The pursuers had no patience; a prey that had reached the end of its road could no longer provide them with any further amusement, and there was no point in keeping him alive.
Bullets left their guns, and at the same time, eerie green light burst from the wizards' wands, all of it surging toward Conti like a violent storm.
They did not care whether Harry, standing beside Conti, lived or died.
Harry was thinking: Should I save this Mr. Luck?
I still don't know what the point is of the broken watchband leading me to him.
In just the blink of an eye, before Harry's thoughts had reached a conclusion, these impatient strangers made their move.
Oh, it seemed he had to choose.
Harry watched the green light and the bullets rushing toward him.
His position would undoubtedly be caught in the crossfire; if an ordinary child were standing here today, he would be riddled with bullets, or have his life taken by an ominous curse, rotting away at the end of this deserted alley.
In Harry's magical vision, these attacks were as slow as turtles and as fragile as paper.
Harry's hand was wrapped in a layer of power; he easily raised it to intercept the bullets, then blew a breath that scattered the sluggish green light drifting toward him.
Of course, this was only in his eyes.
Conti only saw this child, who had given him a sense of unfathomable depth all along, reach out his hand and then blow a breath.
The green light dissipated, and the child slowly opened his hand; a pile of deformed bullets clattered to the ground.
A dead silence fell over the scene.
The wizards and the killers forgot their mutual vigilance; now they looked at Harry as if they were staring at a monster.
They even stepped back in unison, the two groups mingling together.
Having lived by the edge of their blades for years, they knew that saving one's own life was always the top priority, no matter the situation.
Now, before them stood a monster who could extinguish a Killing Curse with a breath and crush bullets with bare hands; this was an explosive existence, whether in the magical world or the world of ordinary people.
They also forgot their disdain for each other, silently agreeing to deal with the immediate problem before resuming their mutual animosity.
Conti looked at Harry's back, his expression somewhat dazed.
Harry tilted his head, revealing a smile that could be described as soft, and raised his claw to wave: "Hello."
The mass of people opposite him unhesitatingly stepped back two paces.
Harry: "…"
He lowered his hand with a hint of grievance: Am I that scary?
Conti slowly came back to his senses; his body was already cold and numb, he could feel his weakness, but his eyes looking at Harry were blazing with brilliance.
Those azure eyes were like a boiling sea, ambition and expectation bursting forth together.
It was that power, that mysterious and formidable power!
The power within this child, even greater than firearms and those dark creatures!
Might I have the honor of witnessing it?
Might I have the chance to possess it?
With it, I would become even stronger!
Veins bloomed in the whites of Conti's eyes; he gazed at Harry almost greedily, his mind replaying, frame by frame, the scene of him casually dispatching bullets and magic.
He was different from the wizards he had been fortunate enough to see before; those wizards indeed had strength, but they were not invincible, and he was merely interested, wanting to delve deeper into their magic and, if possible, gain that power for himself.
But this child… this child—!
Harry suddenly felt a chill down his spine for no reason; he shivered, and the suppressed blood seized the opportunity to surge up from his throat.
"Cough, cough, cough, cough—"
Harry's face scrunched up; he clutched his neck and began painfully coughing up blood.
He looked as fragile as if the person who had just crushed bullets and blown away curses wasn't him at all.
Everyone: "…"
Was he… faking it, or was it real?
The killers and wizards, who had set aside their prejudices and gathered together, found this question arising in their minds.
They didn't know, but without a doubt, as the saying goes, strike while the iron is hot; they moved with perfect coordination.
A barrage of multicolored curses, mostly green, along with a hail of bullets.
Harry coughed until his eyes rolled back, seemingly full of openings, but he did not let his guard down.
The moment they moved, faint points of green light also appeared in Harry's hand; in the blink of an eye, they converged and intertwined into a green giant serpent, roaring towards Harry's enemies.
"Cough, cough, cough, cough—"
As Harry coughed heart-wrenchingly, he slowly raised his head, coldly watching the killers and wizards turn to ashes amidst screams.
Having completed its master's task, the serpent, like light and flame, lazily swam in the air a few times before slowly dissipating.
That was the last scene Conti saw: that thin child, standing amidst the settling dust, wiping the blood from his mouth, looking at the place where his enemies had died, so carelessly.
Then he lost consciousness.
Harry crouched gloomily beside Conti; he reached out and poked this half-dead fellow, who was only kept alive by a lingering thread of will to live.
His breathing had almost ceased.
Harry looked at Conti, covered in blood from head to toe, and thought for three seconds.
Then his gaze drifted to a blue cornflower emerging from a crack in the alley wall.
Harry cruelly destroyed the flower, plucking it and beginning to tear apart its innocent petals.
"Save, don't save, save, don't save…"
Harry muttered to himself as he tore off the petals, pulling the last one: "Save."
Harry: "…"
He stared at the petal that seemed to be working against him, lost in thought.
Alright then.
Save him it is.
Harry prepared a tissue, raised his hand, and used his magic to trace a mysterious array above Conti's head.
The magical array, carrying a faint, vibrant green light, sank into Conti's body.
This was a high-level magical array; Conti's condition stabilized at an astonishing speed, and faint green light spots appeared over his wounds, repairing his injuries.
Harry suppressed the restless magic inside him that was about to break free, then vomited a large mouthful of blood with a "hwa."
With his current physical condition, using a high-level magical array was still too much of a strain; not only did his internal organs protest, but Harry's head also began throbbing with intense pain.
Finally, his vision went dark, and he fainted.
Harry only had time to cast a protective charm over himself.
Conti slowly regained consciousness, feeling as if he were soaking in warm water; his whole body was comfortably warm and full of strength, as if he had never been injured at all.
…Injured?
Conti jolted, sitting up abruptly, and noticed the changes in his body.
His wounds were glowing.
That child—
Conti's first thought was of the magical power, and he instantly understood who had done this.
He looked up to find Harry, and saw the boy collapsed against his legs.