After listening intently to the intelligence provided by the cunning goblin, the three members of Bryan’s group maintained their thoughtful silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they processed what they had just heard.

Amelia had a troubled frown. Her eyes had an unmistakable expression of distrust as she surveyed their surroundings with new scrutiny and growing unease.

Looking at this bar they were sitting in—everywhere she looked, there were illegal criminal enterprises.

Coming back to her senses, she even realized that many of the bar’s patrons looked familiar, as if they were criminals that the Security Department had issued warrants for to various departments—criminals they desperately needed to apprehend.

And the goblin who operated such an establishment was itself utterly wicked and corrupt. How much credibility could possibly exist in words that emerged from such a tainted and unreliable source?

Furthermore, during the less than twelve months that had passed since she had officially joined MACUSA and begun her career, Amelia had personally witnessed or heard detailed accounts of at least two or three separate incidents where Director Graves had personally and successfully arrested particularly vicious criminals.

Everyone throughout the department knew that Director Graves was a wizard of extraordinary magical capability and prowess. If he truly suffered from the serious health problems that Gnarlak claimed, how could he possibly continue to possess and demonstrate such remarkable abilities in high-stakes confrontations with dangerous magical criminals?

Moreover, she had been in close personal contact with Director Graves just the last night, and throughout their entire conversation, she hadn’t detected even the slightest indication that anything might be medically wrong with him.

Unlike the idealistic young Amelia, Remus had large and hard-won experience in the depths of the underground wizarding world. Through years of necessity and survival, he had understanding of the capabilities possessed by various information brokers, black market dealers, and criminal intermediaries who operated here.

Based on this accumulated knowledge and street wisdom, he was inclined to believe that the intelligence Gnarlak had provided contained at least considerable elements of truth, despite the questionable character of its source.

However, what genuinely concerned him was determining how much practical value this particular intelligence still retained given the passage of time and changing circumstances.

After all, Gnarlak had specifically mentioned that Graves had apparently stopped purchasing experimental potions from black market sources, and the goblin himself had admitted that it remained uncertain whether Graves had finally achieved some form of recovery or had simply found alternative methods of managing his condition.

Even if Graves hadn’t recovered completely from whatever mysterious illness had struck him, would Bryan realistically be able to succeed where the finest healers in both America and Europe had apparently failed?

Remus had heard Sirius describe in detail the lengthy, complex process involved in Frank and Alice’s miraculous recovery from their Cruciatus Curse-induced insanity.

Their particular situation had unique characteristics that had made Bryan’s innovative treatment approach possible, and one certainly couldn’t conclude from this single success that Bryan possessed healing expertise equal to his well-known abilities in magical destruction and combat.

“When exactly did he stop purchasing potions from the black market?” Bryan asked after several moments of contemplation.

“Around October of last year,” Gnarlak replied with a casual shrug. “The person who specializes in selling such exotic potions complained bitterly to me when he came to drink at my bar during the Christmas holidays, lamenting that he had lost what had been a remarkably steady and profitable source of income.”

“What are your thoughts on this situation, Bryan?” Remus asked quietly, leaning slightly closer to ensure their conversation remained private despite the ambient noise of the tavern around them.

“Difficult to determine with any certainty based on the limited information we currently know,” Bryan responded thoughtfully, his mind working through various possibilities and scenarios as he spoke.

“If there truly exists some form of dark magic powerful enough to trouble a wizard of Graves’ caliber for seven or eight continuous years, then the most probable explanation would be that the curse’s vital damage is irreversible through conventional healing methods.

Given that assessment, I’m more inclined to believe that he managed to discover a more effective way to suppress or manage his symptoms rather than achieving any kind of genuine cure.”

Bryan paused, his sharp gaze turned distant.

“However, to make any definitive judgment about the specific nature of his situation and the potential treatment options that might be available, I would need to examine him personally.”

Bryan’s attention returned to the goblin, who had been listening to their exchange with interest and satisfaction.

“What specific types of potions was he purchasing from black market sources before he stopped these transactions?” Bryan inquired to Gnarlak.

“Oh, my dear Mr. Watson,” Gnarlak responded with obvious delight, as though he had been anticipating precisely this follow-up question throughout their entire conversation.

It took a moment to tap accumulated ash from his expensive cigar into the pewter ashtray beside his elbow. When he raised his head to face Bryan directly, his facial features had arranged themselves into an unmistakably sly smile.

“That particular information would constitute an entirely separate transaction from our current agreement, naturally.”

Remus’s brow immediately furrowed with irritation, and he opened his mouth to voice what was undoubtedly going to be a sharp objection to this continued escalation of the goblin’s demands.

However, before he could speak, Bryan raised one hand and asked calmly.

“What do you want?”

“Conducting business with someone of your reputation and capabilities is far more pleasant and profitable than I had initially imagined, Mr. Watson,” Gnarlak replied, baring his yellowed, pointed teeth in an expression of undisguised greed.

The goblin’s hungry gaze, which had occasionally returned to Hoppy throughout their conversation, now fixed upon the Kneazle with unmistakable covetousness.

“That’s a Kneazle, isn’t it, Mr. Watson?” Gnarlak asked with feigned casual curiosity.

“These remarkable little creatures are extraordinarily fast and agile, aren’t they? And I understand from various sources that this particular species possesses exceptional intelligence levels—if properly trained, they can prove quite useful for a wide variety of specialized tasks.”

“You want it?” Bryan asked, raising one eyebrow.

Though he phrased his response as a question, his tone and demeanor indicated that he wasn’t particularly surprised by this development. He glanced briefly at the Kneazle in question, preparing to make some comment, but Hoppy took matters into its own paws before Bryan could speak.

It stood up from its comfortable position on Bryan’s shoulder, made a single light leap that carried it effortlessly through the smoky air, and landed directly on Gnarlak’s shoulder. After achieving this new perch, Hoppy settled down again with obvious satisfaction, as though this had been its intended destination all along.

“Oh my!” Gnarlak exclaimed with delight. “I must admit, I hadn’t expected you to demonstrate such remarkable skill with magical creatures as well, Mr. Watson. Your reputation for versatility appears to be entirely justified. So then, do we have ourselves a mutually beneficial agreement?”

“Go ahead—”

Bryan replied though he looked meaningfully at Hoppy, who was avoiding his gaze. Up until now, he had finally figured out why this Kneazle had appeared here and what exactly it wanted to do. From the beginning, its target had probably been Gnarlak.

“Purifying Potion,” Gnarlak said with a smile.

This was a potion not found in standard textbooks—it didn’t even exist in most books that recorded obscure potions. So, Remus, who wasn’t skilled in this area, looked confused, and Amelia wore a similar expression. But after a moment of bewilderment, Amelia’s face turned cold, and she couldn’t help but say:

“This is complete nonsense and utter nonsense, you malicious goblin. Just based on your slander against the Director of Security of the American Magical Congress, I could arrest you directly.”

Facing Amelia’s threat and obvious determination to follow through on her warnings, Gnarlak showed remarkable composure and complete indifference to her outrage.

The goblin knew that his current transaction with the legendary Bryan Watson was rapidly approaching its conclusion, and the opinions of a junior MACUSA employee carried no weight at all in his calculations.

Rather than dignifying her threat with any form of direct response, Gnarlak slowly rose from his chair and nodded to Bryan as a sign of respect.

“I realize I haven’t properly welcomed you to our humble city yet, Mr. Watson,” The goblin said with courtesy that contrasted sharply with his treatment of the other two visitors.

“Please allow me to express my sincere hope that you will experience many pleasant and profitable days during your stay in New York. Oh, and regarding that learning machine we discussed—simply arrange to have it delivered here before your departure from the city.”

Having delivered these parting words, Gnarlak smoothly collected a fresh drink from a passing waiter’s tray and seamlessly transitioned into lively conversation with another table of customers.

“What exactly is Purifying Potion?” Remus asked quietly, glancing first at Amelia who continued glaring at Gnarlak with murderous intensity before turning his attention to Bryan for an explanation of this mysterious potion.

“It’s a highly specialized potion that is remarkably effective against various forms of magical curses and hexes, but it was banned from use by all civilized magical societies from the very moment of its invention,” Bryan replied, his expression remaining neutral and blank as he chose his words with care.

“But why would such a thing be prohibited?” Remus asked with obvious puzzlement. “From your description, it sounds as though it should be considered highly beneficial for treating curse victims.”

Bryan smiled. During his years in the underground world, ‘processing’ potions had been one of his ‘main businesses,’ and he knew all about various prohibited potions.

“The problem lies in one of the potion’s essential ingredients,” Bryan explained.

“The recipe requires unicorn blood as a critical ingredient. You understand? Unicorns are absolutely forbidden to hunt under any circumstances in every magical civilization throughout the world. Moreover, consuming unicorn blood is itself extremely dangerous and potentially fatal.

Even when you use various neutralizing ingredients and complex brewing techniques to counteract its inherent toxicity, you cannot completely eliminate what might be called its fundamental ‘spiritual poison.’ The end result is that you’re basically choosing to expose yourself to one form of curse in order to suppress or eliminate a different curse that’s already affecting you.”

Remus became astonished. If all this was true, then that Graves fellow was obviously in serious trouble.

The mere exposure of his use of such a forbidden substance would be sufficient to destroy his career completely and potentially result in severe criminal charges that could imprison him for decades.

But Bryan was thinking about other issues.

The Purifying Potion possessed another characteristic that made long-term use even more problematic than its forbidden ingredient.

This particular potion was highly addictive in ways that went far beyond simple physical dependency.

Once an individual began consuming it regularly, their magical system will become deeply dependent upon its continued presence, making it nearly impossible to discontinue use without experiencing severe and potentially fatal withdrawal symptoms.

Over time, users would gradually weaken despite the potion’s beneficial effects, eventually entering a twilight state of existence where they could be described as neither fully human nor entirely dead.

So, the critical question that needed an answer was: how had Director Graves managed to break free from such a devastating cycle of dependency?

As for the possibility of using this compromising information as leverage to threaten or blackmail Graves into cooperation, such an approach lay completely outside the scope of Bryan’s considerations.

Graves’s ancestor had been one of the twelve original Aurors who had founded the American Magical Congress, establishing a political family legacy that stretched back to the origins of magical government in North America.

His family maintained deep roots and wide connections throughout the political society, with numerous relatives and allies occupying small to key positions in various Congressional departments and committees.

Any attempt to threaten or coerce Percival Graves using this sensitive medical information would only make their situation more difficult.

The more cost-effective and ultimately successful approach would still involve finding a way to solve the medical problem that Graves had encountered, thereby earning his gratitude and cooperation rather than his enmity.

However, a dark magic injury severe enough to require Purifying Potion for suppression and healing definitely couldn’t be resolved through simple conventional healing techniques.

Bryan was carefully searching through his memories of similar cases and potential treatment approaches when, without any warning, he suddenly sensed something that caused every magical instinct he had to trigger simultaneously.

His entire body went stiff with alarm as he abruptly stood up from his seat, and his previously relaxed expression transformed into something serious and intensely focused. His gaze seemed to pierce through the tavern’s smoke-stained walls and cover the space outside the building.

“What is it, Bryan?” Remus asked immediately with concern.

Both he and Amelia had been watching Bryan carefully throughout their conversation, and his sudden change in demeanor sent waves of tension through both of them. They immediately rose from their own seats, hands instinctively moving toward their wands as they prepared for whatever threat had captured Bryan’s attention.

Remus’s urgent words had barely finished echoing in the smoky air when, before Bryan could give any kind of response or warning—

BOOM!

The deafening explosion struck with the force of a thunderbolt, sending shockwaves through the entire neighborhood and beyond. Blinding hot firelight erupted outside the bar, its radiance shining through the tavern’s greasy, smoke-stained window frames with such intensity that it illuminated every corner of the dim interior.

The overwhelming roar of the detonation completely obliterated all other sounds within the bar. The resulting shockwave hit the building like an invisible battering ram, its tremendous force instantly shattering every piece of glass in the Blind Pig’s windows.

Sharp fragments exploded in, creating a deadly hailstorm of glassy bullets that sent everyone diving for cover while piercing screams of terror and pain filled the air.

The hanging gas lamps that had provided the tavern’s atmospheric lighting began swaying violently in the superheated air currents generated by the explosion. One by one, they broke free from their fixed points and crashed to the floor in showers of sparks and broken glass.

Behind the bar, countless bottles of expensive liquor and rare magical elixirs tumbled from their shelves, creating a downpour of shattering glass and spreading pools of valuable liquid that reflected the chaotic firelight streaming through the destroyed windows.

Every patron in the tavern immediately assumed that the Magical Congress had finally decided to conduct a massive raid on their illegal trade house and had launched a coordinated military-style attack designed to capture or eliminate everyone present. The rules and social protocols that Gnarlak had established to keep his diverse business in line immediately vanished in the face of apparent mortal danger.

No one cared anymore about the goblin’s stern warnings about maintaining order or respecting the tavern’s neutrality. Panic-stricken customers frantically bumped into tables, chairs, and each other as they desperately attempted to Disapparate to safety.

The air was filled with the popping sounds of multiple simultaneous Apparitions as wizards, vampires, werewolves, and other magical beings fled in all directions.

The terrified half-giant, whose massive body had been crammed into a corner booth throughout the day, abandoned any trick of using proper exits.

Instead, he simply lowered his enormous shoulder and charged directly through the tavern’s outer wall, creating a giant-sized hole surrounded by crumbling bricks and cracked wooden beams as he smashed his way to freedom.

In the span of few seconds, the Blind Pig which had been maintaining its atmosphere of criminal commerce just moments before had transformed into a scene of complete and utter chaos.

Smoke, dust, and magical energy swirled through the air while the sounds of destruction and fleeing patrons created a noise that could probably be heard for blocks in every direction.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep