Chapter 1269: The Value of a Piece of School History (2)

Without any warning, that wizard who’d had such a hostile look on his face suddenly acted as if he’d been struck a heavy blow. His whole body jolted, his complexion turning paper-white in an instant!

“Pu-pu!!” He clutched his chest, a strange rasping “heh-heh” sound coming from his throat, then suddenly opened his mouth and vomited a large mouthful of dark red blood with a loud “waaah.”

In that moment, he completely wilted, slumping against the wall and gasping for breath. When he looked at Ian again, his eyes were filled with an indescribable horror and terror!

“What happened?”

“What’s going on?”

“Looks like there’s a fight over there?”

“None of our business. If something goes wrong, the regulators will handle it.”

The other guests nearby were startled by this sudden turn of events.

They all looked over, but no one dared step forward to ask or interfere. Anyone who mixed in a place like this understood perfectly that less trouble was better than more.

“Overestimating yourself.”

Ian walked toward the inn’s exit as if nothing at all had happened. It looked like he’d merely hit the man with a Mental Shock as a warning, but in truth, in that brief moment when their gazes met, he had already employed an extremely subtle and advanced method—one he had reverse-engineered when studying the causes of Squibs: a technique that could silently and gradually clog and corrode a wizard’s Magic Circuits.

This punishment wouldn’t take effect immediately, but in the coming months that malicious Dark Wizard would discover in despair that his Magic Power was irreversibly draining away, that Casting was becoming more and more difficult, until he finally degenerated into a Squib who had lost his magic—a useless wreck who could never again wield Magic.

And even if he realized what was happening, there’d be nothing he could do.

“Damn!!! How does he have such a technique! Mental Magic!” Right now that Dark Wizard only felt a splitting headache, unaware that his real nightmare had just begun. He would never understand why his Magic Power suddenly began to “decline,” and would only assume it was bad luck or some Curse.

“Looks like this guy still has no idea.” Ian glanced back at the Dark Wizard whose eyes were still venomous but ignorant of the truth, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.

When dealing with Dark Wizards.

You had to use measures this severe.

For wizards who regarded Magic as everything, this was bound to be even more cruel than simply killing them outright. Ian had never shown the slightest mercy to Dark Wizards who proactively released malice.

He wasn’t a saint. He wouldn’t tolerate malice.

Ian didn’t even bother to look back at that man whose gaze was gradually shifting from fear to hatred. In his eyes, the man was already no different from a dead man.

Only the method of execution was different.

The timeline had simply been stretched out.

Leaving the inn and stepping onto the relatively open Market street, the morning air was much fresher. Along the way he saw some early-rising stall owners arranging their goods, breakfast aromas mingling with the distinctive scent of Magic Potion Materials drifting through the air. Ignoring the curious or probing looks around him, Ian walked straight toward the agreed-upon spot.

The language of the black folks didn’t get through.

That might not be some eternal truth for wizards, but the way they thought was different after all, and he couldn’t be bothered to communicate with these Dark Wizards who skulked in the slums and stirred up trouble.

Ian looked left and right.

Searching for the person who’d come to find him. Sure enough, in a secluded corner not far outside the inn, the information broker Baboua was standing there, rubbing his hands, looking somewhat anxious and uneasy. The moment he saw Ian appear, he immediately plastered on a fawning yet awed smile and hurried over.

It was obvious.

The inn enjoyed the protection of its owner, so people like him weren’t allowed inside to look for anyone. This didn’t surprise Ian; he’d already noticed that the innkeeper’s Magic Ability was far from weak.

Ian gave a faint nod. “What do you want with me?”

He deliberately didn’t mention that the man might have been hired to investigate him, wanting to see whether the broker had in fact accepted such commissions. After all, there were probably plenty of passersby eyeing his gear.

Yesterday Ian had made quite a show of himself in the Market, snapping up quite a few bargains.

Baboua waved his hands quickly, smiling obsequiously. “It’s about the matter you previously commissioned me to investigate—I’ve found some leads, so I came specifically to report to you!”

He watched Ian’s expression carefully.

Seeing no sign of displeasure, he went on, “The… smuggler being specially ‘looked after’ by the Ministry of Magic—the one you asked me to find—this humble one has indeed uncovered some information about him.”

“Oh? Let’s hear it.” Ian’s interest was piqued.

Baboua lowered his voice, a hint of pride appearing on his face. “This fellow is really not simple. His movements are extremely elusive, but I pulled a lot of strings and finally managed to figure out his background. His name is Newt Scamander, he’s from the United Kingdom, and they say he’s a very famous Fantastic Beasts Expert over there.”

As he spoke, he carefully pulled out a somewhat blurry black-and-white photograph from his breast pocket—clearly a candid shot—and handed it to Ian. “This was taken by one of my people by chance several years ago, while he was operating in Egypt.”

Ian took the photo. It showed a young man who looked a bit shy, wearing glasses, with messy hair. Compared to Ian’s memory of Professor Newt, he looked much more handsome.

The man was holding that iconic suitcase of his, standing against a backdrop of Pyramids. Though much younger, Ian recognized him at a glance: this was Newt Scamander! This information broker really had some skills—not only had he tracked Newt’s movements, he’d even uncovered the man’s identity.