Although there's no such thing as dragon liver or dragon meat, other magical creatures still exist, and Albert was more than happy to help hunt them.
However, he couldn't guarantee what they might encounter. After all, he was only familiar with the fire dragon conservation areas in Europe. Outside of that, he had little knowledge and no idea where to find magical beasts elsewhere.
As Allen watched Alberta packing up for a hunt in the Fire Dragon Sanctuary, he glanced at his worn-out luggage and couldn't help but curl his lips in mild disdain.
"This is 300 Galleons," Allen said, taking out all the gold coins from his wallet and placing them neatly in front of Alberta. "270 Galleons are for the dragon blood, and the remaining 30 are my personal support."
"I won't take money like that," Alberta replied flatly. He didn't even look back, instead stuffing a pair of oddly shaped items into his battered backpack.
"Don't misunderstand—it's not charity. It's about maintaining my supply chain."
Allen pushed the pile of Galleons toward Alberta's counter. "You should know, I earn dozens—sometimes hundreds—of Galleons daily from my cooking. If I lose my ingredients because of your mistake, the losses would be painful. So I think you should buy some proper gear. Even just a reliable container for holding dragon blood."
Alberta glanced over at Allen and finally accepted the extra Galleons without further protest.
A good start, Allen thought.
It wasn't easy to get someone like Alberta to accept help. He'd have to gradually use money to corrupt—no, to move him emotionally. That way, Allen might eventually recruit him as one of his own.
After parting ways with Alberta, Allen returned to his bar, enjoying both the cuisine and the steady flow of income. Two days passed swiftly. Before he realized it, it was time to pick up the clothes he had ordered from snap pulse Clothing Store.
Upon arriving at the store, he was immediately welcomed by the owner, Martha.
"I'm so glad you came as promised, Mr. Cecil," Martha greeted warmly. "Would you like to try on your clothes right away, or sit down and enjoy a cup of tea first?"
"Oh? I thought you'd be worried I wouldn't show up and would abandon the order," Allen teased, raising his brows slightly. "But if you're not in a hurry, I'd love to try your tea."
"Are you joking? I've heard your name countless times these past few days," Martha replied with a playful smile. "Your reputation is perhaps the most... controversial I've ever come across."
She led him to the lounge area and poured him a cup of fragrant black tea.
"Controversial reputation?" Allen asked, intrigued. He picked up the teacup and gave it a quick sniff. Although he couldn't name the specific blend, the rich scent was undeniably appealing.
Taking a sip, he let the tea roll across his tongue, nodding with satisfaction. The aroma lingered, comforting and warm.
Martha stood nearby, momentarily lost in the scene before her. Watching the fair-haired boy quietly enjoying his tea with such grace and poise stunned her.
His posture, his expression, the calm, composed air he carried—it was like watching a real nobleman at ease.
This was a beauty difficult for anyone involved in art to ignore. At that moment, Martha wished she could paint. If only she had the skill, she would preserve this moment on canvas forever.
But she said nothing.
Allen, noticing the prolonged silence, looked up curiously and saw that Martha's cheeks were noticeably flushed.
"Sister, are you feeling hot?" he asked as he set down the cup. "Your face is quite red."
Snapping out of her thoughts, Martha cleared her throat awkwardly. "Ah—sorry. I got distracted for a moment."
Distracted? In that short a span?
Allen didn't expose the obvious fib. As a gentleman, he wasn't about to embarrass a beautiful lady.
"It's alright," he said with a gentle smile. "But Sister Martha, weren't we just discussing my reputation? I'm curious. Please tell me more."
"Oh, right—it's about the dishes you sell."
Martha giggled as she recalled the conversations. "Some of the ladies who came here to have clothes made couldn't stop talking about the expensive blood sausage you sell. Without exception, they all complained about the outrageous prices."
Allen raised an eyebrow but waited for her to finish.
"But," Martha continued, laughing again, "after just one taste, they completely changed their tune. The very next day, they were singing your praises."
"Of course," Allen said confidently. "They only complained because they'd never experienced real flavor before. Once they tasted the real deal, they understood it was worth every Galleon."
Then he stood up and smiled politely. "Now, I think it's time I experienced your craftsmanship as well, madam. I'd like to try on the clothes—I hope I won't be disappointed."
"Of course not!" Martha said proudly. "No one's ever had a bad thing to say about my work."
The custom-made outfit was predominantly black, resembling Muggle formalwear, but with a softer and more comfortable interior. The material felt smooth and luxurious. Though it wasn't formal wizard attire, it was designed for casual elegance.
"Well then," Allen asked, "where should I go to change?"
"This outfit is a little tricky to put on," Martha said as she approached him. "How about I help you?"
"Huh? Isn't that a bit… inappropriate?"
"Not at all," she said with a chuckle. "Don't worry. I'll just show you how to put it on properly—it'll be quick."
As she reached out with both hands to assist, Allen couldn't help but think of the story of the big bad wolf lunging at the little white rabbit.
No, wait. That wasn't quite right.
In this case, he was more like the little gray wolf—and Martha, the elegant and composed white rabbit.
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