Chapter 80

After crossing the river, Harry heard that voice again, saying that in the center of the forest lay another lake, and they must pass through the forest to reach it.

“We’ll have to cross the forest later—I suggest letting Ron rest for a while,” said Fake Harry.

Ron sat down without comment, and Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that he, too, had grown distant and troubled—perhaps he’d heard strange voices, or remembered something terrifying.

The three, having regained their composure, advanced into the mist-laced forest. Along the way, Harry smelled the fresh scent of grass and trees; the mist brought a light dampness, and walking through Avalon’s woods, he felt a rare sense of calm and peace, the unresolved mysteries no longer weighing on him.

After about twenty minutes, they saw a lake glinting with golden light in the distance, and beside it stood what appeared to be a knight.

“It looks like we’re almost there,” Fake Harry said cheerfully.

Ron suddenly stopped, raising a hand to signal silence. Harry instantly felt something was wrong.

A faint, rustling sound drifted into his ears—not the growl of a beast or monster, but the light footsteps of someone walking.

“Is that Neville?” Harry called out.

No answer came. The footsteps drew closer, yet they scanned the surroundings and saw no one.

A sharp clang of metal on metal rang out. Harry turned sharply to Ron and saw him pressing his face behind his shield, his left hand gripping it trembling.

“It’s an invisible assassin,” he said.

Harry’s mind raced. He had always relied on invisibility to avoid detection; now, facing an invisible enemy, there must be some clever way to counter it.

As he strained to recall moments when his own invisibility had nearly been exposed, Fake Harry suddenly began waving his wand.

“Leaves, come to me!” As he uttered this inventive Summoning Charm, leaves scattered across the ground rose in swirling spirals and flew toward the three of them.

Amid the whirling leaves, Ron easily spotted the translucent human shape. Without hesitation, he drew his sword and slashed at it—and a man in a black cloak materialized, collapsing heavily to the ground.

The assassin seemed to be a magical construct, for his wound emitted no blood, only a faint wisp of white mist. Soon, his entire body dissolved into smoke, rejoining Avalon’s mist.

“Strange—there shouldn’t be assassins here,” Ron muttered. “I thought the trial would be a fair knightly duel.”

“I have a feeling the fair knightly duel is still ahead,” Harry said. “They say the Green Knight, guardian of Avalon under the Goddess—look, isn’t that man by the lake wearing green armor?”

The knight by the lake still wore ordinary armor, but its patterns and designs were all green. When he saw Ron, he said nothing, only silently drew his sword and advanced toward him.

“It’s beginning,” Ron breathed deeply. “I’ll defeat him fairly.”

As the distance between them narrowed, Harry clenched his fists in anxiety. The Green Knight was a full-grown adult, visibly strong—nearly seven feet tall. Ron, though unusually developed for his age, was still only thirteen, and stood a full head shorter beside the knight, making Harry deeply uneasy.

The Green Knight lunged forward with startling speed, thrusting his blade—barely missing Ron’s chest. Ron reacted instantly, blocking with his shield. Even so, he staggered backward several steps, visibly unbalanced.

Then the Green Knight began slashing wildly. His sword looked heavy, yet he wielded it with astonishing speed; Harry could almost hear the wind tearing past it. Ron had no choice but to keep retreating, occasionally deflecting one or two blows with his shield.

“This won’t do—Ron will lose if this continues,” Harry muttered, raising his wand, ready to cast a Leg-Locker or Disarming Charm to help him.

“But you can’t break the rules of knightly dueling,” Fake Harry said, drawing his own wand and pointing it squarely at Harry, his expression grim.

“I knew you weren’t trustworthy,” Harry snapped, but he didn’t move—he knew if the two Harrys clashed now, it would ruin Ron’s duel beyond repair.

“What are the rules of knightly dueling?” Harry asked urgently.

“When dueling the Green Knight, Merlin may not use magic to aid Percival, nor may any other knight intervene,” came the mysterious voice.

“Hear that?” Fake Harry said. “We can’t help Ron. He must do this alone.”

Ron’s shield had cracked under a final parry; he discarded it, gripping his sword with both hands, desperately blocking the Green Knight’s relentless strikes.

Clearly, knightly dueling, though requiring skill, ultimately depended on raw strength.

Harry, desperate, thought rapidly: If Merlin was forbidden to use magic and other knights barred from joining, did that mean Merlin himself could join?

In a flash of inspiration, Harry seized Ron’s practice wooden sword and charged into the fray, shouting, “Ron, I’m here!”

Ron, though overwhelmed, still remembered the honor of dueling. “No! If two of us fight, even if we win, we won’t pass the trial!”

“It’s fine,” Harry said. “I’m just here to replace your off-hand weapon.”

In medieval knightly tradition, the off-hand weapon was typically a shield, sometimes a short sword or parrying dagger. Some confident knights permitted opponents to replace damaged off-hand weapons, as a gesture of chivalry and strength.

Perhaps this Green Knight had been a true gentleman in life—he paused, silently allowing Harry to replace Ron’s weapon.

“I’ve already unlocked the safety,” Harry said, pressing his pistol into Ron’s left hand. “At this range, you could hit him blindfolded.”

“Will this even work?” Ron hesitated.

“Physical laws still apply here. So long as your sword doesn’t suddenly break, this gun won’t fail.”

“No, no—I mean, does it violate the spirit of dueling…?”

“It doesn’t,” Harry replied, recalling the obscure books he’d read in Tang Dun. “Michel Hunt, the medieval German fencing master, wrote in ‘A New Artful Treatise on the Rapier’ that a pistol is an acceptable off-hand weapon in duels.”

“Fine. Step back,” Ron said, eyes locked on the Green Knight. “I’ll show him what time it is.”

The duel resumed. Ron stepped back, then raised his left hand and fired.

By sheer coincidence, as the Green Knight swung his blade downward, Ron’s bullet struck the edge of the sword—knocking it off balance and exposing a massive opening.

Ron seized the moment, dropped the pistol, gripped his sword with both hands, lunged forward, and drove the blade deep into the Green Knight’s abdomen.

As he withdrew his sword, a wisp of smoke rose from the wound—and like the assassin before him, the Green Knight slowly dissolved into mist.

After the Green Knight vanished, the mist in the center of the lake thinned, revealing a vast hall slowly rising from the water. And where the knight had stood, Harry spotted a small boat.

After the battle, Ron whispered, “Take off your hat. I need to know which one of you helped me.”

Harry’s heart leapt—Ron had recognized the real him. After all, Fake Harry could replicate his memories, but not his thinking. Whether facing Dumbledore’s trial or the true existence of Avalon, no one in the magical world would ever consider using a gun—because to them, it was just a harmless Muggle toy.

Sitting in the boat, though silence still hung awkwardly between them, Harry felt lighter—he was certain he was nearly through Avalon.

As they entered the hall, Harry had no time to examine its decorations before a clash of weapons rang out. Curious, the three hurried inside and found a grand, ornate throne at the chamber’s heart. Before it, Neville fought a red-haired wizard with a plain longsword.

Neville looked exhausted—his robes were torn in several places, his movements sluggish, as if drained of strength. The wizard, by contrast, moved with ease: one hand held his wand, the other his sword. As he swung his blade, he occasionally cast spells, forcing Neville to dodge frantically. Harry then noticed a small wooden stick lying nearby—Neville’s wand had been disarmed.

As the three approached, Neville noticed his friends. Perhaps their arrival lifted his burden—he abruptly cast Tempus Rising, moving with blinding speed to stab the wizard through the back. Then he collapsed, motionless. Harry saw the faintest smile on his face.

As Harry had seen with other foes, the red-haired wizard dissolved into smoke.

Then the woman who had guided them earlier stepped from behind the throne and whispered, “The nameless Faded One has defeated the spirit of the former king. Henceforth, you are the new King of Avalon.”

She raised her hand gently, and a magical force lifted Neville from the ground, cradling him tenderly onto the massive throne.

For Neville, the throne was far too high—his feet barely touched the floor.

“Traveling knights, pay homage to your king.”

Harry couldn’t help laughing. Neville winked at him.