By the time the muscular bald man was carried away, the boos from the stands had turned into a buzzing murmur of whispers.
No one had clearly seen how the thin, small “Seeker” had cast his spell; that Disarming Charm had been so fast it was like a joke.
Fleur stood before the betting counter, ten gold coins piled in front of her.
The bookmaker was an old goblin wearing a monocle.
He gave this tightly wrapped witch an unexpected look, tapping his sharp-clawed fingers on the counter.
“Would you like to place another bet, madam?
The odds for the next round have adjusted.
Your little fighter isn’t such an underdog anymore.” Fleur didn’t hesitate for a second, her eyebrows not even twitching.
She reached out and, like a crazed high-stakes gambler, pushed all the gold coins she had just won straight back.
“All on red—everything, including the prize money from the last round,” Fleur’s voice was frighteningly calm.
“The next round, the Seeker wins again.” The goblin bookmaker narrowed his eyes, revealing a row of sharp, yellow teeth.
“Are you sure?
The opponent for the next round is ‘Ghost’ Karl.
He excels at quietly ripping out a rookie’s guts without them even noticing.” “All in,” Fleur repeated simply.
On the stage, before Harry could even catch his breath, his second opponent stepped up.
He was a fleeting, shadowy figure clad in a gray robe.
As soon as the duel began, this fellow split into three illusions, chanting vicious Severing Charms simultaneously.
Harry felt like he was fighting a cloud of smoke.
But he was a Seeker.
He was the one who could always find the Golden Snitch, no matter what.
The moment those three shadows raised their wands, Harry moved.
He didn’t rely on his eyes.
Instead, using the keen sensitivity to air currents he had honed on the Quidditch pitch, he threw himself to the left, dodging two green light beams.
Then, he fired a Stupefy toward the shadow on the right that seemed the most insubstantial.
“Stupefy!” *Bang!* The shadow dissolved, and the gray-robed wizard materialized in his true form.
He fell straight backward, his head hitting the stone floor with a sharp crack.
The crowd gasped in shock.
The pile of gold coins in front of Fleur had turned into a small mountain—around five hundred Galleons.
“Still going?” The goblin bookmaker’s face soured slightly.
“Two wins in a row is good luck.
But the third opponent is the ‘Alchemical Madman.’ The explosive potions he carries can level this entire stage.” “All in.” Fleur made the same motion, pushing the entire pile of glittering gold coins back.
There was no greed in her eyes, only a spine-chilling determination.
“All in.” The third round was the most brutal.
The “Alchemical Madman” had no sense of sportsmanship whatsoever.
The moment he stepped up, he threw seven or eight glass vials puffing with purple smoke.
The entire duelling stage was instantly enveloped in toxic fog and explosions.
Harry was covered in soot, his clothes singed with several holes, but he did not back down.
He rolled through the smoke, using Scourgify to clear his vision, then cast a Summoning Charm to turn the rubble on the ground into a shield, blocking the splashing acid.
Just as the opponent pulled out a massive red flask that looked capable of blowing a person to pieces, Harry seized a window of opportunity that lasted only a fraction of a second.
He didn’t use a defensive spell, nor did he use a Disarming Charm.
He used a slightly unorthodox jinx he had picked up during his previous odd jobs.
“Incarcerous!” He didn’t bind the person; instead, he bound the stopper of the flask.
The “Madman” tried to hurl the flask, but the bottle was stuck fast to his hand.
He stared in horror at the potion about to explode in his grasp, letting out a scream of despair.
*Boom!* Having cast a Shield Charm on himself beforehand, Harry was blasted off his feet by the shockwave, slamming heavily into the guardrail.
Meanwhile, the “Madman” had been blasted into a wild afro, twitching on the ground covered in black smoke.
“The winner—the Seeker!
Three consecutive victories!” The announcer’s voice cracked.
Thunderous cheers erupted from the stands; gamblers who lost were cursing, while those who won laughed hysterically.
Harry climbed to his feet and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.
Every bone in his body ached, but the adrenaline-fueled rush in his blood made him want to let out a roar.
He had won.
He was the king of this place.
Yet, just as he was preparing to face his fourth opponent, Fleur appeared below the stage.
She made an extremely discreet but firm gesture to him: *Leave.* Harry paused, somewhat reluctant, but he still trusted Fleur’s judgment.
He jumped off the stage and quickly slipped into the shadows.
At the counter, the goblin bookmaker was counting a massive bag of gold coins.
Exactly one thousand Gold Galleons—the grand total of his consecutive win bonuses and the exponentially doubled bets.
“Your luck is disgustingly good.” The goblin tossed the heavy bag to Fleur, his eyes dark and sinister.
“The odds for the fourth round are already terrifyingly high.
If you don’t leave, this single bag could turn into ten.
Or a coffin.” “Greed is the devil, sir.” Fleur caught the money pouch, gracefully slipping it into a pocket enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
“We only came to make some travel expenses, not to shut you down.” Wasting no time, she grabbed Harry, who was still buzzing with excitement, and like two ghosts, they swiftly threaded through the crowd and slipped out the back door.
There was no double-crossing drama.
For Vienna’s massive underground black market, which raked in thousands of Galleons daily, a thousand Galleons was no small sum, but it was still mere pocket change in their nightly turnover.
The goblin bookmaker was a businessman; ruining the reputation of the “Iron Wand” club for this much money simply wasn’t worth it.
Only those fools who didn’t know the rules—who won money and then tried to humiliate the house—ended up dead in the streets.
Back in the Citroën parked in the dark alley, Harry took off his hood, panting heavily, his face still flushed with a feverish, excited glow.
“Why did you pull me out?” Harry grumbled as he buckled his seatbelt, gesturing with his wand.
“I saw the fourth opponent!
He was a knife-thrower!
I could have beaten him!
I have the reaction speed of a Firebolt, I could have—” “You could have done jack shit.” Fleur cut him off coldly, starting the car while tossing the heavy bag of gold coins onto the back seat.
The coins clinked with a sweet, crisp sound.
“Think you’re hot stuff, do you, Mr.
Savior?” Fleur stepped on the gas, and the car shot out of the dark alley, merging into the late-night Viennese traffic.
“Do you think you’re invincible now?
Do you think dark wizards are nothing more than this?” Harry was stunned by her scolding, his hot blood cooling slightly.
“But I won…
I won three rounds in a row…” “You beat three thugs.
Three low-level brawlers who scrape by fighting underground in that godforsaken place.” Fleur’s grip on the steering wheel was steady, but her tone was ice-cold.
“The real experts—professional assassins, battle-tested Aurors, or the elite Death Eaters under Voldemort—they would never come to a place like this to perform like monkeys.” She glanced at Harry with a stern look.
“If I had let you fight a fourth round, the bookmaker would have realized you were a real threat or a fat cash cow.
The next one to step up wouldn’t be a madman with a flask, but a spell-breaker specifically brought in to counter you.
When that happened, you wouldn’t be winning money—you’d be losing your life.” Harry opened his mouth, but in the end, he fell silent.
Indeed, he had relied on speed and surprise for the first two rounds.
The third round had actually been extremely close; if that explosive potion had been any stronger, his Shield Charm wouldn’t have held.
“A thousand Galleons,” Fleur’s voice softened a bit.
“This money is enough for us to live very comfortably for the next few months.
But to that underground organization, it’s just an expense that ‘hurts a tiny bit.’ It’s not worth sending top assassins after us.
Those are the rules.” “We have to learn to quit while we’re ahead, Harry.” Fleur sighed.
“You really are a good fighter, much better than I expected.
That instinct of yours…
it really is a gift.
But don’t let it go to your head.
When you’re on the run, living longer is more important than winning fights.” Harry leaned against the back of his seat, watching Vienna’s glittering night scene outside.
The arrogant swell of pride from moments ago slowly ebbed away, replaced by the sobering realization of a narrow escape.
He touched his vine wood wand once more.
“I understand, big sister,” Harry said quietly.
“Next time, I’ll listen to you.” “That’s more like it.” A smile finally touched the corner of Fleur’s lips.
“Now, we are going to the best hotel, booking two of the most expensive rooms, and I am going to soak in a bathtub covered in rose petals for a whole hour.
That is the true meaning of winning money.” “A thousand Galleons…” Harry glanced back at the rear seat, unable to help but grin like an idiot.
“That’s as much as the Triwizard Tournament prize.
We’re rich.” “Of course we are.” Fleur stepped on the gas.
“Let’s go spend it all.”