Warlock Apprentice

An experienced elder like Iron Granny approached problems in this world with a completely different perspective, and it helped Angor see something he normally could not see.

 “That answered your biggest question, didn’t it?” said Iron Granny. “However, it’s still not easy to reach Dumartin’s place even if you want to.”

 Angor heard from Dave that Dumartin constantly stayed in a laboratory inside The Tributary, but he didn’t know the exact location.

 “But… I can’t just wait for Balba to be delivered to me. After getting that bloodline, he’s as good as dead.”

 “Dumartin might be willing to talk to you since you’re a promising alchemist as well as Sunders’ student, but you can’t get to his lab as it is because he always puts countless deadly traps there. The best approach is to send him a message and wait for him to invite you inside. Yet… that man tends to ignore his messages when he’s doing his research, which might take an entire year.” Iron Granny held her chin. “Let me see… Since I don’t have any other guests coming right now, I can send you there.”

 Even if Dumartin did not wish to talk to Angor, he wouldn’t do anything harsh when Iron Granny was around.

However, Angor wasn’t sure if he should accept the help.

 “You know he’s not a spy, ma’am?”

 “I’m certain of it. Those who plot against the wizarding world usually use pure-blood humans as moles. A half-blood like this one is not fit to be a competent spy.”

 “So… Balba is not a ‘criminal’.”

 Iron Granny looked away. “The only crime for him is that he cannot choose how he was born. This is unavoidable, and it is not a severe offense. However… it is enough to be the reason that dragged him into his misery.”

 Angor sighed in his mind. Unavoidable fates…

 The world’s consciousness of this world did not think or judge. It solely allowed things that provided benefit to this world while expelling those harmful to this world. This was also the exact belief of the Supreme Cult—even if they had to kill countless innocent people, they would consider it “beneficial” if they could find a single “true target” during their mad hunt, and those sacrificed were nothing compared to the general good.

Angor grimaced as he looked at Balba’s stitches. “Am I too late?”

 “Not really,” said Iron Granny, “the bloodline of Bomb Shroom is already planted inside him. But his mind…” She checked Balba’s brain, which was the only part free of stitches. “His mind is still unharmed.”

 “But… he won’t get far with that dangerous bloodline in him.” Angor shook his head. “I’m glad he’s alive though. That means this isn’t the end yet.”

 They heard footsteps behind them.

 Angor turned around and saw a tall and slim shadow emerging from the depth of a hallway.

 “Good evening, Granny,” the man bowed slightly to Iron Granny. His bright voice, as well as his refined posture, suggested that he was quite a man of good manners.

 “Well, hello, Dumartin. Am I interrupting something?”

 Angor looked at Dumartin and realized that the actual image of this man was way different from his presumptions. As far as he could see, Dumartin was a scholarly gentleman wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses who probably loved knowledge rather than violence.

But that impression didn’t last long.

 After greeting Iron Granny, Dumartin glanced at Angor and showed a hearty grin.

“Did you bring more fertilizer for me to get rid of, Granny?”