Do wizards fear close combat?
Normally, yes.
The development of the Iron Armor Charm was primarily for protection against melee weapons rather than magic. Likewise, the variety of life-saving techniques among wizards almost always includes shields.
If you could tear through all a wizard's defenses, killing them would be easy, but while it sounds simple, taking down a fully grown, combat-capable wizard is far from easy.
Of course, most of the Ministry staff, who don't even know the Iron Armor Charm, hardly count as combatants. Dealing with that bunch of weaklings is ridiculously simple.
It was precisely because of people like that that Allen's strength had been seriously underestimated by the old man, he mistook Allen for one of those rookie wizards who attacks without bothering to protect themselves.
Allen a rookie? We should really ask this old man about that. A punch infused with the judgment of justice isn't something anyone can casually take, especially from someone his age.
Luckily, this old man, or "master," had trained rigorously in his youth, so he wouldn't just collapse from a single punch, discover a new way to get rich, and live a prosperous life, provided he could convince Allen not to kill him.
Allen never hesitated to kill someone trying to get himself killed. As for cleaning up afterward, that could wait, first things first.
Naturally, since he intended to kill, he wouldn't use his signature spells. Allen didn't even bother with magic. He gripped the samurai sword tightly with his left hand, and with a sudden exertion of force in his right, he drew the blade from its crudely made scabbard, a deep blue gleaming along the edge. Whoosh! Surprisingly, the rust had no effect on the draw.
Allen had no idea how the Garen legacy would manifest with a samurai sword, but one thing was certain, afterward, no one would investigate him. Think about it, a magically skilled teenager in school using a sword to kill someone? Who'd believe it?
Naturally, no one would.
Yet the moment the blade cleared the scabbard, the old man's face registered pure shock, and before Allen could even raise the sword fully, thud, he knelt.
Yes. Allen hadn't even struck, and the man collapsed, kneeling, no less.
The elder buried his head, and when he finally looked up, tears streamed down his face.
Allen was slightly thrown, what's going on here? We're supposed to be fighting, and you kneel?
If Allen had pinned him down mercilessly, a kneeling plea for mercy would make sense, but he hadn't even attacked yet!
Clearly, this fight couldn't continue. If the man persisted, Allen wouldn't hesitate to kill him, but just warming up and the opponent is already kneeling?
Great. Just my luck. Encountering a lunatic today, apparently.
Allen pursed his lips and, annoyed, started backing away while holding his gear, forget paying, too. I'm not giving this lunatic money.
Yet, after ten steps, the old man screamed at the top of his lungs, "By my ancestors! By my ancestors!"
Holy crap. Lunatic confirmed. Allen quickened his retreat, but the old man suddenly stood and dashed forward in a few swift steps.
Before he could reach Allen, the boy readied himself, if the old man attempted a sneak attack, Allen would have no choice but to kill him. Yet this time, the man stopped five or six steps away.
He stared at the sword in Allen's hands with almost worshipful fervor, free from any greed. As he forced his gaze away from the blade, his eyes locked onto Allen, burning as if he wanted to devour him whole.
His voice trembled with restrained excitement: "Boy, who are you? No, your identity doesn't matter! I need you!"
It was clear the old man was extremely agitated, hands trembling:
"You say, what do you want? Money? Fame? Power? I can give you all of these! Don't mind the shabby place, I can guarantee enough Galleons here to buy a small city! I can make it easy for you to enter the Ministry of Magic and take any position but Minister! You can handle ordinary wizards effortlessly! It's all simple; just agree, and it's yours!"
Under other conditions, Allen might have accepted. But selling himself? No thanks. At this moment, his only desire was to kill this pervert.
Sensing Allen's disdain, the elder hastily clarified: "Become my disciple, and these things will be trivial to you, you will inherit everything I have!!!"
Allen rolled his eyes. "Not interested."
"Ha! There will be a successor! A successor! Ah~?" The old man's elation turned into confusion.
"What did you say? Do you know what you just refused? This is the swordsmanship legacy, how many crave it and cannot attain it!"
Allen sighed, slipping the unpaid herbs into his pocket, and spread his hands. "So… you want to take me as your disciple?"
"Exactly! It's your honor, you know how long our school's legacy has existed? You understand the magnitude of this glory?" His words practically vibrated with frenzy.
"If I'm guessing correctly, your disciples must possess magical talent, right?"
"Yes! Though it's a swordsmanship legacy, without magic, you can't apply the techniques. It's communication with the elements, communication with the sword." The old man openly revealed the school's foundation, clearly still intending to recruit Allen.
Too bad for him, he overestimated.
"So, I guess I need to stay here and learn from you slowly?"
"Of course. Within five years, I can make you surpass even an Auror in combat. Remember, you've touched the founder's sword, that alone proves your unparalleled talent!"
Allen's mouth twitched, the system has sharp eyes; it always picks the good stuff.
No need to wonder. This old man approached precisely because Allen had just taken the founder's sword. As for why it was there, likely some old master's way of testing fate, if he couldn't draw it, it would be a painful beating and a sigh: "we are fated, yet not destined."
Allen gave him a malicious glance, this time, he wouldn't let the old man off easily.