Chapter 313: Chapter 313: "Storm of Steel and Fangs Part - 2"
Under the pale light of the crescent moon, the battlefield was a grim scene of destruction. Smoke rose into the sky, carrying the bitter smell of burned flesh and scorched earth. Shadows flickered in the light of dying flames as Harry Potter stood at the center of the chaos. His sword—a weapon of goblin-forged steel—gleamed with raw elemental energy. His breathing was steady, but his body was coiled with tension. The fight was far from over.
"The wizards have gone quiet," a vampire commander snarled. "Find him!"
"Spread out and trap him!" another hissed, its voice sharp with frustration. "He can't take us all at once!"
The cries of anger echoed through the smoke-filled air as the vampires and werewolves adjusted their strategy. The werewolves, fully transformed, sniffed the air, their howls cutting through the night as they relayed Harry's position to each other. Their sharp senses helped them track him despite the heavy smoke. The vampires, equally skilled hunters, moved with deadly precision, circling closer to trap their target.
Harry crouched low, his sword glowing faintly in the dark. He could feel them closing in. Channeling his magic into the blade, he let the fire along its edge ignite. The hilt grew warm in his hand, but he welcomed the sensation. This wasn't magic for intimidation—it was pure, precise destruction.
The werewolves attacked first, charging as a pack with snarls and growls.
Harry moved with practiced precision, spinning to meet the first wave. His blade cut through the air in a fiery arc, colliding with the lead werewolf mid-leap. The fire and steel sliced through fur and muscle, severing its forelimb. The creature hit the ground with a pained howl, but there was no time to stop.
Another werewolf lunged for Harry's throat. He twisted sharply, driving an elbow into its snout before slashing upward with his sword. The fiery blade left a deep, cauterized wound across its chest. Behind him, a third werewolf sprang from the smoke, jaws snapping. Without looking, Harry drove his blade backward, impaling the beast with a burst of wind magic that hurled it into a nearby boulder.
"Push him harder!" a vampire barked, motioning for the others to charge.
The vampires descended in a blur of speed and precision, their movements coordinated and deadly. One leapt at Harry, claws extended, but his sword was faster. The flaming blade caught the vampire mid-air, burning through its chest as it disintegrated into ash. Two more closed in from the sides, their claws slashing toward him.
Harry steadied himself, channeling earth magic through his legs to root his stance. He swung his sword in a wide arc, cleaving one vampire cleanly in two. The other stumbled, thrown off balance by the sheer force of the blow.
---
Despite his victories, Harry knew he couldn't afford to slow down. The vampires were relentless, their shouts cutting through the smoky night as they regrouped.
"Don't let him rest!" one barked. "He's tiring—he can't keep this up forever!"
Harry ignored their taunts, focusing on the elemental energy coursing through him. He adjusted his grip on his sword, channeling wind magic this time. A powerful gust swept across the battlefield, carrying with it the fine silver dust he had prepared earlier. The werewolves recoiled, yelping in pain as the shards stung their eyes and burned their sensitive noses. Vampires hissed angrily, shielding their faces as their movements slowed.
"Coward!" one vampire spat, its voice sharp and accusing. "You hide behind tricks!"
Harry's reply was cold and unyielding. "If you can't overcome them, you don't deserve to stand."
A pack of werewolves charged as one, undeterred by the silver dust. Their snarls filled the air as they closed the distance. Harry met them head-on, his sword blazing with elemental fire. The first werewolf lunged, claws aimed for his chest, but Harry sidestepped and brought his blade down in a sweeping arc. The beast howled as its foreleg was severed, collapsing in pain. Another leapt for his side, but Harry pivoted, driving his sword upward. The flames carved through its torso, and it fell lifeless to the ground.
Two more charged, but Harry flicked his free hand, conjuring a wave of wind that sent them flying into a concealed rune trap. The air erupted with explosions, and the werewolves' bodies were scattered across the battlefield, lifeless.
Above him, vampires descended from the smoke-filled sky, their fangs bared and claws extended, aiming to catch him by surprise. But Harry was ready. He ducked low, his movements sharp and controlled, then swung upward in one fluid motion. His flaming blade met one mid-flight, cleaving it cleanly in two.
Another vampire landed hard on the ground nearby, snarling as it lunged for him. Its foot activated a rune concealed beneath the earth, which erupted in flames. The vampire's shrieks echoed through the night, its body turning to ash within moments.
---
As the battle raged on, Harry began to feel the toll on his body. His breaths came heavier now, each inhale burning his lungs. His muscles screamed in protest from the relentless pace, and he estimated he was down to less than half of his full stamina. But he refused to let it show—weakness would be fatal. Every movement remained sharp, every strike deliberate. He fought like a man with nothing left to lose.
The remaining enemies were disorganized and panicked, their morale crumbling with each loss. Werewolves limped and bled, their snarls weaker now. Vampires hissed frantic commands, trying to rally what little remained of their forces.
"Fall back!" one shouted, desperation in its voice. "He's too strong here! Regroup outside the wards!"
But Harry had no intention of letting them escape. He advanced like a ghost, his movements precise and relentless. He used his elemental magic sparingly, conserving his dwindling energy but ensuring each attack was devastating. A single strike of his sword sent a shockwave rippling through the ground, toppling several foes at once. Another slash, infused with the sharp force of wind, cut through two vampires in a single blow.
One vampire tried to feign death, lying motionless among the ashes of its comrades. Harry's sharp eyes caught the slight twitch of its hand. Without hesitation, he drove his sword downward, the flaming blade ending the deception instantly. A werewolf, desperate to escape, clawed at the ground in an attempt to dig its way out of the trap zone. Harry flicked his wrist, conjuring a massive boulder that crashed down, crushing the creature where it lay.
---
Far away, Vladimir Dracul XII, leader of the Carpathian Covenant, felt the deaths of his people like sharp ripples in his consciousness. Each loss was a dagger to his pride, the bond he shared with his kind vanishing one by one. The number of deaths was staggering—far beyond what he had expected.
His crimson eyes burned with fury as he rose from his chair. "Summon the elites," he commanded coldly. "Now."
The response was immediate. Twenty of his most loyal and powerful vampires assembled before him, their faces grim with determination. Without delay, and without informing Voldemort, Vladimir led them toward the battlefield.
---
Back at the battlefield, the last of Harry's enemies fell. The werewolves lay dead or dying, their once-ferocious snarls silenced. The vampires had all been reduced to ash, the bitter scent of their destruction lingering in the air. Harry, though utterly exhausted, allowed himself a moment to breathe. He leaned heavily on his sword, its edge still glowing faintly with residual power.
The silence that followed was almost eerie, hanging over the battlefield like a fragile veil. Harry glanced around at what remained of the hills surrounding his sanctuary. The battle had taken its toll, but for now, the danger seemed to have passed. Or so he thought.
As he turned toward his house, the wards shimmered faintly, their glow rippling unnaturally. A disturbance cut through the stillness, subtle at first but growing stronger by the second. Harry's instincts flared, a warning screaming in his mind. Straightening, he raised his sword once more.
The air in front of his house twisted and warped, bending in ways that defied nature. A tall, imposing figure stepped through the distortion, his crimson eyes gleaming like molten rubies. Vladimir Dracul XII had arrived. Behind him came a fresh army of vampires, their shadowy forms stretching endlessly into the night.
Harry's grip on his sword tightened, the ruby in its hilt flaring with an intense, pulsing light. Though his body screamed for rest, his spirit refused to yield. He squared his shoulders and raised his blade, ready to face this new challenge.
The battle was far from over.
Chapter 314: Chapter 314: "Harry vs. Vladimir Part - 1"
A hush fell over the battlefield as Vladimir Dracul XII stepped forward, his crimson eyes blazing like twin embers in the darkness. Behind him, his twenty elite vampires spread out, their shadows shifting ominously in the moonlight. Their claws gleamed, their fangs sharp and deadly. At the center of the chaos stood Harry, breath heavy beneath his helm, muscles aching from the earlier fight. Sweat trickled down his back, but his grip on his sword was firm, and his resolve unwavering.
Vladimir's voice, smooth as silk but laced with cold fury, shattered the silence. "You have humiliated me, Knight. My Covenant—my warriors—reduced to ash by your hand. My best soldiers turned to dust... all because of you."
Harry forced a smirk, though his chest felt tight. "I do aim to please."
"A witty man, aren't you?" Vladimir sneered, fangs gleaming in the pale light. "You won't be smiling when I drain every last drop of blood from your body."
Harry chuckled, despite the tension in the air. "Oh, I'm terrified. Save your threats for when you manage to get past my sword."
A ripple of hisses swept through the vampires, their fangs bared. One, a tall female with silver braids, sneered at him. "Your bravado is foolish. You're outnumbered, and I can see your fatigue. This time, we know what we're up against. No surprises. Just your death."
"And your overconfidence keeps giving me exercise," Harry shot back lightly. He glanced around, mockingly unimpressed. "What's this? Twenty more vampires? Forgive me if I don't tremble. The last twenty didn't fare too well, did they?"
Vladimir's eyes narrowed to slits, his fangs flashing as his anger flared. "Your flippancy will cost you, Knight. You have meddled in affairs beyond your understanding. You've humiliated my Covenant and cost us dearly. You will pay for that."
Harry shrugged and took a casual step back. "Maybe, but it's been worth it just to see you so worked up. Honestly, I'd have been more concerned if Voldemort were here with you. But just you vampires?" He grinned beneath his helm. "I'll try harder to be scared."
"You'll regret your arrogance," Vladimir snapped. "I don't need any help to put you in your place. You are alone, and I have my army."
A low growl of approval rumbled through the vampires as they tightened the circle, cutting off all escape. Harry was drained—the earlier battle had taken its toll. He couldn't handle another drawn-out fight. But Harry had planned for this. He always had a backup.
He grinned through the visor of his helm, and raised a finger. "You think I'm alone?" He tilted his head toward the house. "Let's not turn this into a party, Vladimir. I brought a plus-one."
At that moment, the front door of his house, still standing amidst the wards, creaked open. Out stepped another figure clad in armor identical to Harry's Knight Arthur persona. The second knight's helm gleamed ghostly in the moonlight, unsettling the vampires. Their claws twitched, their fangs bared in confusion.
Harry watched his masterpiece emerge with a swell of pride. This was no ordinary clone—not like the hastily crafted versions he'd used to clear out the Acromantula nest. Those were rushed, built with low-quality materials. But this clone was different. It had taken time, precision, and the best materials Harry could gather. From his testing, it possessed about fifty percent of his own strength. Not overwhelming, but more than enough to handle this crowd of vampires.
"What is this—another knight?!" one of the vampires snarled, its glare flicking to Harry. "What trickery is this?"
Vladimir's rage only deepened. His crimson eyes glinted dangerously as he barked a bitter laugh. "A puppet? A golem? You think this will save you? Do you take me for a fool, Knight?"
Harry smirked beneath his helm. "Hey! Don't underestimate my masterpiece. I take offense to that—it's no ordinary puppet."
Another vampire stepped forward, narrowing its eyes as it studied the clone.
"I recognize this magic," the vampire muttered. "But from what I know, a wizard must control a clone directly. My Lord, he's too drained to fight and control it at the same time. This is just an intimidation tactic, meant to spook us into retreating."
Vladimir's lips curled into a cruel smile, fangs glinting in the moonlight. "Hah! I see through your games, Knight. No more tricks, no more distractions. It's time for you to meet your end."
Harry said nothing, his confident grin hidden behind his visor. Let them think what they wanted. Normally, clones did require a wizard's direct control, and Vladimir's reasoning would have been correct. But Harry had accounted for that. This clone was special. Someone he trusted more than anyone was guiding it now—someone who knew him the best.
Inside the sanctuary, Mira's face lit up with a determined grin as she worked. Her small hands moved deftly over the enchanted rings and scrying orb, her focus unshakable. Her wide eyes sparkled with pride as she directed the clone with an almost uncanny precision.
Master Harry trusts me, she thought, her heart swelling. I won't let him down.
Mira, Harry's loyal house-elf, had watched him grow up. She had been there for every sword drill, every grueling training session. She knew Harry's fighting style better than anyone—every feint, every strike, every defensive move. If anyone could make the clone fight as Harry would, it was her.
"Master Harry's training has made me ready," Mira whispered, her voice full of quiet resolve. She tightened her grip on the orb, eyes alight with determination. "Let's show them."
---
Outside the house , the clone drew its sword in a slow, fluid motion—confident and deliberate. The vampires tensed, their claws twitching, eyes fixed on the figure.
Vladimir's lip curled into a snarl. "Attack!" he barked, his fury boiling over.
The vampires surged forward like a dark tide, the air blurring with their unnatural speed. The clone charged to meet them, its sword glowing ominously under the pale moonlight.
"Focus on the Knight!" Vladimir bellowed, seizing the opportunity to dart straight for Harry.
Harry's wand shot up just in time. The first strike landed—a savage blow from Vladimir's claws that clanged against a hastily conjured shield. The impact sent tremors through Harry's body, shaking him to his core. Vladimir pressed on, launching a relentless flurry of strikes—inhumanly fast, precise, and unyielding. Harry parried each blow with magical barriers, but every strike rattled his arms and drained his already waning energy.
Harry gritted his teeth, shifting his focus entirely to magic. He knew his stamina was low—depleted from the earlier battles. If Voldemort, or someone equally dangerous, showed up, he needed something left in reserve. Magic, at least, he still had plenty of, but the exhaustion dulled his reflexes. Each spell came slower than normal.
"You're tired, Knight," Vladimir hissed, his face close enough for Harry to feel his cold breath. Their powers clashed like opposing storms. "Weak. You will fall."
Harry's wand crackled with electricity, sparks dancing around his fingertips. "Still stronger than you," he growled through gritted teeth.
With a burst of wind, he shoved Vladimir backward and followed with a streak of lightning. The bolt shot forward, sizzling through the air. Vladimir darted aside, the lightning grazing him and scorching the earth beneath his feet. He sneered as he circled Harry, his crimson eyes glowing ominously.
"Magic?" he mocked, his voice dripping with contempt. "Too tired to lift your sword, are you? Relying on spells to mask your weakness?"
Harry forced a grin despite his burning muscles. "After seeing what your kind can do, you don't deserve me drawing my sword. Magic is enough."
Vladimir's snarl deepened, and he lunged again. Harry conjured a second shield, but Vladimir didn't falter this time—his claws tore through the shimmering barrier, sending shards of magic scattering like broken glass. Harry stumbled back, whipping his wand upward.
"Fulminare!"
A thunderbolt erupted from his wand, striking the ground between them. The explosion sent a shockwave rippling outward, hurling Vladimir off his feet. But the vampire twisted mid-air, landing smoothly on his feet. Ash clung to his cloak, his red eyes blazing with fury.
"You're clever, Knight, I'll give you that," Vladimir said, brushing off the debris with a cold, deliberate motion. "But clever won't save you forever."
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