Chapter 326 — Masked Rider: Chronos
Squeak.
The sound of the church door opening was painfully clear in the silence.
Old Hanks reacted instantly. His wand snapped up, its tip aimed squarely at the entrance, every nerve in his aging body screaming danger.
A thin figure stepped inside.
The man wore a black robe, his silhouette narrow and sharp, like a blade drawn too far from its sheath. When he spoke, his voice cut through the air—cold, shrill, and unnaturally piercing.
"I heard you sold Lucius a wand."
The sound alone made the sparse hairs on the back of Old Hanks' neck stand upright.
"Who are you?" Old Hanks demanded, tightening his grip on his wand while his other hand brushed against the teapot-shaped Portkey on the desk.
The robed man chuckled softly.
"I've placed an Anti-Portkey Charm around you."
To the stranger, the wand pointed at him might as well have been a child's toy.
"Anti-Portkey Charm?" Old Hanks frowned. "I've never heard of such magic."
Nevertheless, he slowly released the Portkey.
"Trying to buy time?" the man asked lazily.
"No one else can enter this place now. Not even wizards."
His voice suddenly sharpened, rising like a blade pressed to the throat.
"All you need to do… is answer my question."
Old Hanks took a deep breath, forcing calm into his voice.
"What should I call you?"
The man sneered.
"My name?"
"Do you dare speak it?"
Old Hanks' heart slammed violently against his ribs.
"…Voldemort."
The name fell into the church like a curse.
In the wizarding world, there was only one name spoken with such terror.
The man lifted his hood.
A face paler than bone emerged—blue veins pulsing beneath translucent skin, red eyes glowing like embers, a flattened nose with slits for nostrils.
"Oh?" Voldemort smiled faintly, tapping pale fingers against the table. "How perceptive."
"Greyback…" Old Hanks blurted out—and immediately wished he hadn't.
Knowing more only brought death closer.
Fenrir Greyback—the most vicious werewolf alive. A monster who hunted children, infected them, molded them into weapons of hatred. Old Hanks had met him once before.
And the stench was unmistakable.
Dust. Sweat. Blood.
"You're clever," Voldemort said calmly. "This body was… gifted to me by him. Naturally, it would confuse you."
He circled the table slowly, voice growing smoother, more indulgent.
"If it weren't for that diary… if it weren't for that body… my foolish servants betrayed me for a boy who is barely seventeen."
His red eyes gleamed.
"They truly believe I am weaker."
Old Hanks tried to resist—but his body suddenly refused to obey.
An invisible force wrapped around him.
This is a ritual, he realized in horror.
A binding ritual—powered by the act of revealing secrets.
Voldemort continued speaking, and with every word, the restraint tightened.
"So," Old Hanks thought desperately, "is Voldemort truly weakened?"
After all, he wasn't even bothering to cast a simple spell.
But even the weakest Voldemort was far beyond him.
"You understand now, don't you?" Voldemort murmured.
"I gave you a chance. Now, I'll see the truth for myself."
Old Hanks' head turned against his will.
Red eyes filled his vision.
"—Pause."
The word echoed with impossible weight.
The world stopped.
Wind froze mid-whisper. Insects halted mid-flight. Even Voldemort's breath vanished.
Time itself had been severed.
A deep, distant bell rang.
The church warped.
Where a statue once stood, a colossal clock manifested—ancient, vast, absolute.
With the turning of its hands, a figure appeared.
Time resumed.
Voldemort recoiled, dissolving instinctively into black smoke—only to reassemble at the same spot.
"What—how is this possible?!"
The figure before him did not resemble a wizard.
He wore a silver-gray suit, modern and precise. His eyes were half-lidded, expression calm to the point of indifference.
"The greatest Dark Wizard in history?" the man said lightly.
"I can't pretend I didn't hear that."
"Who are you?" Voldemort hissed.
Old Hanks collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
"I'm just a Kamen Rider, passing by," the man said.
"Remember that."
A belt of unfamiliar metal formed around his waist. A clock-shaped device appeared in his hand.
As it locked into place, the massive clock behind him struck twelve.
GASHAT — TRANSFORM.
BUGGLE UP.
"Riding the heavens, engraving history—
This moment is perfectly timed!"
"Kamen Rider — Chronos!"
Bronze-black armor unfolded around him.
"Chronos?" Voldemort sneered. "The god of time? Arrogance!"
Green light exploded from his wand.
"Pause."
Time froze again.
The Killing Curse halted inches from Chronos' visor.
Footsteps echoed.
Chronos approached calmly.
"Shhh," he said softly.
"This is a trial."
"I despise those who cling to false avatars."
"You have no value to this world."
"Voldemort is obsolete here."
Time resumed.
There was an explosion.
Then—nothing.
The church returned to silence.
When Old Hanks awoke, he saw only a small pile of gray ash where Voldemort had stood.
And unseen by him—
A thin wisp of black smoke slipped away into the night.
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