Harry stood before the hotel room mirror, staring at his reflection. The face that gazed back at him was familiar—yet different. His emerald eyes seemed deeper, carrying an unnatural vibrance, almost glowing in the dim morning light. His skin looked healthier, free of scars and past wounds. Even his hair, as unruly as ever, carried a certain sheen as if infused with something beyond mortal understanding.
He raised his hand, flexing his fingers. The moment he did, the air around them stirred. The very fabric of the world felt more… pliable. He knew, instinctively, that he could command it.
No wand. No incantation. Just will.
The realization sent a shiver down his spine. This wasn't just power. This was dominion.
He had slain a god. And now, the weight of that act rested upon his shoulders.
Stepping away from the mirror, Harry turned toward the window. He pulled the curtains apart, revealing the Icelandic landscape beyond. Snow-capped mountains stretched far into the horizon, a frozen beauty untouched by time. He had always admired nature's raw majesty, but now—
Now, he could feel it.
The wind howling through the peaks, the steady heartbeat of the earth beneath the ice, the energy woven into every element of existence. It was as if the world itself had opened up to him, revealing layers that had always been there, hidden behind the veil of mortality.
For the first time, he truly understood what Pandora had meant.
A Campione does not wield magic. He commands it.
Closing his eyes, he reached outward, not with his hands, but with his will. The air answered. A gust of wind swirled through the room, carrying an almost sentient awareness. The floor beneath him vibrated faintly as if acknowledging his presence.
The world recognized him.
And it bowed.
A sharp knock at the door pulled Harry from his thoughts. He turned, heart steady but mind alert. Who could it be? The Dursleys were still asleep, and no one else should have known he was there.
Another knock, firm but measured.
Frowning, he approached the door, his instincts warning him to be ready. He opened it.
A man stood on the other side, dressed in a heavy black coat lined with fur. His presence was commanding, but his posture was careful. There was a hint of Alertness in his stance, no assumption of superiority. Instead, there was something else—wary respect. Behind him glided a woman in crimson robes, her silver hair braided.
His piercing blue eyes met Harry's own, and after a brief pause, he inclined his head in a show of deference.
"Your Majesty."
Harry blinked. "What?"
The man straightened. "My name is Sigurd Haraldsson. I come as a representative of the Mage Association's Northern European branch."
The woman bowed, her robes whispering like falling leaves. "Miko Hiraga. Oracle and Keeper Chronicles."
Harry crossed his arms, observing them. Sigurd carried himself with the confidence of a man accustomed to wielding power, yet there was no challenge in his gaze..
Oh, looking at it now this was both the world of harry potter and Campione, so he really should have known these guys would exist here.
It's no surprise they found him really.
"You know what I am," Harry stated.
Sigurd nodded. "You are a Campione."
The word hung in the air, heavier than any title Harry had ever carried. Even without much explanation, one who knew understood what it meant. Campione. Godslayer. Tyrant. Demon King.
Sigurd continued his voice even, his words carefully chosen. "To the world, a Campione is not simply a strong mage or a ruler of men. A Campione is above all. Your very existence bends the laws of magic. The world recognizes you as its ruler. Gods fear you. Mortals can only kneel."
"Why are you here?"
The woman bowed, Her gaze lingered on Harry"We've come to swear fealty to the wizard Campione."
"Try again." He didn't need to have read the manga or watched the anime to know bullshit.
Sigurd exhaled sharply through his nose. "We're here because you're a walking disaster, and we'd prefer to steer the explosion."
Miko shot Sigurd a glare before producing a blackwood box. Inside lay a dagger—its blade a fang, the hilt wrapped in wolfskin that looked like it was damp with divine blood.
"Gleipnir's Fang," she said. "The only weapon to have ever wounded Fenrir before you did. Named after the binds that held the wolf down in the Myths."
"A gift to show our sincerity."
He took the blade.
"Campiones like yourself are beings of immense power and we would prefer to be on your good side."
Harry listened, his expression unreadable. Even though he already knew these things—had read about them in his past life—he let Sigurd speak.
The man continued, his voice steady but tinged with something deeper. Reverence? Fear? "The Mage Association does not seek to oppose you, Your Majesty. We exist to serve. As is tradition, when a new Campione rises, mages swear fealty. We do so out of necessity."
He met Harry's gaze, unwavering. "To resist a Campione is to invite destruction. You are not bound by the limitations of ordinary sorcerers. You need no rituals, no incantations. You impose your will upon the world, and it obeys. We acknowledge this truth, and so we offer our allegiance."
Harry tilted his head slightly. "And if I refuse?"
Sigurd did not flinch. "Then we remain wary. Even if you choose to walk alone, we will not act against you." A pause. "For we can do nothing."
Honesty. Harry appreciated that. There was no false flattery, no deception. The Mage Association feared him, but they also sought to guide him. To be of use. He was surprised, but they must have know something if they decided to not lie to him, a child.
Harry considered his words carefully. He had no desire to play the part of a tyrant. But he wasn't naive. He had power now, and power always attracted both allies and enemies.
It would be useful to have people to do things he needed.
He exhaled slowly. "You said gods fear me." He knew this already but needed to keep them talking and unaware of his knowledge.
Sigurd inclined his head. "Yes. But fear does not mean inaction. Your existence is a challenge. Gods who abide by their roles will avoid you, but those who walk the earth freely, those who seek dominion—they will come. Some to test you. Some to destroy you. Some to use you. They are know as Hectic Gods."
"Ones such as the god I killed."
Sigurd's gaze sharpened. "Yes. Fenrir the god-slaying wolf, He was the one that we were inform was around the area and was killed by you, And in time others would come to challege you."
Silence.
Harry already knew that, Campione were the natural enemies of hectic gods, the divine would feel an instinct to kill him on sight.
The gods had acknowledged him.
Now, they would come.
Harry turned back to the window, staring at the distant landscape. He could feel it clearly now, clearer than before—something vast and ancient around him. It did not cower. It did not kneel. It waited.
Magic. Divinity.
It was everywhere, it was everything.
He could walk away, Ignore it. Or try to at least, But that won't work, Godou tried to stay away in the anime but it always came back to bite him in the ass, besides that wasn't who he was. And it certainly wasn't what a Campione did.
He turned back to Sigurd. "I assume the Mage Association would like for me to take care of these others as they come, with their aid."
Sigurd nodded. "We do. We have vast information and resources and we will happily share it, should you permit us to serve you."
Harry smirked faintly. "Very well then."
He could see the smile that appeared on both their faces.
Harry exhaled, then nodded. "but lets make one thing clear, I don't like invasion of my personal life if you are going to do something that concerns me, make sure that I am to be informed before it happens.".
And He was serious with that, he didn't need a person to just barge into his life like what happen to Godou and insert themselves like that.
Sigurd and Miko inclined their heads in deference once more. "As you command, Your Majesty."
For the first time, Harry truly understood.
He was no longer just the Boy Who Lived.
He was a Campione.
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