The old man casually split apart the vines lunging at him. Without even turning his body, he swung his sword backward in a single motion. The sword wind, infused with magic, cleaved straight through the incoming spell. Only then did he turn around. There was not the slightest trace of anger on his face—if anything, there was a hint of delight. For someone seeking a successor, the stronger Allen proved himself to be, the better.
"Brat, let me teach you a lesson," the old man said calmly. "When attacking, it's best not to shout the name of your spell out loud. Some people think it looks more imposing, but it's absolutely—"
He didn't get to finish his sentence. A sudden explosive roar cut him off completely. The saplings that had gathered at his feet detonated the instant they reached him—BOOM.
At the moment the first sapling exploded, the old man finally managed to pull himself free from the blast. His figure flickered, and he reappeared some distance away. His clothes were slightly blackened by soot, but he hadn't suffered any real injuries.
Just as he let out a breath of relief, Allen—standing at the shop entrance—snapped the fingers of his left hand. Immediately after, a violent explosion erupted from the old man's body. The seeds from the earlier blast had already stuck to him.
Within the swirling smoke, the old man's figure emerged once more—only now he looked utterly ridiculous. Half of his beard had been blown off, wisps of smoke rose intermittently from his hair, and his clothes had been completely destroyed, leaving him dressed like a beggar. He was only missing a broken bowl and a stick.
Allen shook his head and turned to leave. At this point, no matter how thick-skinned someone was, they wouldn't have the nerve to talk about taking the other party as a disciple anymore.
Before he could step out of the shop, the old man's indignant voice rang out behind him. "Brat, you won—but if this were twenty years ago, you definitely wouldn't have beaten me."
Allen didn't even turn his head. He casually lifted the sword in his hand and replied without a trace of mockery, "That's true. Exactly why I'm taking this sword with me—I think I'll get more out of it than you did."
The old man said nothing, clearly acquiescing by default.
More than ten minutes later, he suddenly came to a realization. "That little bastard took everything without paying a single Galleon, and I don't even know his name!"
Unfortunately, by then, Allen had long since vanished without a trace. What a joke—he took so many things, didn't pay, even showed off on the way out. If he didn't run, was he supposed to wait to be caught?
What Allen didn't know was that not long after he left the shop, three witches hurriedly turned into the same storefront.
The leader among them carried an enormous, naturally formed crystal ball. Suspended in midair by magic, it radiated a sheet of white light at the shop's entrance.
The witch dragging the crystal ball nodded to her two companions, signaling that this was the place. The other two immediately drew their wands, clearly ready for action.
The moment the three of them pushed the door open, all three witches—each well-traveled and experienced—couldn't help but gape in shock. The once somewhat famous shop now looked as though it had been torn apart and rebuilt from scratch.
When Allen fought, he hadn't held back at all. While not many items were outright destroyed, countless objects had been knocked over and scattered. Combined with the shop's already chaotic organization, the place had turned into an utter mess.
The old man—who had lost a large sum of Galleons and been thoroughly beaten—had just changed into a fresh set of clothes and roughly tidied his hair. However, the portion of his beard that had been burned off clearly couldn't grow back so quickly. After all, he could at best be considered only half a wizard.
Under these circumstances, his foul mood was entirely understandable. He snorted coldly. "Sorry, we're closed today. Get out."
The witch standing to the left of the one with the crystal ball stepped forward. "We're not here to buy anything. We're here to capture an important target. Divination shows that this place is very likely where the target was hiding. Speak—where have you hidden him?"
The old man, who was using his meager magic to repair those genuine-or-fake treasures, burst out laughing in anger. He pointed at his own face. "You're saying… I hid someone?"
He grinned broadly. "Fine. I did hide someone. What, you think you dare search my shop?"
"You—! Do you know whose order this is?"
"I don't care who it's from! Even if the Minister for Magic himself came, he wouldn't dare search my shop!"1
Two pale-blue spells shot straight toward him in response. He casually blocked them with his hand, then shook it lightly. "That's it? I thought kids these days could grind old bones like mine into the trash. Looks like I haven't gotten weaker—it's just that brat who's too abnormal. Still, that's good news… even if it pisses me off."
Before the word 'but' could even leave his mouth, the old man flashed forward. His hands formed into blades, and with a slash of specially condensed magic, he sliced through the two witches' light-blue shields as if cutting paper. The hand-blades fell, and both witches were knocked unconscious simultaneously.
"Tsk, tsk. Looks like the old man's still got it," he muttered to himself as he used a deft flick of strength to casually toss the two unconscious witches out the door.
Then his gaze settled on the remaining witch. "And you, little wizard—are you going to roll out on your own, or should this old man throw you out?"
There was no killing intent in his eyes, and his face was full of smiles. Yet the diviner holding the crystal ball began to tremble uncontrollably. The two witches who'd just been tossed aside were no ordinary wizards. Though they couldn't compare to Aurors, dealing with five or six average wizards would have been no problem at all. And yet, in front of this old man, they hadn't even lasted two moves.
She shakily walked to the doorway, only then remembering her mission. "Do you know who our employer is? Aren't you afraid of bringing disaster upon yourself?"
The old man irritably dispelled the vines Allen had summoned from the floor, leaving her only with the view of his back. "I couldn't care less who he is. I already told you—even if the Minister himself comes, he'd better be polite in my little shop!"
"Fine. Just you wait!" After throwing out that threat, the diviner woke up her two companions, and the three hurriedly left, leaving the old man behind to clean up his shop with a face full of confusion.
"Strange… just which group put a bounty on that brat?" he muttered. "They even dared to make a move here?"
He subconsciously reached up to stroke his beard, only to find the sensation wrong.
"Cheh, who cares about him anyway!" he snorted. "That freakish kid—this isn't his trouble at all. It's completely the trouble of the people hunting him down!"