What Witch? This Alchemist is Breaking Bad!

For two full hours, the old shop owner sat inside the shop, clutching a bottle of Slime Gel and struggling to bandage his own fingers and toes.

Several fingernails had been torn off, and every finger and toe had been pierced repeatedly by needles.

Even after the needles had been pulled out, the pain still made him miserable.

He glanced at Leon, who sat to one side with his arms crossed, waiting.

After hesitating for a moment, he spoke indistinctly:

“Help me deal with the wounds. Letting them see me injured like this won’t be easy to explain.”

Several wads of cotton were stuffed into his mouth.

Leon had pulled out his molars, so it was not very obvious when he spoke, but from today onward, if he did not get false teeth fitted, he would never be able to chew anything hard again.

However, Leon merely swept him with a glance and did not move.

“You’re the one who can’t explain it, not me. I don’t mind telling them the real reason I tortured you. Your own problems are yours to solve.”

Handing over people from the supply chain to the Inquisition was, in the underworld, an unforgivable betrayal.

If his upstream contact found out he had done such a thing, the torture methods would probably not be any gentler than Leon’s—and that contact might even know where his true weakness lay.

The old shop owner sighed and shook his head.

“You shouldn’t say those things. Once you do, the fact that you’re an Inquisitor will be exposed too. Then you’ll be treated as an undercover agent. In such a short time, I won’t be able to explain things clearly enough.”

“So the old saying is right,” Leon said mockingly.

“You watch your mouth, and I’ll watch mine.”

The old shop owner had nothing to say.

He could only sigh helplessly and continue tending to his wounds.

“Your upstream contact is Mr. Griffin, right?” Leon asked to confirm.

“You never asked me, and I never told you. Even if you already know something, you can’t say it,” the old shop owner emphasized solemnly.

“If he didn’t tell you, you can’t ask. When you go to see him, you must remember this!”

“All right.” Leon nodded.

“Then how long do we still have to wait?”

After releasing the old shop owner, Leon supervised him as he wrote a letter of introduction.

Then the two of them went to a nearby casino.

Leon watched as the old shop owner called over a familiar attendant, had him take the letter and a casino chip as a token, and rush off to deliver the message.

“I don’t know. I’ve already done what you asked,” the old shop owner said.

“As for whether my upstream contact is willing to see you, that’s another matter.

“He really does admire Fenrir’s goods, but our request was too sudden. It’s only natural to arouse suspicion. However…” He paused here.

“However what?” Leon gestured for him to finish.

“Whether he sees you or not, I think he’ll give a response soon. And he won’t give up on your goods—at most, he’ll just send someone else to contact you.

“After all, among the high-end batch, the only goods he has that can compete with the Earl’s are yours,” the old shop owner said.

“Sounds like the Earl is making you very nervous,” Leon remarked.

“Strictly speaking, it’s one of the Earl’s subordinates who’s in charge of Helenburg and the surrounding areas,” the old shop owner shook his head.

“With the Earl’s power, there’s no need for him to personally step in to seize territory in South Harbor County.”

At that point, the sound of a carriage outside grew closer and closer, then slowly came to a stop near the old junk shop.

Both of them stopped chatting and turned their attention to the door.

A few seconds later, the driver jumped down and knocked.

“Hey, old sir, our boss asked me to invite you over to inspect a few items, and have dinner together to catch up,” the man outside called into the room.

“Do you have time today?”

Leon looked at the old shop owner.

The old shop owner nodded, indicating that the code was correct.

Leon prepared to open the door, but the old shop owner stood up and gestured that he would do it himself.

He straightened his collar, put on gloves to cover the injuries on his hands, endured the stabbing pain in his toes, and went to the door to open it.

Standing outside was a tall, thin middle-aged man.

He nodded to the old shop owner, then looked past him at Leon.

“You must be…” The driver examined Leon carefully, then suddenly lowered his voice.

“Mr. Fenrir?”

Leon nodded slightly and glanced at the carriage outside.

“Can I get a ride?”

“Of course. The boss said you must come,” the driver replied with a smile.

He then took the initiative to open the carriage door for them.

After getting in, Leon observed that from the outside, the carriage looked no different from an ordinary one, but the interior had clearly been reinforced.

There were windows, but they could not be opened—most likely fixed in place.

Near the bottom of the carriage walls were small ventilation holes.

Peering out through them, one could only see the ground, making it difficult to determine the exact location.

Two covered oil lamps were fixed inside the carriage for lighting.

As soon as they got in, the driver locked the carriage door.

The carriage traveled for quite a long time.

Through the ventilation holes, Leon saw the ground change from the bluestone-paved roads of the town to muddy paths in the countryside.

It seemed they had left the town.

After roughly another hour passed, the carriage finally came to a stop.

The driver unlocked the door and called for the two of them to get down.

The moment Leon stepped out, he realized they had arrived inside the courtyard of a winery.

Around several buildings stretched a vast area of grape vines.

Directly in front of them stood a villa, with two tall, burly bodyguards at the entrance, both equipped with crossbows and short swords.

“The boss is already waiting inside. Please don’t keep him waiting,” the driver interrupted Leon’s survey and said to him.

“Before seeing the boss, you’ll need to hand over your weapons and submit to a search. I hope you don’t mind.”

Leon nodded and took out his gun, handing it over.

The driver briefly checked Leon’s body and confirmed that he had no other weapons.

When he searched one pocket, however, he found a small test tube containing a bit of transparent crystal, tinged with only the faintest hint of pale blue.

The old shop owner turned his head toward the test tube, his face showing surprise.

Just from its clarity alone, the crystal inside was purer than the previous goods!

The driver first showed a stunned expression, then smiled knowingly.

He returned the test tube to Leon and led the two of them into an exquisite villa.

Under the driver’s guidance, they entered the building, passed through the foyer and corridor, and arrived at a magnificently decorated hall.

Inside stood a long table placed horizontally.

The owner of the place sat waiting at the exact center on the far side of the table.

This was a man who perfectly matched Leon’s image of a crime boss.

From his build, he looked like a somewhat corpulent middle-aged man.

He wore luxurious clothing, and his ring-laden hand held a thick cigar.

A masquerade mask covered his face, revealing only the lower half, where a neatly groomed handlebar mustache adorned his lip.

Behind him stood three bodyguards on standby, all wearing full-face masks.

Beside him, seated at the same table, was an elderly man with a full beard, dressed in a priest’s robe.

His hair and beard were completely white.

Among everyone waiting inside, he was the only one not wearing a mask.

When Leon saw this old man, he froze slightly.

He actually knew him.

Raymond Auden, the priest responsible for the eastern district church of Hamel Town.

A priest appearing in such a transaction—one strictly forbidden by church doctrine—and doing so without any attempt to conceal his identity.

But on second thought, Leon found it not so strange after all.

He knew Priest Auden because the man was somewhat famous in Hamel Town—or rather, notorious.

Besides preaching and presiding over various rituals, priests in district churches also accepted many civilian commissions.

In this era, there was no profession of lawyer.

Matters of that sort were usually handled by clergy.

Priests received good education within the Church and were well-versed in laws and regulations.

They often helped civilians draft and interpret documents and contracts, served as notaries for wills and transactions, wrote indictments for lawsuits, and defended clients before arbitrators.

Of course, none of this was done for free.

And Priest Auden was the most shameless litigation shyster in all of Hamel Town.

His fees were exorbitant.

He served only the wealthy and had absolutely no conscience.

He helped rich clients exploit loopholes in laws and contracts, helping them escape guilt and squeeze the poor.

Even Melissa’s family had been entangled with him.

After Mr. Hesh’s theater was burned down, he should, in theory, still have retained the right to use the land, giving him a chance to rebuild and recover part of the loss.

However, Priest Auden, representing the wealthy lender Potter, used a loophole in the loan contract on the grounds that Mr.

Hesh was unable to meet the repayment requirements.

He helped Potter directly seize the land-use rights from Mr. Hesh as additional collateral, at a very low valuation—adding insult to injury for the Hesh family, who had already suffered a sudden disaster.

Sally and Melissa had always harbored deep hatred for Potter and Priest Auden.

Leon had heard Sally curse this man more times than he could count.

There were also rumors within the Inquisition that he secretly provided legal defenses and money-laundering services for certain illegal transactions.

The Inquisition had never found concrete evidence, and he seemed to have quite a few connections within the Church itself.

Even Caron Eso showed no interest in investigating him.

Now it seemed that the suspicion that this priest served the local underworld boss here could be confirmed.

Priest Auden looked back at Leon indifferently, his expression unchanged.

He seemed not to recognize Leon, nor did he care that Leon recognized him.

“Hey, Roddy, my old friend, what’s going on?” the owner of the house spoke up first, smiling as he addressed the old shop owner.

“Why did you suddenly say you wanted to retire?”

Before the old shop owner could reply, one of the bodyguards behind him reacted abruptly upon seeing Leon.

He drew his gun, pointed it at Leon, and shouted, “Please wait, boss! This man has a problem! He’s an Inquisitor!!”

The moment these words were spoken, everyone present changed expression.

The other two bodyguards immediately drew their guns as well.

Leon instantly recognized the voice and narrowed his eyes at the speaker.

“Garcia… what are you doing here today?” the old shop owner also recognized the voice and was caught off guard.

The debt collector Garcia, who had once been “taken care of” by Leon in a tavern, ripped off his mask on the spot, revealing his scarred face.

He squeezed out a ferocious grin at Leon.

“Heh heh. Enemies meet on a narrow road, Inquisitor!”