373 Chapter 27, Start Again

In the dusk of the setting sun, Hoffa, who had changed into a hunting suit, rode on the back of a gray horse, holding the rein in one hand, and holding a cross sword in the other, and walked slowly along the gravel road in the suburbs to downtown London.

It has to be said that among the many sets of clothes he has changed since he woke up, only this hunting suit suits him best. It fit so snugly, as if it was made for him.

Flappy.

There was the sound of flapping wings in the sky.

Hoffa looked up, and in the dense forest at dusk, a sorrel owl was flying towards him. It landed on Hoffa's shoulder impartially, standing on one foot and extending the other. On its black claws was tied a roll of parchment.

It's a letter from an owl.

Hoffa dropped the reins, took the parchment and unwound it.

On the parchment was written in long and thin handwriting: "Please hurry to Hogsmeade, Aberforth will meet you there. He has important work for you, so be careful."

The handwriting was unsigned, but Hoffa recognized its owner at a glance.

It's a letter from Dumbledore.

Hoffa said to the owl: "I will return to Hogsmeade immediately."

The owl cooed twice, spread its wings on Hoffa's shoulder, and disappeared into the evening sun.

Hoffa put away the parchment, he tried it, and found that his magic power level was still very low, and he didn't support the use of apparition at a super long distance at all.

Sighing slightly, he stroked the mane of the gray horse beneath him. The gray horse sensed something and snorted excitedly.

"It's going to be hard on you," he said.

In the forest at dusk, Hoffa turned his horse's head and galloped in one direction.

The warm wind at dusk blew on his face, and with the explosive power of the horse under his crotch, the scenery on both sides of the road retreated rapidly. He could feel that something was waking up in his heart, although it was weak, it was still going on.

For the next three days, he and his gray horse ate and slept in the open, galloping all the way to Hogsmeade along the railway that Miranda took him through. Three days later, Hoffa, who traveled day and night, returned to Hogsmeade. Unlike the last time he came here, barbed wire has been stretched everywhere.

On both sides of the barbed wire fence, there are some damaged vehicles and equipment piled up in a mess. Two Squib soldiers are sitting on the ammunition box to rest and smoke. Hearing the sound of horseshoes in the distance, they sat up in shock. They all took up their machine guns and came to the road. They raised their guns and shouted: "Hey, where are the cowboys? Don't rush into the army's important place."

When Hoffa saw them, he subconsciously wanted to stop, but the gray horse didn't have that intention. These days were the most fun it had run since its birth, and it was already a little over the top. It jumped over the two soldiers like lightning, and the two soldiers were frightened and raised their guns, about to open fire. However, with the flash of cold light on the edge of the cross sword, the gun barrel of the squib soldier suddenly misfired.

A dozen meters away from the landing, Hoffa reined in the reins and turned the horse's head with a sudden brake.

I saw two Squib soldiers standing guard staggering back with their arms covered. During the retreat, the machine guns and arms fell to the ground in turn. Blood gushed out quickly, covering the ground, and they screamed and screamed.

Hoffa looked at the cross sword bestowed by the last knight, with a cold light flickering on the edge of the sword, without any blood. He couldn't help being amazed, the sharpness of this sword was far beyond his imagination, and he didn't feel the slightest hindrance the moment the sword edge passed by.

Hoffa didn't care about the fate of the Squib soldier. He had already made up his mind at this moment, and similarly, those who wanted to stand in front of him also had to be made up.

He turned the horse's head around again, and galloped along the muddy dirt road. This kind of dirt road is the gray horse's favorite road condition. The muscles on its body are rhythmic like sea waves, and it drools excitedly.

The screams of the soldiers immediately attracted a large number of reinforcements. With the crackling sound of internal combustion engines, more than a dozen military motorcycles rushed out from both sides of the road. They set up their weapons and began to shoot wildly at Hoffa.

Hoffa blinked, and the yellow and green grass in front of him suddenly turned gray-white, and the roaring shadows rushed past his head. He disappeared into the real world together with the gray horse under his crotch, and thousands of bullets fell into the air out of thin air. place. Squib soldiers on motorcycles yelled, "Where is the man! Where is the man! Where did the man go!?"

In the gray and flowing shadow world, Hoffa slashed across with his sword expressionless. The moment he slashed, the gray horse reappeared in the real world. A soldier driving a motorcycle and the machine gunner beside him were stabbed in half and lost The controlled motorcycle crashed into the barbed wire fence with a bang, and the tires were still rolling.

The remaining soldiers didn't even react. When they did, and started shooting again, the weird gray horse disappeared again.

"Damn wizard! Who can find him!?"

A man who looked like a non-commissioned officer stood in the bucket and shouted.

As soon as he finished speaking, his eyes went dark, and the gray horse that disappeared appeared directly above his head, and a young man leaned on the horse's back, bowing his head and raising his sword.

"Fire!!"

the sergeant yelled.

The boy's indifferent eyes just flashed past, and then the non-commissioned officer couldn't see anything, his eyes were pierced, and then, accompanied by almost crazy fire suppression, the non-commissioned officer himself and his motorcycle were also smashed into pieces by stray bullets. up the sieve.

But the gray horse disappeared again during the fall, and the time from appearance to disappearance was less than a second. The bullet passed where it disappeared, even wounding other soldiers outside the encirclement.

This time, the mood of the soldiers changed. They changed from an offensive posture to a defensive posture. They stopped their motorcycles one after another and defended themselves back to back. But that didn't make much sense to Hoffa.

He just entered and left the ghost walk intermittently, and each time he would stir up a bloody storm.

After going back and forth a few times, he found a large group of soldiers lying on the ground, and those soldiers didn't even touch the hem of his clothes.

After Hoffa flashed five or six times in a row, his magic power gradually ran out, and he had to grab the reins, stop the gray horse, and stand on the muddy dirt road, silently looking at a large group of panicked soldiers in front of him. Until now, his hands There is still no blood on the cross sword in the knife.

The soldier looked ahead. The tall gray horse was stomping excitedly on the ground and snorting. And the black-haired young man swayed slightly on the horseback. He was wearing an old black hunting suit, holding a shining silver cross sword in his hand, like a knight who came out of a medieval oil painting.

After one person and a hundred people confronted each other for a while, someone shouted.

"It's Hofbach! That number zero!! He's back!!"

A simple sentence seems to have some magical power, and the transition from anger to panic is a matter of seconds. When the fear quickly spread among the crowd, they started their motorcycles like crazy and fled in all directions.

Hoffa gradually realized that some of these squib soldiers were originally wizards, but became squibs in this wave of magic power loss. They still remembered him, and some of them might be former students of Hogwarts, or even his seniors or classmate.

However, this did not make Hoffa sympathize with the soldiers fleeing in front of him. On the contrary, his eyes were indifferent, and he jumped up to catch up with the soldiers, with a knife in his hand, dancing wildly with blood.

During the escape, more and more motorcycles were destroyed, and more and more soldiers fell to the ground and died. "Smoke!!" Someone yelled, "Stop him, stop him quickly!!"

The soldiers threw incendiary smoke bombs, and billowing smoke rose from all around, quickly obscuring Hoffa's vision. The smoke was trickier than the bullets, making it difficult for him to see where the enemy was.

"Take out the new weapon quickly!!"

In the smoke, someone shouted wildly: "Kill him!!"

Along with the shout, there was the sound of heavy iron chains falling to the ground, and the ground trembled slightly. Something seemed to have happened in the dense fog, and the screams of the soldiers were endless, but at a certain moment, the screams stopped abruptly.

At this point, Hoffa had some bad premonitions in his heart. He resolutely turned over and jumped off the gray horse, brushed the crossed sword against the gray horse's cheek, the chew and the rope snapped, and he patted the horse's buttocks. The gray horse understood, and hoofed away, and soon disappeared into the smoke.

Leaving his mount, Hoffa stood alone in the smoke, carefully distinguishing the surrounding changes, and the vibration of the ground became heavier and heavier.

The smoke released by the soldiers was sucked away by something, and then sprayed out by something. Between exhalations and inhalations, something was smashed out of the thick fog, Hoffa immediately dodged sideways, and the "cannonball" flew past his body, hit the wreckage of the tank behind him, and made a crackling sound. With a crisp chirp, it turned into a pile of bloody mud.

It turned out to be a soldier who was thrown out.

Hoffa arched his back, eyes serious.

In the thick fog, a hunchbacked and huge figure slowly appeared.

It turned out to be a giant, a giant wearing armor and holding a giant artillery. He was at least eight meters tall, and the barrels in his hands were five or six meters long, more than two sections longer than the barrels of tanks. A string of cannonballs hung on his chest, and the dense and heavy turrets pressed against his back, making him look like a walking human-shaped turret.

I didn't expect those Squib soldiers to combine Muggle technology with giants. It seemed that the threat was far more terrifying than an ordinary giant. Hoffa raised the cross sword, made a defensive posture, and slid slowly.

But the giant didn't move. He slowly knelt up from the ground with his arms propped up, staring at Hoffa with his hands on the ground. Saliva flowed down from its teeth like a waterfall, wet the ground in the blink of an eye.

Hoffa was very upset by that guy. The giant actually looked at him with the eyes of food. Could it be that he is a prey that can be preyed on?

The giant didn't move, and Hoffa didn't move. The two of them stood in a stalemate for a few breaths. There was no sound around them. The Squib soldiers seemed to be hiding. Only the thick fog still rose aimlessly from the corner, not caring what was happening on the ground. What.

rustle.

There was a slight rustling sound in Hoffa's ears, and he looked away, noticing the giant's fingers were crawling. Like a dexterous spider, it crawled to the side of the discarded tank gun barrel, so stealthily.

With just a blink of his eyeballs, Hoffa fell straight back. The moment he fell on the snow, a dark green phantom floated across his face, almost rubbing the bridge of his nose.

The phantom flashed past, and the strong wind came suddenly, blowing Hoffa's hair, without even giving him a chance to observe with his eyes.

As soon as Hoffa fell down, he propped himself up with his palms on the ground, using his arms hard, turned backwards, and retreated continuously.

Just a few steps back, the dark green phantom unexpectedly descended from the sky, crashed to the ground, and let out a muffled thunderous sound. The soil on the ground was shaken up high by the giant's smash, and even Hoffa's feet were shaken off the ground in an instant.

Roar! !

The giant holds a tank barrel and regards it as the most primitive weapon. Roaring madly.

It was followed by a storm-like crit, and the giant whack-a-mole smashed the villain on the ground with a tank barrel.

The end of the latest smash was only three inches away from Hoffa. It can be said that he barely avoided that violent smash. Hofati kept retreating with his sword, and did not take the initiative to attack. At this moment, his magic power is not sufficient, the only magic power must be used on the blade, he observes the opportunity.