What Witch? This Alchemist is Breaking Bad!

Bourbon Street, Snake Mouth Alley, Owl Old Junk Shop.

The old shop owner held a shard of Mana crystal with tweezers toward the firelight, moving a special lens back and forth over it. He squinted as he examined it closely, his gaze looking almost bewitched.

“About seventy-eight percent purity. We already tested it ourselves,” Leon said from the side with his arms crossed.

After quite a while, the shop owner set down the lens and tweezers and said with a sigh of amazement, “You brought ten grams, just as agreed, but you didn’t say it would be this pure. I really can’t believe it—where on earth did you get this from?”

“You know you shouldn’t ask that,” Leon said.

“Other than the Earl’s goods, I’ve never seen anything with purity close to eighty percent. At the very least, you didn’t source this from him, right?” the shop owner confirmed with Leon.

“The Earl?” Leon subconsciously repeated the title.

“You’re in this line of work, how could you not know ‘the Earl’? What’s more, you’re an Inquisitor,” the shop owner said with a smile.

“I’ve heard a little,” Leon nodded. “But this doesn’t seem to be his territory.”

“The Earl” was a title used in the underworld, a major smuggling magnate.

It was said that seventy percent of the Mana flowing into the Empire from outside passed through his hands, and that most of the Magical Potions and Mana circulating in the Underworld were connected to him in some way.

His goods circulated throughout the eastern part of the Empire, and his influence was vast.

Leon had even heard that the higher levels of the Inquisition actually had a clear grasp of the Earl’s true identity, yet were unable to touch him.

He was a powerful figure with immense authority, someone who also had his own network within the Church. The Inquisition could only turn a deaf ear to him.

Of course, this was merely hearsay. Leon had never come into direct contact with any firsthand intelligence on the matter.

After all, in Hamel Town, there had never appeared anyone or any goods rumored to belong to the Earl.

According to what the Inquisition knew, Hamel Town and the surrounding areas had other local tyrants controlling this line of trade.

Although their overall strength was far inferior to that of the Earl, their local influence was still enough to resist outside powerhouses.

However, the shop owner suddenly gave a bitter smile and said, “That’s how it is now, but it may not stay that way.”

“What do you mean?” Leon asked.

“The Earl’s influence is expanding toward the entire South Harbor County. It’s only a matter of time before it reaches here. The conflicts in the shadows started long ago. It seems the Inquisition hasn’t noticed yet, but that’s not surprising—news from the underworld always reaches insiders’ ears faster.”

The shop owner smiled faintly at Leon, put away the Mana, and began counting the remaining Magical Beast materials.

“The Earl’s people are clashing with whom? Mr. Griffin?” Leon confirmed with the old shop owner. “So your upstream is Mr. Griffin?”

“Mr. Griffin” was also a title used in the underworld.

He was the local boss who controlled the underground trade of Hamel Town and even South Harbor County, and he was the Inquisition’s primary target of investigation where Leon worked.

That said, Director Caron Eso was far more interested in skimming some profit from the situation than in cracking down on Mana trading crimes in Hamel Town.

Naturally, he had no interest in spending great effort to pursue Mr. Griffin, at most catching a few low-level lackeys.

There was a hierarchy within underworld forces.

For the old shop owner to know firsthand that the Earl’s influence was encroaching on Mr. Griffin’s territory suggested that there were not many layers between him and Mr. Griffin.

It was even possible that he was a direct subordinate of Mr. Griffin.

“Heh, young man, you know you shouldn’t be asking me questions like that, right?” the shop owner said.

He raised an eyebrow at Leon. “I think you understand that in this business, inquiring about someone’s upstream is taboo—especially since you’re an Inquisitor. I advise you not to try to bypass me to look for my superior. He doesn’t accept goods from strangers, and if your identity as an Inquisitor were exposed, you’d be riddled with bullets on the spot as a spy.”

“Just asking casually,” Leon shrugged.

“So you didn’t source your goods from our competitors, right? This point is very important. If we’re mistaken for moles from the Earl’s side, we’ll all be in trouble,” the shop owner continued to confirm.

“This is my own goods. Recently… I slightly changed the process, so the purity went up a bit,” Leon replied.

“With raw materials of this purity, the products you make should be enough to compete with the Earl. You’d better start moving more goods as soon as possible. However much you have, I’ll take it all. By the way, this exact ten grams of yours—don’t tell me you’re still holding onto some leftovers?” the shop owner said with a grin, shaking the test tube of Mana.

“There aren’t many leftovers. I’m keeping them for my own use,” Leon replied. “So, by what you just said, will I be targeted?”

If the shop owner’s upstream was indeed Mr. Griffin, then with Mr. Griffin currently facing competition from the Earl’s forces, he would naturally have an even greater demand for high-purity Mana.

After all, if product quality fell behind, customers would be stolen away.

In such circumstances, Leon’s Mana would become even more scarce, but correspondingly, if the Earl’s side discovered that Mr. Griffin had a new source of goods, they might set their sights on Leon.

Being dragged into this level of underworld power struggle was undoubtedly extremely dangerous.

“I’m only reminding you out of consideration for these goods of yours. You’ll need to be careful yourself,” the shop owner said.

He did not consider that Leon would back out because of such information.

After all, Leon dared to commit the Crime of Apostasy in this line of work while holding a clerical identity; he would not be frightened by mere underworld conflict.

The shop owner simply did not want a stable supply source that had just connected with him to run into trouble too early.

“Now then, let’s talk about money. If you can keep bringing in goods like this, let me think… twenty-three thousand is a good price,” the shop owner took the initiative to quote.

Leon considered for a moment, then replied, “Twenty-five thousand.”

Considering the risks the shop owner might be taking on by purchasing this higher-purity batch, Leon felt it was reasonable to raise the price a bit more.

“Oh, my friend, you should know that the purchase price I’m giving you is already as favorable as what Caron Eso gets. There isn’t that much room for profit,” the shop owner shook his head. “Twenty-three thousand five hundred. Not a bit more.”

“Twenty-five thousand. This batch will raise your standing with your superior. It’s worth that price,” Leon did not budge.

“It seems I really talked too much,” the shop owner said with a helpless expression. “Fine. Twenty-five thousand Fenni per gram. Be sure to bring more in four months.”

“Agreed,” Leon responded.

There was still another batch of Magical Beasts that had eaten Hannah Weisland’s corpse.

If Mana purity was indeed related to that, those Magical Beasts should at least guarantee the purity of the next shipment. As for after that, he would continue selling goods of the original purity.

He only needed to make money; he had no intention of pursuing higher purity.

Higher-purity Mana was indeed easier to sell, but he did not want to be forced into continuously feeding corpses to Magical Beasts.

“Can you get Mana with even higher purity than this? I think it might be useful for researching the process,” Leon asked the shop owner.

“If it helps you, I’d be happy to get some for you, but unfortunately, I don’t have such channels for now,” the shop owner said, shaking his head while counting money behind the counter.

“Then can you get Cockatrice Venom?” Leon asked again.

The shop owner’s counting paused. He looked up at Leon in confusion. “What do you want that for?”

“It’s useful. Just tell me whether you have it,” Leon said.

“As a raw material, I can sell it to you for five thousand per gram. But honestly, if you’re planning to kill someone, I recommend cheaper ordinary poisons, like arsenic. Magical Beast venom is deadly, but the symptoms are too distinctive, and the supply is limited—it’s easy to trace back…” the shop owner advised.

“I’m not killing anyone. Just get me one test tube,” Leon raised a hand to interrupt him.

“All right. Come back here with the money in two weeks to pick it up,” the shop owner said, then placed five notes and a pouch of coins on the counter and pushed them toward Leon. “This is your payment.”

Leon took the five notes.

They were gold vouchers issued by the Church, each with a face value of fifty thousand Fenni, redeemable for that amount of cash at Church facilities.

In the Empire, the Church, the imperial family, and some great lords and large merchant groups could issue such gold vouchers as long as they had the qualifications.

Vouchers issued by lords and merchant groups could only circulate within their spheres of influence, whereas Church and royal vouchers could circulate nationwide, functioning as paper currency.

Large transactions were basically settled using standard-weight gold or silver ingots, or gold vouchers.

After carefully verifying the authenticity of the vouchers, Leon put them away.

Just as he was about to count the money in the pouch, the shop owner suddenly asked, “By the way, how should I introduce you in the future?”

“Introduce me?” Leon frowned.

“Just give me a title. When someone asks where this batch of goods came from, I can’t exactly say I made it myself, or that it was supplied by some young Inquisitor guilty of apostasy, right?” the shop owner spread his hands.

Leon understood.

This was asking him to provide an underworld alias, like the Earl or Mr. Griffin—something that would let people know which goods came from him, even if they didn’t know who he really was.

He lowered his head and thought for a moment. His gaze inadvertently fell on a Thaler Silver Coin peeking out from the money pouch, engraved with a wolf’s head.

The imperial royal family used a wolf totem as part of their coat of arms, supposedly because wolves were pack animals and represented collective order in imperial culture.

A nation needed order.

But at this moment, what surfaced in Leon’s mind was something else entirely.

He recalled a myth he had heard in his previous life: the demonic wolf feared by the gods themselves.

The gods sought to bind it, and the God of War pledged one of his arms as a guarantee to make it wear the chains forged by dwarves.

When the gods broke their promise and refused to release it, the wolf bit off the God of War’s arm.

When Ragnarok came, it still broke free of its chains, charged into the realm of the gods, and devoured the king of the gods.

Leon raised his eyes to the shop owner and, for the first time in this world, spoke that name:

“Fenrir. Tell them my name is Fenrir.”