things too. But liking them for a lifetime... is far too boring. Far too boring."

She wobbled as she stood up from the wheelchair.

Sure enough, below her neck was a body of steel and machinery. She glanced sideways at Hoffa, who could see her clearly—but remained unable to move.

Perhaps to mock him further, Sylbie tapped her chest. Within the transparent crystal embedded there, a tube of vibrant red blood swirled continuously—that was his blood. Chloe's blood.

"Did you think I was an idiot, Hoffa? That I'd come here without any preparation?" she said.

The black smoke gathered, growing thicker and heavier within the hall.

Hoffa remained paralyzed, inwardly cursing.

Damn it! This power was supposed to be his. The sensation was utterly unbearable.

His understanding of Sylbie's treachery deepened. In his nightmares, Sylbie had lured him with lofty ideals, drawing him into a daily routine of despair. He'd been forced to use the Obliviate charm to awaken—at the cost of his magic steadily waning. Even now, it was of no help.

"Oh? What's with that look?" Sylbie sneered. "Wondering what I'm going to do?"

She leaned close to his ear. "Guess what, Hoffa Bach—still chasing equality?"

Shame surged through Hoffa, burning hotter than ever.

Murdering someone wasn't enough—Sylbie had to break their spirit.

His fury reached its peak.

Not even when facing Grindelwald had he been this angry.

He longed desperately to move—but he couldn't.

"Hahaha... Youth always takes a few wrong turns."

Sylbie stepped back slowly, spreading her arms wide. "But I never expected you to escape the prison of time, Hoffa Bach. You have some willpower—but not much.

Since you've returned, as a reward, I'll give you a little show. Watch closely... how these scheming vermin, these finely robed nobles living in the floating city, these unique and self-proclaimed individuals withstand the test of time."

The black smoke fully coalesced behind Sylbie. A transparent, colossal humanoid figure floated in the air, arms spread wide like a crucifix. Stars dotted its joints, while its wildly dancing black hair brushed against every face present. It wore an excited smile as different heads appeared and shattered endlessly on its neck.

The students and faculty had never seen such a terrifying, oppressive creature. They felt trapped in a nightmarish dream—one they couldn't wake from.

The Nightmare God rumbled, "So exquisite... so flamboyant... so shallow... The world despises such finery. Take one last look at this splendid castle... one last look at the towering Gate of Heaven... Soon, they will crumble in the river of time!"

"Come... accelerate."

Sylbie grasped her wand and commanded.

The Nightmare God opened its enormous mouth.

Within its maw, a curled figure—bearing a striking resemblance to Chloe—slowly opened her eyes.

An invisible, frozen river began to flow—at first sluggish, then faster and faster. Under its roar, garlands withered, apples shriveled, feathers faded, and carpet fibers lost their luster, cracking and falling apart.

The hall was engulfed by the raging force of time. Everything decayed—walls cracked, wine evaporated, chairs splintered into moldy fragments, and leather dried like parched earth.

Crystal chandeliers collapsed from the ceiling. Paintings on the walls screamed in terror, fading and wrinkling until they became lifeless, pale shadows of their former selves.

And yet, none of this was the most terrifying part. The most terrifying thing was the people of Beauxbatons caught within this river—those esteemed alumni and professors. They couldn't even let out a scream before they disintegrated and evaporated within the currents.

The elderly woman who had served three terms as Minister of Magic withered into a skeleton the moment she touched the river.

The middle-aged individuals fared no better. They aged rapidly, their bodies decaying into skeletons within seconds. Their clothes and flesh turned to ash, swept away without a trace.

Pierre, caught at the very heart of this storm, couldn't even cry out. His body shriveled before his own eyes, his skin cracking wildly, his hair falling off in clumps. His desiccated skin peeled away from his body at a terrifying speed, revealing fresh red bones beneath.

But the crimson only lasted a moment. In mere seconds, the red bones turned white, then yellow, then black. A few more seconds, and the black bones reduced to charred remains, then to nothing but dust, swirling in the air, carried by the relentless flow of time.

In the blink of an eye, the entire upper echelon of Beauxbatons was wiped out.

In less than half a minute, only Hoffa and Sylby remained in the ruined and desolate hall.

It was only then that Hoffa realized—the power of time had not left him.

His mind did not stop with the stagnation of time. It still surged wildly, his blood still flowed, keeping him unaffected by the force of time.

And yet, while his consciousness raced, his body remained paralyzed.

Even after destroying the hall, the force of time did not cease its erosion. It continued spreading outward without limit. The vegetation outside the hall withered and died in an instant, the water in the fountains evaporated at the speed of light, and even the thick statues atop the pools fractured and crumbled under the weight of time, shattering into pieces before they could even hit the ground.

The river of time surged past the fountain, slamming into the towering Sky Gate. A brilliant blue magical glow flared from the gate, attempting to resist the invisible force. Yet, it held for barely an instant before the magic dissipated into nothing. The Sky Gate, now unprotected, let out a sickening cracking sound—ten years, a hundred years, a thousand years, ten thousand years of decay happening in an instant. The massive gate finally crumbled, shaking violently.

If the Sky Gate itself couldn't withstand this force, then the students nearby stood no chance. Despite prior evacuation efforts, some students had not yet escaped. Those unfortunate enough to be caught by the unseen power of time aged in the blink of an eye—their youthful faces withered into oblivion. They matured, aged, and finally, with agonized screams, withered and died.

The desolate cries echoed in Hoffa's ears, filling him with despair.

Move!

Move, Hoffa Bach!

He cursed himself inwardly.

Move! Just move!

Yet he remained paralyzed.

It felt as if something heavy was pressing down on his back, rendering him immobile.

Did he not want to save these people?

No.

Then what was he missing?

What was it?

Hoffa's mind raced wildly.

In reality, the roaring force of time showed no signs of stopping. More and more students fell victim to its grip.

Returning from escorting a group of students away from Beauxbatons, Olim and Don Quixote arrived just in time to witness the horrific scene unfolding in the courtyard. They saw the monstrous entity soaring through the ruined hall, and Olim let out a terrified scream.

The silent, roaring river of time surged toward Olim. Don Quixote, sensing the danger, shoved her aside.

Watching Don Quixote push Olim away, Hoffa's eyes widened. He was reminded of that one second in front of the Resurrection Pool—the closest he had ever come to divinity. That unparalleled desire, that indescribable longing, the willingness to give up everything to achieve a single goal.

And what was the source of that desire?

Was it leading the Beauxbatons students to safety?

Yes.

Was it defeating Sylby?

Yes.

Was it really?

A voice in his heart immediately denied it.

No.

Then, a whisper, faint as a mosquito's buzz, rose in his mind.

It was nothing more than a simple question.

"Will you come back?"

"Yes."

That simple exchange cut through his heart like a blade, making him tremble.

His fingers twitched. His eyelids quivered.

Of course.

Of course.

Hoffa Bach was never that noble.

Only returning—that was his true wish.

Everything else was an obstacle.

"Die!!!"

Hoffa roared.

Sylby turned his head in shock, just in time to see a pair of golden eyes blazing like fire.

With a sharp crack, a fist shot through the steel body. The heart, pulverized by the sudden strike, exploded into a spray of crimson droplets that floated through the air.

Deprived of its protection, Delfina's body, exposed to the river of time for just a second, aged instantly into that of a forty-year-old woman.

"God of Nightmares!!"

In utter desperation, Sylby screamed, "Do you still want to keep playing!?"

The colossal creature hovering in the air let out a startled "Hmm?" It stared at the woman with a hole in her chest and the maddened young man before closing its mouth.

The raging river of time came to an abrupt halt.

Hoffa yanked his arm free. Sparks crackled as he bared his teeth in a twisted grin, his fingers stabbing toward Sylby's skull at an unimaginable speed.

In less than a millisecond, the woman before him would be dead, her head obliterated.

And yet, at that crucial instant—

Hoffa's hand froze mid-air.

This time, it wasn't the force of time stopping him.

It was a mass of giant serpents, coiling around his arms, restraining him completely.

Sylby, staring at the bird-like talons mere centimeters from his forehead, broke into a cold sweat. The intense pressure made him laugh uncontrollably.

"Haha... ha... My god... You bastard, you really scared me."

Hoffa looked down at the massive serpents wrapped around him, an ominous premonition rising in his heart. Slowly, he lifted his head.

High above, atop the skylight of Beauxbatons Castle, sat a figure shrouded entirely in a deep green robe.

(End of Chapter)

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