"Madman's Knowledge..." Hoffa stood on the bridge stretching straight into the void of the unknown, staring at the bizarre and eerily magnificent silhouette of a giant eagle in the distance.
He rubbed his forehead, mumbling to himself,
"Good grief, this is just too surreal..."
Frustration welled up inside him. Life had played yet another joke on him. Joey had merely asked him to speak to the Thunderbird. He had thought it would be a simple task, akin to visiting a distant, ailing relative in his past life—holding their hand by the bedside, offering a few comforting words, perhaps fulfilling some lingering wishes to honor his responsibilities as a younger generation.
Yet, what seemed like a straightforward mission had landed him in an entirely different world, specifically Helheim.
Helheim—the legendary realm of the dead!
If he couldn't return, wouldn't that mean he was doomed to be trapped here forever?
Glancing back, he saw the massive, fleshy eye slowly closing behind him.
Its speed was gradual, but it was unmistakably shutting.
He looked down at the back of his hand, where the same eye was imprinted. It, too, was closing, synchronized with the larger eye.
Recalling Joey's words, "Return before the eye shuts. Don't push your luck," Hoffa suddenly understood. This eye was his passage back to Hogwarts.
Calculating the closing speed, he estimated he had about half an hour to remain here.
There was no time to waste. He had to act quickly!
With his objective clear, Hoffa braced himself against the howling wind and sprinted along the stone bridge.
As he ran, his body seemed to disintegrate like sand, with the wind peeling off tiny fragments that stretched behind him like threads.
This wasn't his first time leaving his original world. The first had been in the Violet Society's secret chamber at school, where he had entered an object known as the Book of Spells.
But this time felt distinctly different.
Last time, the system hadn't given him any notification, suggesting that the place might not have truly existed, or had long ceased to. Its reality was debatable.
This time, however, the system had issued a clear prompt, and the reward had shifted from "divine knowledge" to "madman's knowledge."
This place was real. Hoffa's gaze fixed on the distant, spectral image of the giant eagle, and a shiver ran through him.
He recalled some ancient European myths he had read. That eagle was Hræsvelgr, whose name meant "Corpse-Swallower."
A giant transformed into an eagle, wearing a cloak of feathers, residing at the far northern edge of the world. When it flapped its massive wings, cold winds would sweep across the land.
He had assumed such tales were mere myths. Yet this world turned out to be a hundred times more bizarre and grand than he had imagined.
If gods truly existed, were they still alive?
The colossal bridge stretched endlessly ahead, devoid of any other presence.
Yet, as Hoffa pressed forward, the exploration progress in his mind soared unexpectedly fast.
10%.
15%.
20%.
The bridge appeared infinite, an unending expanse.
No matter how far Hoffa ran, the scenery on either side remained unchanged: snow, void, and the towering phantom of the giant eagle.
After about ten minutes of running, when the fleshy eye behind him had shrunk to the size of a pinpoint, the system chimed again.
Ding!
Reward Acquired: Spell Fragment (1/3).
Upon reaching 50% exploration progress, Hoffa obtained a spell fragment.
Before he could even savor this small victory or speculate about what "Madman's Knowledge" might entail, a strange figure appeared ahead on the path.
The figure was tall and blocky, moving very slowly. The raging winds rendered its form blurry, and its surface seemed to be shedding fragments.
Could it be Taras the Thunderbird?
Hoffa quickened his pace, running toward the figure. After coming so far without encountering anything, this was the first moving entity he'd seen.
The closer he got, the clearer the figure became.
Hoffa realized it wasn't a Thunderbird. It was a hunchbacked figure carrying a massive stone tablet on its back. Covered in iron chains, the figure was emaciated and hunched over. The stone tablet it bore was nearly five meters tall, radiating a sense of immense weight.
"Is that you, Taras?"
Hoffa called out uncertainly as he approached. But the moment he got a closer look, he recoiled in shock.
Face-to-face with the creature beneath the stone tablet, he saw its horrifying appearance.
It wore no clothing, its skin dark and wrinkled. It had no eyes, nose, or ears—only a mouth filled with countless writhing maggots.
"Hhh…"
"Hhh…"
"Hhh…"
The creature let out a trembling, painful wheeze. Bent low, it shuffled past Hoffa without looking at him, acknowledging him, or answering his question.
It clutched its chest in agony, struggling and stumbling forward through the icy wind toward some unknown destination.
Hoffa turned his gaze to the stone tablet on its back.
The inscriptions on the tablet were completely incomprehensible to him, written in a language not of this world.
Where there's one, there's more.
Sure enough, Hoffa soon spotted a second figure carrying a stone tablet, then a third, and a fourth.
All of them were moving in the same direction. Some, like the first, bore only a single stone tablet on their backs.
But others carried dozens of stone tablets, stacked so densely that they could barely move. These poor creatures crawled along the ground, inching forward like snails.
Most of them were grotesquely deformed, their appearances indescribably horrifying.
Only a rare few bore no stone tablets at all. These moved with blank expressions, their faces emotionless as they marched forward.
The bizarre scene sent a chill through Hoffa's heart. He took several deep breaths, circulating his meditation technique to calm himself, and cautiously continued walking forward.
With each step, more of these strange figures appeared.
"Taras?"
Hoffa softly called out as he ran, hoping to find his target.
But every figure he saw was faceless. Some were so ugly their features were unrecognizable, while others' faces were featureless white blanks, devoid of eyes, noses, or mouths.
Instinctively, Hoffa felt that Taras wasn't among them. Taras wouldn't look like this.
He considered changing his approach.
But just then, one frail figure, burdened by its stone tablet, finally collapsed under the weight.
As it fell, the iron chains binding it shattered with a sharp clatter, as if they were made of brittle plastic.
The creature, which had been crawling on all fours, managed to straighten up slightly now that the tablet had fallen.
But rather than feeling relieved, it let out a piercing, anguished scream.
The creature then frantically lunged at its stone tablet, clawing at the chains with its thin arms, desperately trying to lift it back onto its back.
Yet, the tablet was far too massive for it to move.
At that moment, countless maggots poured out of the creature's body, scattering like insects fleeing a fallen tree, crawling across the ground in every direction.
Some of the maggots fell off the bridge, plunging into the abyss below, while others crawled onto nearby shadowy figures and burrowed into their bodies.
Once the maggots had completely abandoned their host, the creature was reduced to an empty husk. The cold winds of Helheim swept over it, shredding the fragile skin into dust until it disappeared entirely.
The sight filled Hoffa with dread. He had initially thought these shadowy beings were being punished—burdened with heavy weights as retribution. But now it seemed the truth was far more complex.
Before he could fully process this grim revelation, another figure collapsed under the weight of its stone tablet, triggering the same horrifying sequence.
This time, the fallen figure was closer to Hoffa. As its maggots dispersed, some of them turned their attention toward him.
They had no eyes, yet Hoffa felt unmistakably "seen." He could sense their emotions: an overwhelming mix of manic joy, greed, and envy, twisted into something monstrous.
This sinister energy spread like electricity across the stone bridge, causing a ripple effect.
Suddenly, all the maggots within the shadowy beings became aware of Hoffa's presence.
One by one, they crawled down from their hosts, gathering into a large, writhing mass on the ground. Slowly, the maggot swarm began to take shape—a humanoid form.
The writhing entity started crawling toward Hoffa, gradually rising to its feet.
At first, it stumbled awkwardly, but soon it adjusted, walking upright with unsettling confidence.
To Hoffa's horror, the maggot creature had grown to match his height and build. Its face bore a grotesque resemblance to his own—a twisted, maggot-ridden doppelgänger.
Hoffa shivered and instinctively stepped back.
The maggot creature responded immediately, stretching its gaping mouth wide in a crazed laugh and lunging at him with terrifying fervor.
Staring at the frenzied, laughing figure charging toward him, Hoffa felt his stomach churn. He had never encountered a monstrosity so grotesquely distorted.
At that moment, a comforting warmth radiated from his waist.
Startled, Hoffa reached for the source and found his wand in his hand.
Somehow, it had come with him to this surreal realm.
But something was different. The 封 symbol engraved on the wand's base was glowing a vivid red—unlike its usual faded appearance.
The maggot creature, now fully formed, roared as it approached, its face warped by envy, longing, and unhinged madness.
What should he do? His wand was with him, but what magic could he use here?
Ghost Walk!
Hoffa instinctively tapped his arm, attempting to activate the spell.
Boom!
Nothing happened.
He clumsily rolled to the side, barely dodging the maggot creature's crushing attack, which scattered writhing maggots everywhere.
He hadn't been able to use Ghost Walk. A brief reflection revealed why: this wasn't the material world, and his form here was clearly not physical. Of course, the spell would fail in such a place.
Scrambling to his feet, Hoffa retreated in a panic, evading the maggot creature's attacks while his mind raced for solutions.
He had no offensive spells in his arsenal—nothing suitable for an attack.
How could he handle this dire situation?
All around him, more maggots emerged from the void, assembling into increasingly bizarre creatures. Each resembled Hoffa in some way, their faces grotesquely twisted with expressions of yearning and madness.
The scene reminded him of the horrifying Cronenberg-esque monsters from post-apocalyptic movies.
Then, a memory struck him: the German dark wizards he'd encountered in Hogsmeade.
He had narrowly survived their Transfiguration spells, which had almost killed him on the spot. Those spells were potent offensive tools, and they didn't seem overly complex.
The idea formed, and Hoffa immediately acted on it. Transfiguration was one of his strongest disciplines.
Channeling his focus, he sank his consciousness into his wand, just as he had during his first Transfiguration class, attempting to reshape the wand's form.
The moment he tried, he found the wand startlingly responsive, almost eager to transform.
It wanted to change.
Meanwhile, the maggot creatures—now numbering in the dozens—closed in on Hoffa. They swarmed past the shadowy, tablet-carrying figures, moving with unrelenting determination.
Magic surged through Hoffa's body, draining a significant portion of his energy in an instant.
Then, Hoffa's eyes snapped open. The wand in his hand transformed rapidly—lengthening, sharpening, and growing larger. In mere moments, a massive two-meter-long greatsword materialized out of thin air, gleaming in his grip.
The sword appeared heavy, but it was deeply connected to Hoffa, as if it were an extension of his own body. He could wield it with his mind, just as naturally as using his wand.
Raising the weapon, Hoffa swung it with a single powerful stroke!
The blade, sharp beyond measure, cut through one of the maggot creatures in an instant, cleaving it cleanly in two.
Yet the other monsters, undeterred by fear or pain, charged at him with relentless ferocity.
Hoffa swept the greatsword in a wide arc, and as it moved, the blade extended—growing from two meters to five in an instant.
With a flash of cold light, the extended blade unleashed a sweeping slash.
In a single strike, over a dozen maggot creatures were severed in half, their bodies falling to the ground amidst piercing shrieks.
"Did it work?" Hoffa felt a brief surge of hope.
Transfiguration was proving far more effective than he had expected.
But his relief was short-lived.
The bisected maggot creatures did not die. Instead, their severed halves writhed and compressed, reshaping themselves into two separate creatures. His strike had only doubled their numbers.
The twisted monsters howled as they renewed their charge.
"Dammit!" Hoffa cursed under his breath.
Realizing that his current strategy was futile, he channeled even more magical energy into his weapon. The greatsword began to transform once again, this time widening, thickening, and reshaping itself into a massive warhammer.
The hammer's head was rectangular, studded with brutal spikes, and massive enough to crush anything in its path.
With a mighty swing, Hoffa slammed the warhammer into the ground, sending five or six maggot creatures flying into the freezing wind. Their tumbling forms collided with others, knocking down a whole line of their kind.
In this place, he realized, willpower was power.
But it still wasn't over.
The fallen creatures, seemingly recognizing Hoffa's strength, exchanged brief glances. Then, to his horror, they began merging together—forming a colossal maggot monstrosity.
As the writhing tide of maggots surged and shifted, Hoffa knew this was a sight he would carry in his nightmares for the rest of his life.
Fortunately, the fusion process required time.
With no sign of Talas here and half of his 30-minute limit already spent, Hoffa decided it was time to leave. If he stayed any longer, he risked being trapped in the land of the dead forever.
Retracting his magical energy, he reverted the massive hammer back into a wand.
But just as he was about to turn away, everything suddenly darkened.
Something enormous flew over his head, blotting out the dim light that illuminated the bridge.
Looking up, Hoffa saw a massive flock of creatures soaring high in the sky.
Among them, he spotted a six-winged bird.
Talas.
There was no doubt. It was Talas, gliding through the void alongside an unknown swarm of beings, flying toward an unseen destination.
"Talas!" Hoffa opened his mouth, but the word never left his lips.
The thunderbird glanced down at him briefly, meeting his gaze for an instant. Then, without hesitation, it accelerated and continued forward, vanishing beyond the horizon in the blink of an eye.
"Ugh... great."
Hoffa closed his mouth, swallowing the words he hadn't spoken.
His heart sank.
It seemed Talas had no intention of acknowledging him at all.
(To be continued)
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