Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Four hours earlier.

North Atlantic Ocean, Hebrides Islands

The Hebrides Islands lie at the northernmost edge of Scotland, one of the most desolate maritime regions in the world.

With roaring waves, expansive beaches, and towering cliffs, it is a realm surrounded by isolation. The nearest city, Dranberg, lies over a hundred kilometers away.

Dranberg has a storied past—once a penal colony during the Arthurian era, it later became the notorious hideout of the pirate Sir Francis Drake during the Age of Exploration. By the time of George I, it had transformed into a smuggling port for black slaves.

Now, with the decline of piracy and the abolition of the slave trade, only a sparsely populated fishing village remains—a settlement of barely a hundred souls surviving off the sea.

Beyond the occasional bird or herring, few creatures visit this remote area.

Yet, at this moment, an old diesel-powered fishing boat was cutting through the waves at full speed across this cliff-laden sea.

There were four people aboard.

The captain, Terry, was a typical Caucasian man: large nose, thin lips, and a thick beard.

He wore worn jeans, knee-high rubber boots, and a weathered fishing cap. His appearance matched that of any other herring fisherman in these waters.

But Terry wasn't a fisherman—at least, not anymore.

Before turning 20, Terry had fished alongside his father. But after surviving the horrors of World War I and returning home, he found fishing too mundane and lacking in promise.

Over two decades of laboring in these waters, Terry had found a more lucrative line of work than catching herring.

Human smuggling.

The Hebrides Islands connect Scotland with Denmark, Iceland, and Norway.

Since the outbreak of World War I, the flow of stowaways through these waters had never ceased. The area's remoteness made it a prime route for those hoping to use Scotland as a landing point, from which they could reach the stable environments of England and find work.

But Terry knew such dreams were often unrealistic. Most of these stowaways ended up perishing far from home after being exploited at every turn.

Over the years, Terry had seen all kinds of passengers. But the three individuals on board today were unlike any he had encountered before.

Through the sea-sprayed rearview mirror, Terry could see the three peculiar figures sitting rigidly on the deck behind him.

Their posture was identical, as if the wind and sea spray that lashed at them were as inconsequential as waves crashing against a rock.

Terry recognized this demeanor—it was the hallmark of military discipline.

But if they were soldiers, something was off. All three wore oversized black robes, obscuring their faces, with sharp, tall hoods pulled over their heads.

These weren't the tattered robes typical of stowaways. These were pristine black garments, secured with scaled leather belts. Even the fierce sea wind failed to ruffle them.

During the war, Terry had seen soldiers from many armies, but none had worn anything like this.

The only identifying mark was a red swastika armband on each of their sleeves.

The symbol seemed vaguely familiar to Terry—he'd seen it in the newspapers recently. It was connected to some worker's organization in Germany.

But he wasn't sure. The people in the newspapers certainly hadn't dressed like this.

The boat lurched violently as it cut through a wave.

"Your passenger from this morning—what direction did they head?"

The tallest of the three figures, seated at the front, suddenly spoke.

He hadn't moved an inch, as if his body were fused to the boat.

"Uh…" Caught off guard, Terry hesitated. The trio hadn't said a word since boarding, and Terry had assumed they didn't speak English.

"What did you say?"

"I asked you," the man repeated, his voice calm yet commanding, "where your passenger from this morning went."

"Sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," Terry deflected.

Though he was a smuggler, he followed his own rules. Over 40 years of life had taught him that staying out of other people's conflicts was the smartest way to survive.

"Is that so? Seems he paid you quite a bit," the tall hooded man said softly. His voice carried an inexplicable magnetism that made people feel at ease.

Terry, who had been on alert just moments ago, suddenly found his gaze unfocused.

"Oh, you mean that generous little fellow? Yeah, he gave me a lot of money," Terry admitted.

"And which direction did he go?" the hooded man asked.

"He landed on Handay Island too, then followed the River Tay southward into Scotland's interior. There's nothing out there—just wilderness. Plenty of people who go in there end up lost or never come out. I'd advise you not to follow him."

Crash!The fishing boat hit another wave, jolting violently. The sea wind whipped around them, snapping Terry out of his trance.

He felt like he had just spilled a lot of information but couldn't quite recall what exactly he had said.

Looking into the rearview mirror, the three passengers sat as motionless as before. Their expressions hadn't changed in the slightest.

"Bloody hell," Terry muttered, pushing the boat to go faster. He wanted to wrap up this peculiar job as quickly as possible.

Luckily, the boat soon reached the rocky shore. The landscape was harsh, covered in lichens and moss, with cliffs of mottled sedimentary rock and jagged boulders scattered along the coastline. Bird droppings streaked the cliff faces near the water.

Two burly men stood waiting on the shore, smoking cigarettes and waving toward the boat.

Seeing them, Terry let out a sigh of relief. He was a cautious man who never took unnecessary risks. These two were his cousins, partners in his smuggling business, and trustworthy allies.

Terry moored the boat as one cousin climbed aboard to hammer a rusty iron spike into place while the other tied a rope to secure the boat.

"This is your stop," Terry announced. "The fare is 45 pounds total, but I'll cut you a deal—40 pounds. If you want transport inland, head 30 kilometers east along the coast, and you'll find a road."

He stood at the edge of the boat, arms crossed, waiting for one of the three hooded figures to step forward and pay. His two cousins flanked him, ready for anything. Illegal work like this always carried risks, and their clientele ranged from desperate refugees to dangerous criminals.

The three hooded men rose simultaneously. The tall one at the front spoke in a quiet tone, "Did the small man disembark here as well?"

"Yeah, yeah, same spot. No more questions—pay up and get going. This area has coast guards, too," Terry replied, irritation creeping into his voice.

The tall man ignored Terry's impatience, turning to his companions and saying calmly, "überprüfen." ("Check.")

The other two disembarked silently, spreading out to inspect the area. One even pulled out a black rod, waving it in circles as if tracing something in the air.

Watching their deliberate actions, Terry narrowed his eyes. A dangerous glint flickered in his gaze as he slowly lifted his damp shirt, revealing the polished handle of a revolver tucked at his waist.

Noticing Terry's shift in demeanor, his two cousins exchanged a glance. Both reached into their pockets, each gripping the handles of hefty knives concealed within.

Terry was no stranger to danger. As a smuggler, his hands were not clean. Over the years, he had dealt with all sorts of dangerous clients—murderers, thieves, and robbers.

But in two decades, no one had ever managed to get the better of him on his turf.

However, something that astonished Terry happened next.

The tall hooded man in front of him suddenly had his chest swell, and then a silver, monkey-like head popped out. It had long, silvery fur and large eyes.

The monkey quickly climbed onto the man's shoulder, looking at Terry with a sympathetic gaze before closing its eyes and swaying its head in the air.

Terry had never seen such a monkey before. In fact, he'd never seen anything like it.

His two cousins were also completely stunned.

The silver monkey suddenly opened its eyes and chattered, pointing in a direction.

The hooded man nodded, and the two other men with black rods immediately tucked them away.

Without any intention of paying, the three men began walking in the direction the monkey had pointed.

Terry became furious. He pulled out his revolver and aimed it at them.

"Hey! Stop! What do you think you're doing!" he shouted.

His two cousins unsheathed their machetes with a clatter.

However, the three men walked on without a pause, their steps firm and determined, completely ignoring Terry's calls.

Terry's finger tightened on the trigger, his eyes narrowing with lethal intent. He had seen enough bloodshed during the war to know that killing was no obstacle for him.

But just then, something suddenly fluttered down and landed on Terry's shoulder.

At first, he thought it was one of the local seabirds, but when he turned his head, he froze in shock.

It was a creature he had never seen before.

It had a butterfly-like body, as large as a hawk, and its entire body was green with purple, horn-like protrusions on its wings. It had cold red eyes and sharp, curved claws.

Terry stared, dumbfounded.

The creature then opened its mouth, revealing sharp teeth and a purple tongue.

With a screech, it leapt at Terry's face before he had any time to react. Caught off guard, Terry scrambled desperately to remove the creature from his face.

"Idiot, help me!!" he yelled.

His cousins, still stunned, rushed forward, abandoning the three strange men, and tried to pry the creature off of Terry.

But the creature clung tightly, its grip strong enough that even an adult's strength was useless. It opened its tiny mouth, and its tongue burrowed into Terry's skull.

"Ah!!" Terry screamed in agony, feeling as if all his memories, emotions, and reason were being ripped away from him.

In a panic, his two cousins pulled at the creature with all their might.

Just then, two more of the strange creatures swooped down from the sky, landing on the shoulders of Terry's cousins.

The two cousins looked at each other, their faces frozen in terror.

Without a second thought, they turned and fled, running blindly and in panic.

But they didn't get far. Within moments, they collapsed to the ground, struggling and twitching uncontrollably.

On the other side, Terry had already forgotten his own name. In his final moments of desperation, he began firing wildly.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sound of gunfire echoed briefly, then the beach fell silent.

Terry lay motionless on the sand, as did his two cousins.

The green and purple-winged creatures clung to Terry's face. On the desolate beach, the sound of sucking could be heard as one of the creatures burrowed halfway into Terry's skull.

Finally, the gnawing stopped.

The creature pulled its head out, shook the blood from its body, then spread its wings and swiftly flew off toward the men who were now tiny dots in the distance.

Soon, the other two creatures finished their meal, stood up, and began to follow their master.

The bodies of the three men lay lifeless on the beach. Each had a hole the size of a bowl drilled into their foreheads, their skulls hollowed out.

As the tide rose, the bodies were swept away, rolling across the stony shore before vanishing from sight.

(End of Chapter)

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