Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Late at night, deep within the port, crackling flames illuminated the darkness. The enslaved men had completed their labor and, under the watchful eyes of the sentries, returned to their encampments.

The foul air was filled with hushed whispers and scattered discussions, all of which revolved around the young nun.

She had taken food out of her seamless stretchable backpack and distributed it piece by piece to the refugees. Gradually, she became familiar with them. Letting down their guard, they gathered around her, gazing at her with reverence, as though she were Jesus himself.

Because of her unwavering faith, Hoffa couldn't convince her to stop her actions. Instead, he remained within her immediate vicinity, ensuring she stayed within his sight.

But her actions inevitably angered the local thugs.

After Frank's death, the thugs nominally submitted to the widow Mary, though this submission was merely superficial. Their true leader was a brute named Matthew.

Matthew had assigned a dozen of his men to take turns surveilling Hoffa and Chloe from the watchtower.

Around 10 p.m., Chloe returned. Sitting by the campfire, she removed her nun's hat and rubbed her tired head. Stretching her arms wide as if reenacting Jesus' crucifixion, she loosened her stiff joints. Then, she crouched by the fire and began cooking some of Hoffa's spare rations in a small tin pot.

As the food in the tin pot began to boil, the nun took a taste with a spoon and asked, "Have you eaten yet?"

"No."

"Your slave master friend didn't offer you anything?" she inquired as she ladled out the porridge.

"He's dead. Don't tell me you haven't heard."

"What?" Chloe froze mid-scoop, stunned. "I didn't know. How did he die?"

"He got chopped in half by some muscle-brained idiot," Hoffa replied flatly.

The nun sighed, set down the spoon she had been stirring with, and made the sign of the Trinity on her chest, muttering an indistinct prayer under her breath.

After praying, she sincerely said to Hoffa, "I'm sorry."

Hoffa's expression didn't change. "I'm not upset. Why are you apologizing?"

"Oh, my God," Chloe groaned. "Fine. You're as cold-blooded as ever."

She handed him a bowl of porridge and asked, "So, how do you plan to get a boat to take me to England?"

"I haven't figured it out yet," Hoffa admitted, his gaze fixed on the darkness as he idly poked the flames with his hand.

Truthfully, he had no strong ties with the widow Mary. After Chloe's behavior, the chances of borrowing a boat seemed slim.

"Oh, right. While I was helping the refugees, they told me something troubling," Chloe added.

"What is it?"

"There's only one boat left here—the one we saw at the dock earlier."

Hoffa froze, then scoffed. "Impossible. Frank had at least twenty boats under his command."

"Yes, but there was a massive bombing here a few days ago. Most of the boats were destroyed, leaving only one," Chloe explained.

One boat.

Hoffa's heart sank. If there had been twenty boats, borrowing one might have been simple. But with only one remaining, it was a different story. The fewer the resources, the higher their value.

As they spoke, a figure approached from the distance—the widow Mary, clad in the same black dress she had worn earlier, complete with a vintage floral headdress. She hesitantly wrung her skirt as she waved to the two seated by the fire.

Chloe stood up, followed by Hoffa.

"Are you camping out here tonight?" the widow asked politely.

Both nodded.

"You don't have to stay here. There's plenty of room in my home if you'd like," Mary offered nervously.

"I don't mind," Hoffa replied, casually passing the decision to Chloe.

"No," Chloe declined firmly, her expression sour as she glared at Mary.

The widow awkwardly laughed but didn't leave.

Hoffa broke the silence. "Thank you for your kindness, but it's late. Is there something you needed from us?"

Mary hesitated, rubbing her hands nervously. "There will be a funeral tomorrow, and we need a priest. Unfortunately, there's no priest in the area right now, so..." Her gaze shifted to Chloe. "I was hoping the nun could help lead the service."

Hoffa was taken aback. Unfamiliar with European funeral customs, he turned to Chloe, only to find her looking unusually grim. She refused without hesitation.

"That's a priest's duty. As a nun, I absolutely cannot perform it," she declared.

"Oh, no, it doesn't have to be so formal," Mary quickly interjected. "Just a reading would suffice."

"Are you joking?" Chloe interrupted sharply. "Mass and burial rites are sacred. They are the gateway for the deceased to reach heaven and the basis for God's judgment of souls. Do you think just anyone in the Church can perform them?"

After Chloe's impassioned speech, Hoffa struggled to suppress a laugh, while Mary was left at a loss for words, her embarrassment evident.

Chloe, her face stern, continued, "If you just need someone to fill in, it doesn't have to be a member of the Church. A male friend could do it."

"But... Frank didn't have many friends," Mary admitted.

"Who says he doesn't? Isn't there one right here?" Chloe retorted, pointing to Hoffa before crouching down to tend to the porridge.

The widow turned to Hoffa, her delicate, doll-like face filled with unease and helplessness.

The responsibility fell back to Hoffa. He realized that agreeing to host the funeral could serve as an opportunity to mend relations. With only one boat left and Frank gone, borrowing it would undoubtedly come at a cost.

With a sincere smile, he replied, "Of course. Frank was a friend of mine. Please, let me know what I need to do."

At dawn the next day, the sky was a somber gray, as though heavy ink had been spilled across it, pressing down on the silent world.

On Hoffa's second day in Normandy, Frank's burial took place. Unlike the elaborate funerals of Asia, European ceremonies were simpler. The attendees were limited to Frank's widow, Mary, and a handful of his subordinates.

Standing before the freshly dug grave, Hoffa clutched a crumpled piece of paper, cleared his throat, and dryly read the professional eulogy Chloe had written for him.

"The path to God is unfathomable, filled with His parables and mysteries, revealing His boundless mercy. Though He has shown us the way, we must tread carefully. As we open our arms, the earth not only claims our transient shells but also embraces the eternal glory of our souls..."

As he read, Hoffa's mind began to wander.

(Frank was a violent, hot-tempered wizard who had offended and slaughtered many. Even Hoffa and Norbert had avoided dealing with him whenever possible. A man like that going to heaven? Ridiculous.)

"...All that flows away quietly. This world does not end. Rest in peace, my friend. Your soul will endure. Your life and existence were but verses of hope, lasting forever. As I walk through the shadowed grasslands, I will fear no evil, for your spirit is with me."

Finally, after delivering the emotionless eulogy, a sparse applause followed. The coffin was buried, marking the end of the funeral.

Afterward, Hoffa approached Mary, who was dressed in black, and said softly, "May I have a word with you, madam?"

Having delayed his purpose for a day and seen Frank off, it was time to state his intentions.

Mary nodded, and the two walked to a tree some distance from the grave. Before Hoffa could speak, a hand intruded between them.

It was Matthew, the overseer.

"Madam," he said, addressing Mary, "we're ready. When will you board the ship?"

Mary quickly replied, "Wait a moment. I need to discuss something with Mr. Bach first. I'll join you shortly."

Matthew nodded. "Alright, but hurry. We're waiting."

With a hostile glance at Hoffa, he turned and left.

Boarding the Ship

Hoffa sensed something was amiss. "Where are you going?"

"Oh," Mary replied with a smile. "Matthew is taking me to Switzerland. There's no war there; it's safe."

Hoffa's heart sank.

Disaster.

Only one boat, and it was bound for Switzerland.

No wonder he'd seen armed thugs forcing refugees to load coal onto the boat when he first arrived. Clearly, the boat wouldn't be lent to him.

Without realizing it, the situation had taken a dire turn. Everything he had planned was falling apart. How could he possibly secure the boat now?

"What's the matter?" Mary asked curiously. "Mr. Bach, is there something you needed?"

Hoffa's mind raced, but he maintained a relaxed smile.

"Madam, it's like this. Norbert and I owed Frank five hundred francs for materials before he passed."

He snapped his fingers with a flourish, and a roll of banknotes bound by a rubber band appeared in the air, landing neatly in his hand.

Mary's eyes widened in awe and respect at the display of magic.

Unrolling the banknotes, Hoffa casually continued, "Even though Frank is no longer with us, I believe debts should still be repaid."

"Oh, is that so? My, how considerate of you to make the trip," Mary replied, her expression filled with gratitude as she curtsied.

"However,"

Hoffa paused his motion of unrolling the money, speaking slowly, "Frank also promised me and Norbert that he would deliver a batch of metal raw materials to us. Madam, do you know anything about this?"

"Ah..."

Mary's gaze shifted uneasily from the roll of money. "I... I haven't heard about that."

"Really? That's troublesome."

Feigning a pensive frown, Hoffa appeared lost in thought for a moment before extending the roll of money toward her.

"Never mind. If you don't know, you don't know. After all, Frank has passed away. I'll just look for another supplier."

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Bach."

Mary accepted the money respectfully, visibly relieved. "Then... I'll take my leave now. Thank you, Mr. Bach."

"Mm."

He nodded nonchalantly, his expression casual.

The young widow pocketed the money with satisfaction and turned to leave.

"Wait."

Hoffa stopped her.

"Is there anything else, Mr. Bach?" she asked curiously, turning back toward him.

"You're aware of wizards, aren't you?"

Mary froze, her eyes darting around cautiously. She lowered her voice. "I... I know."

Hoffa's demeanor grew more serious. "Good. Then I'll get straight to the point. I came here from Paris, and I've heard some rumors."

Seeing his grave expression, Mary grew both curious and nervous. "What kind of rumors?"

"There's a large group of German wizards currently searching for Frank due to his involvement in arms smuggling. I have a few contacts within the military, so I know about this. As Frank's friend, I thought I should warn you to be careful of German wizards on your journey."

"What? Ger... German wizards are after us?"

Mary exclaimed, her voice trembling. She quickly covered her mouth after the outburst, but the panic was evident in her posture. Like a balloon suddenly punctured, she stiffened and grabbed Hoffa's arm, her back rigid.

"Are you serious?"

"Do I have any reason to lie to you?"

They locked eyes for a moment before Mary stammered nervously, "I... I'm sorry. What... What should I do, Mr. Bach?"

"That's not something I can answer."

He shrugged. "My friend and I will be leaving this place this afternoon. Take care of yourself."

With that, he turned and walked away without hesitation.

He hadn't gone far when a desperate voice called out from behind, "Wait, Mr. Bach!"

Hoffa let out a quiet sigh of relief, a fleeting smile crossing his face before he turned back with deliberate slowness. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "What is it?"

"Um... I... I wanted to ask, where are you planning to go?"

"Sorry, but that's none of your concern," Hoffa replied coldly.

"No... no!"

The woman waved her hands frantically. "I was just asking casually. If I've offended you, please forget I said anything."

Hoffa studied Mary for a moment, noting the beads of sweat forming on her nose. Internally, he chuckled. Perfect. Lucky for me, she's not particularly sharp. She'll believe anything she's told. Otherwise, my plan to borrow the ship to England would've been sunk.

"I'm trying to find a safe place for my friend. You know how dangerous France has become lately."

"Where specifically?"

"..."

Hoffa remained silent, exuding an air of mystery.

Mary's eyes darted nervously. "Uh, uh... it's just that Frank... Frank had a few warehouses in Switzerland. I think the materials you're looking for might be there. If you don't mind, you could... come with us."

After speaking, she fidgeted with her hands, her gaze filled with hope as she looked at him.

Hoffa stroked his chin thoughtfully, putting on a show of deliberation before reluctantly nodding.

"Fine. I guess I have nothing better to do. I'll join your ship for the trip."

"Ah, that's wonderful..."

The anxious widow seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

(End of chapter)

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