Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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Feeling a little nervous, Harry took a deep breath. He carefully recalled every movement and pronunciation Dumbledore had demonstrated back then. That perfectly enunciated, almost broadcast-like tone was easy to remember, leaving a deep impression on him. 

Though the Elder Wand had lost some of its original functions after being split into two, it remained a versatile conduit for spellcasting. 

"Nine Heavens Mystic Fiend, transform into divine thunder! The majesty of the heavens, guided by the sword!" 

Raising the Elder Wand like a sword, Harry recited the ancient incantation once used by cultivators. 

"Divine Sword Lightning Commandment!" 

A sudden thunderclap ripped through the sky. In the blink of an eye, a bolt of lightning descended, striking the black wooden wand Harry held aloft as if it were a flying sword. 

"Which genius taught you that flying sword techniques involve holding the sword in your hand?!" 

The old man had a bad feeling the moment Harry uttered the incantation. Let go, you fool! Why was this kid still gripping the wand? Even if he couldn't use sword flight, tossing it away would be better than holding it! 

But his warning came too late. Harry was too fast—so fast that by the time the lightning struck him with a loud crack, the old man had only just managed to open his mouth. 

"Well... he's got thick skin and a sturdy build. He should be able to handle a little lightning, right?" 

As he debated whether to call an ambulance or start making funeral arrangements, the old man rubbed his chin, muttering to himself. He had taken a liking to this kid—it would be a shame if he fried to death, wouldn't it? 

"You're… okay?" 

Seeing Harry, who had just been struck by lightning, turn to look at him, the old man nearly jumped out of his skin, thinking for a moment that the kid had come back as a ghost. 

"A bit tingly, but I'm fine. First time's a little rough, but if I get zapped a few more times, I should get used to it." 

Harry spoke with absolute sincerity. His body was infused with the magic of an Awakened, having undergone magical refinement. In terms of sheer magic resistance, even a weak Cutting Curse likely wouldn't break his skin. His body had already developed the enhanced magical resistance typically found in magical creatures. While the current level wasn't high, the potential for growth was enormous. 

If one day he reached Hagrid's level, forget resisting spells—he could probably tank a railgun blast head-on without a scratch. Once activated, this power offered both physical and magical defense. 

"I have to admit, the lightning enchantment does look pretty cool." 

The hand gripping the Elder Wand now held what looked like a vibrating rod of electricity. The crackling, restless lightning coiled around the wand, wildly surging and barely contained. 

Like a thunderclap explosion, the Divine Sword Lightning Commandment was a direct elemental attack spell—not fire, but lightning. It was faster, more accurate, and focused, though with a smaller area of effect and higher mana consumption. 

The flying sword didn't just act as a lightning rod—it absorbed and stored the power of the strike, enhancing its next attack with an enchanted burst. At this moment, Harry was essentially holding a primed grenade with the safety pin already pulled. 

"Disperse it, quick! Are you waiting for it to explode in your hand?!" 

Harry might be able to tank a lightning strike without breaking a sweat, but the same couldn't be said for everyone else. If that overcharged "grenade" went off, at the very least, they'd be left covered in soot. 

"Oh." 

Obediently, Harry wiped his hand across the Elder Wand, instantly dispelling the restless electricity with nothing but a touch. 

The old man hesitated for a moment before saying, "You… you really were born to be struck by lightning." 

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" 

"Just take it however you like." 

The old man tugged at his beard, looking both exasperated and amused. He had plenty to say, yet he didn't know where to begin. 

"Forget it, forget it. In all my years, I've never met a genius quite like you. Consider me impressed." 

"I don't know where you learned this ancient lightning technique, but at least you're not just using your sword as a decoration." 

"However, kid, you need to promise me one thing." 

"Of course, sir! What is it?" Harry, excited, eagerly rubbed his hands together. 

"I'll give you two books later—make sure you study them properly." 

 "Is it another ancient spell technique?" 

"Ancient spell technique..." The old man's face twitched. Originally, he had planned to give Harry a book like Three Years to Qi Refinement, Five Years to Foundation Establishment, so he could properly learn the basics. After all, ancient spell techniques had long been phased out. Unlike traditional sword cultivation, spell techniques were constantly evolving—getting more streamlined, practical, and efficient. 

Ancient spell techniques were too cumbersome. Both the incantations and casting methods were outdated, unable to keep up with modern trends. Even in terms of power, they weren't necessarily superior to contemporary magic. 

"Do you really like these old relics that much?" 

"It's not like I rely on them for offense, right? Sure, they have drawbacks, but looking cool is a lifetime commitment." 

Harry pointed to his ebony and ivory wand. While the core principles of spellcasting varied, incantations were ultimately just different branches of the same path, all leading to the same destination. There was no inherent superiority between spells and spell techniques—their fundamental purpose was to channel magic to achieve specific effects. 

With the enhancement of Awakened magic, any performance gap caused by outdated spell structures could be easily bridged by sheer magical quality. It simply wasn't an issue. 

To put it plainly, the Killing Curse was supposed to be unblockable, right? But if Harry countered it with a Finite Incantatem, using the raw intensity of Awakened magic to overwhelm it, he could directly break apart the Killing Curse's magical structure, effectively negating an "unblockable" spell. 

"You sure talk a big game. Kids these days… Ah, whatever. Maybe I'm the one who's out of touch." 

Muttering under his breath, the old man led them back to the main hall without slowing his pace. 

"Stand still. Stretch out your hand. Let me measure your dimensions." 

Just like at Ollivander's when buying a wand, the old man meticulously measured every aspect of Harry's body using a tape measure—arm span, forearm circumference, finger length, even head size. Some of the data seemed entirely unnecessary, but he recorded it all the same. 

"Now, pick the sword hilt that feels most natural. I'll fetch the blade for you." 

From the side storage rack, dozens of sword hilts crafted from different types of wood floated into the air, neatly arranged in a row, waiting for Harry to choose. 

Since the old man had already measured his hand size, every hilt was a perfect fit. But Harry didn't suffer from indecisiveness—after a quick glance, he picked the one that felt most pleasing and tested its grip. 

"That fast? Not bad, quick and decisive." 

Within minutes, the old man returned to the counter carrying three unfinished sword blades—mere sword blanks—laid upon a red velvet cloth. 

"The first one—Nine-Forged Spirit Iron, embedded with a flawless stone core. Blade length: 3 feet 3 inches. Weight: 276 pounds, 4.4 ounces. This sword has no flaws… but also no extraordinary strengths. Spirit Iron is the most versatile and well-balanced mystical ore. 'Nine-Forged' doesn't mean it was forged nine times—it means nine times the original volume of Spirit Iron was condensed into a single piece. Paired with a stone core, it adapts to any cultivator and has no elemental leanings." 

"The second—Cold Crystal Meteorite Alloy, embedded with a top-grade Iceheart Stone. Blade length: 3 feet 4.5 inches. Weight: 7 pounds, 4 ounces. Extremely lightweight. In ancient spell techniques, nearly half the spells require direct interaction with the flying sword—the lighter it is, the easier it is to control. You're not suited for a short sword, so this is one of the lightest standard longswords. Both the alloy and Iceheart Stone enhance mental focus, keeping the wielder calm and steady—quite useful for casting ancient spells." 

The old man then squinted at Harry and, in a hushed tone only the two of them could hear, continued: 

"The third one… I think this one suits you best." 

His sharp eyes locked onto Harry. 

"I don't care how much blood you've spilled, but I hope you have a clear conscience. There are many ways to solve problems—killing isn't always the most practical one. You're still young. Don't make the whole world your enemy. Don't follow in my footsteps." 

"Seven-Forged Nether Abyss Iron, embedded with a Demon Blood Crystal. Blade length: 3 feet 7 inches. Weight: 107 pounds. I got this from the first Demon Lord I killed in the Abyss Realm. All the materials come from its corpse. But there's a catch—this blade is a gamble. 

"Demon Blood Crystals, also known as a Demon Lord's magic core, can impart special effects to a spellcasting medium—for better or worse." 

"I never bothered sharpening this sword. I've never been one for high-risk, low-reward bets." 

Despite his indifferent tone, the faint "unlucky aura" emanating from him made it clear why he never tested the sword—luck couldn't be bought, and gambling on the unknown rarely ended well. Even in the magical world, some things simply came down to fate. 

"The third one's expensive, isn't it?" 

Aesthetically, the second sword—Cold Crystal Meteorite Alloy—was the most beautiful, but it was far too light. Seven pounds, four ounces? That wasn't even as much as the meat Harry ate in one meal. 

The first sword—Nine-Forged Spirit Iron—had a satisfying weight. Over 200 pounds felt just right in his grip. But flying swords weren't meant to be wielded like regular weapons—their weight primarily affected their agility in flight. 

Modern sword cultivators specialized in one move: sending their blade a thousand miles away to strike and return in an instant.

Although the third sword's materials sounded impressive at first, in terms of rarity, it was actually inferior to his ebony and ivory weapons. At the very least, his twin guns possessed the unique attributes of duality. Their magical cores either came from an exceptionally rare twin-core Demon Lord or a pair of twin Demon Lords. Such rare specimens weren't something just any Demon Lord could compare to.

"Of course, this was the first Demon Lord I personally hunted down. Even if we don't consider its sentimental value, its inherent worth is at least this much."

The old man spread his hand and wiggled his five fingers.

"Five hundred thousand?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit—"

"What five hundred thousand? Fifty thousand. Fifty thousand! Kid, do you have any common sense? If it were really five hundred thousand, the entire Nine Nether Realm would have been stripped clean ages ago."

"Oh." Harry wiped his forehead. He almost blurted out, "That's too cheap." He really wasn't very sensitive to money. In his mind, demons—being far more difficult to deal with—should naturally be worth much more than magical creatures. After all, every part of a demon could be dismantled and used, making them incredibly valuable economically.

"So, how much do you plan to sell this sword for?"

Although Harry was already confident about closing the deal, it didn't hurt to ask more questions.

"Eighty-eight thousand, eight hundred and eighty-eight. But since I like you, I'll give you a 12% discount. It's a lucky number, don't you think?"

"Even though I was a bit reckless in my youth, I am still the best swordsmith in Suye City—bar none. A sword crafted by my hands is second to none, past or present."

"Even in the entire Taishi Empire, I have some renown. Wherever I go, I am treated as an honored guest."

Speaking of his craftsmanship, the old man's face showed a hint of pride. However, as if reminded of something unpleasant, his expression darkened after only a few seconds.

"Sure, it's a bit pricey, but quality comes at a cost, doesn't it?"

The old man smiled kindly, exuding an almost unsettling friendliness.

"That makes sense, but…" Harry hesitated. He had a feeling the old man wasn't done talking yet.

"I know, I know. This price is a bit steep for you, but there are other ways."

"Oh?" Harry's eyes lit up. "Let's hear it."

"That wooden staff you used to channel lightning spells earlier—it's a fine item. I won't lie to you; it's also crafted from the materials of a Nine Nether Demon. It has an ancient origin, and such materials can no longer be found today. I can tell you its true function. If you use it as the sword's hilt and embed it properly, once the demon sword is sharpened, it will generate a positive enhancement effect. Although the effect has its limitations, it's still highly valuable."

"I won't take advantage of you. You have two pieces, don't you? I'll use one to craft the hilt for you—there are only a handful of people in the world capable of working with this material, and I am definitely one of them. As for the other piece, if you're willing to sell it to me, I'll give you an additional fifty thousand gold coins, and the sword will be yours for free."

The old man had no qualms about scamming kids, but this wasn't worth the effort. A youngster capable of producing such a rare material was certainly not from an ordinary family. To him, money was just a number. Like Ollivander's renowned wand shop, the Seven-Foot Swordsmith's Forge never lacked wealth. If money could solve a problem, it wasn't really a problem.

"Well…"

To Harry's surprise, the old man's asking price was actually on the lower side, but it wasn't without sincerity. The mere fact that he could process materials derived from a Demon God impressed him. Grindelwald had possessed the Lance of Longinus for so long and still couldn't alter it in any way. The difficulty of working with such materials was extremely high—few in the world could confidently claim they could handle it.

"This was a gift from an elder. While I'm tempted… sorry, I can't."

Although Harry had managed to squeeze some valuable information out of the old man for free, he didn't feel guilty in the slightest. Asking questions was all about having a thick skin—without it, traveling the world would be much harder. One of the most important life skills was learning how to say no.

"Albus Dumbledore, President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He is also the Headmaster of Hogwarts—my teacher. This wooden staff was once his wand before he passed it on to me."

"A gift from an elder cannot be refused. But at the same time, I can't sell it without his permission. That wouldn't be right."

Having blocked the old man's attempts at negotiation with a perfect excuse, Harry pulled out a gold storage card. "Eighty-eight thousand is a little pricey, but a sword personally forged by you, sir, is worth it."

(End of Chapter)