Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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"Ava... cough, cough..." 

The aftereffects of Qizha de Luoga jiucai ga duo le nearly made Harry reveal his hand. He quickly covered it up with a tactical cough, cleared his throat, and pulled out his white ivory wand. Switching the firing mode to single shot, he prepared himself. 

Destructive spells were obviously out of the question. The most suitable spell at this moment was undoubtedly the Lumos charm. As the very first spell young wizards learned from textbooks, Lumos was essentially effortless to cast. Any wizard attempting it for the first time could manage to produce at least a faint glow as long as they pronounced the incantation correctly. There wasn't even a need to be precise with the pressure or speed of pulling the trigger. 

"Alright, let's give this a try." 

Harry cleared his throat again and then, in properly articulated Chinese, uttered the translated phrase for the Lumos charm. It was a newly coined term, one that had no direct equivalent in a Muggle dictionary. However, Yíngguāng shǎnshuò, meaning "fluorescent flicker seemed like a reasonable approximation. 

" fluorescent flicker!" 

Harry pulled the trigger. But no white orb of light emerged from the gun barrel. 

"???" 

"Lumos." 

A fist-sized orb of light appeared at the muzzle. 

"The wand isn't broken..." 

Feeling perplexed, Harry decided to try another spell. 

" Levitation!"

Nothing. 

" Water Conjuration!"

Still nothing. 

"Could it be my translation?" 

Harry, now somewhat doubtful of his linguistic choices, racked his brain in search of an answer. After a long moment of contemplation, he suddenly recalled a spell that wasn't a newly coined term. Instead, it had an exact translation in Muggle dictionaries, perfectly matching the effect of the incantation. 

Scanning his surroundings, Harry looked for something to use as a test target, but unfortunately, he found nothing suitable. 

"Well, I guess I'll just see if I can cast it at all." 

"Stupefy—Stunning Spell" 

But even with high hopes, the spell failed to produce so much as a whisper of magic. He tried alternative translations and different pronunciations, but the results remained unchanged. 

"Why isn't it working?" 

After spending an exhausting amount of time troubleshooting, Harry turned to the elderly man beside him, who had been watching leisurely the entire time. 

"Because the English language you use and our Chinese characters are two completely different types of language systems." 

"One is phonetic, the other is logographic. Do you understand?" 

"The English language relies on a phonetic writing system. That means it uses letters to represent the sounds of speech, thus recording spoken language. Let me put it simply..." 

The old man set down his chopsticks and, in that moment, transformed from a laid-back elder into what could have easily been a university professor. His tone was serious, his explanation precise. If there were a blackboard and a pointer, one could easily imagine him tapping the board with one hand behind his back. 

"Phonetic scripts are borrowed systems—they originate from another set of symbols used purely for sound notation. In other words, your written words have no inherent meaning by themselves. They only gain significance by representing the pronunciation of a spoken word, which is then associated with a specific object. Do you follow so far?" 

Harry, listening intently, nodded. He also made sure to translate the explanation in real-time for Fleur. The two of them were completely engrossed, behaving like the most attentive students in a lecture. 

Seeing their serious expressions, the old man seemed quite pleased. Teaching others, while not necessarily his intention, brought a sense of fulfillment. After all, everyone enjoys a bit of recognition now and then.

"And as for Chinese characters, along with Sumerian script, ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, Mayan glyphs, and other such archaic forms of writing—these are what we call original scripts. Unlike phonetic systems borrowed from elsewhere, they were independently created from scratch by a civilization or ethnic group. Each character, each word, encapsulates that culture's understanding of the world and everything within it." 

"Your words point to a specific object, serving as mere labels for recording information. Our characters, however, do not strictly refer to a single, fixed thing. Even when used alone, without combination, a single character can express vastly different concepts." 

"For example—" 

The old man reached out, tracing strokes in the air, forming the character '道' (Dao). 

"It can mean the laws of heaven and earth, the path one walks, or the principles governing the mortal world, and so much more." 

"If you wish for light, you must specify what kind of light you desire." 

"For instance— 'fluorescent'—" 

A faint glow appeared at the tip of his finger. 

"—flickering." 

The small light pulsated, growing bright and dim in rhythmic flashes. 

"Because the way we harness power differs, so too do the mediums we require. Your wands are crafted from magically imbued wood, with cores made from the essence of magical creatures—be it their fangs, horns, or bones, correct?"

"But our tools—whether the flying swords of the past or the firearms of today—are not merely weapons. Their construction relies on purified spiritual ores, refined spirit gemstones, and, most crucially, an irreplaceable ingredient: lifeblood imbued with soul." 

"Not in the literal sense of tearing out your heart and draining your blood," the old man tapped his forehead. "Rather, a single drop infused with your will, spirit, and essence. Only then does a cold, lifeless object awaken into something uniquely yours, carrying its own spirit." 

"Every sword leaving the halls of the Swordsmith Pavilion has awakened a soul of its own. It is not merely a weapon for battle, but a lifelong companion—one that will never betray its master. If you were to buy a sword only to let it gather dust, never realizing its true potential, I wouldn't sell it to you. No matter how high your offer, it wouldn't be enough." 

The old man set his cup down. "Alright, kid, I've had my wine and my meat, but rules are rules. I won't break them. However, I can take you to see my Sword Vault. The very sword once wielded by the legendary Azure Lotus Sword Immortal is kept there. I don't let just anyone have a look." 

He shot Harry a look that practically said, You lucky brat. After all, only a handful of people had ever been granted such a privilege. 

Harry's eyes gleamed. "So, if I were actually capable of wielding it properly, then you'd let me buy one?" 

The old man scoffed. "And where do you plan on learning our techniques once you leave the gates of the Taishi Heavenly Empire? Even if you chose to settle here, mastering the nuances of our language alone would take at least a decade." 

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Eh, come on, old man, that's not what you were saying earlier. Now you're just being difficult, aren't you?" 

"What are you trying to say?" 

"How about this—I'll show you something interesting. If it's impressive enough, maybe you could reconsider?" 

The old man chuckled. "Alright, you've piqued my interest. Let's see what you've got." 

"Got a nice, open space?" Harry smirked. "I'll show you exactly what I mean." 

With a swift motion, he slid his white ivory pistol into its holster, then removed the suppressors from both the ebony and ivory sections. Pressing them together against his forehead, the twin wands clicked into place—forming a single, complete entity. 

The old man glanced at the small wooden wand in Harry's hand, his expression unreadable. But in his eyes, a flicker of recognition flashed. 

"Follow me." 

He beckoned them forward, leading the group past the main hall of the Swordsmith Pavilion to a small courtyard at the back. The open-air space connected to four different chambers, and from behind one of the doors, the rhythmic clang of metal being forged could be faintly heard. 

"This will do." 

(End of Chapter.)