aircannonsinc Chapter 403-402: The Intelligence Merchant
Chapter 403-402: The Intelligence Merchant
Chapter 403-402: The Intelligence Merchant
Ian stood at the entrance to the African wizarding market.
The night wind, carrying the scent of dust and herbs, brushed against his face, and his gaze lingered on the "Notice from the International Wizarding Federation" for a long time.
Mid-20th century.
Beware of cross-border smuggling of illegal magical items.
These keywords swirled in his mind, gradually becoming associated with a name.
"Newt Scamander..." Ian murmured to himself, a slight smile involuntarily creeping onto his lips.
That famous magizoologist, the gentle gentleman whose suitcase contained an entire zoo, did indeed have a "criminal record" that caused headaches for many countries. That eccentric, kind, and magical creature-loving British Ministry of Magic employee was dismissed for researching forbidden magical creatures and later became the author of "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."
Professor Newt has a history of cross-border "smuggling" in his efforts to protect and rescue magical creatures, even causing quite a stir in Paris. Therefore, it's hard not to speculate that the International Wizarding Federation's announcement is an attempt to stop yet another of this old gentleman's "charitable acts."
Newt's box.
It's the nuclear deterrent of the wizarding world.
He is famous for his magical briefcase filled with strange creatures.
The International Federation of Wizards clearly only saw the surface of "illegally transporting rare creatures," ignoring Newt's original intention to protect them.
They care more about order than about life.
But for Ian, this notification was a golden opportunity.
If Newt is indeed active in this area, then he not only possesses a large quantity of rare magical materials, but also controls secret routes to various parts of the world. More importantly, although Newt himself is not a combat wizard, his profound understanding of magical creatures...
He also has considerable expertise in alchemy.
"If I can get in touch with him here—" Ian thought, "I might not only find the materials, but also gain an unexpected help."
With this in mind, Ian became even more concerned about the information behind the announcement.
If Newt were indeed active in Africa at this time, we might be able to find a lot of important materials through him, and at least learn about the current situation in Europe.
With this thought in mind, Ian made his decision.
He decided to find a place to gather more intelligence first. Like Diagon Alley, this bustling and rugged underground marketplace...
Information should circulate like goods.
"Where people gather, there will be places for information exchange, and these places are generally equated with alcohol." Ian left the bulletin board and continued weaving through the crowded stalls. His gaze swept over the vendors selling a wide variety of goods.
They eventually settled on a relatively quiet corner on the edge of the market.
He straightened his robes.
I walked into a tavern deep inside the market.
This wasn't the "Three Broomsticks" next to Hogwarts, but a shed built from the bones of giant beasts. Glowing firefly sacs hung from the roof, and animal bones and battle axes were stuck in the walls. The air was filled with a mixture of fermented palm wine, roasted meat, and gunpowder smoke. Wizards sat around a mud table, some talking in hushed tones, some polishing their weapons, and some gambling with spells.
Ian found a corner to sit down and ordered a cup of palm liqueur. The liquid was cloudy and had a spicy, harsh taste, far less smooth than butterbeer, but he needed to blend in with the atmosphere.
He pricked up his ears to listen to the conversations around him.
"I heard that the warlords in the north have captured another batch of Muggles, intending to sell them to Europeans for experimentation."
"Hmph, if you pay enough, I can turn them all into zombies."
"The Federation has been cracking down lately, and a batch of 'cursed bullets' is stuck at the border. We need to find a new route."
"A white wizard appeared on the upper Congo River with a large box—he said he was looking for some kind of 'Thunderbird.'" People's conversations were filled with various pieces of information.
There was some information that caught Ian's attention, and a thought struck him. A white wizard, a large trunk, the upper reaches of the Congo River—weren't these exactly Newt's typical characteristics?
He continued listening and finally caught a key name: "'Shadow Merchant' Babua - only he can get cross-border passes and figure out the Federation's patrol routes."
Ian also gleaned information about the information merchant from the mind of the person who brought it up, so he silently stood up and walked toward the place indicated by the information.
Leave the bar.
We didn't walk very far.
There was a small tent made of animal hides and wooden poles, with a simple wooden sign hanging at the entrance that read "Information Consultation · Discreet Conversation" in crooked English and several African scripts. A beaded curtain hung at the entrance of the tent, and one could vaguely see a person sitting inside, talking quietly with a guest.
"This is it."
Ian stopped at a nearby food stall, ordered a cup of strangely flavored but invigorating local herbal tea, pretended to taste it, and actually patiently observed the tent. After a while, the beaded curtain was lifted, and a hooded wizard in a hurry came out and quickly disappeared into the crowd. The tent fell silent for a moment.
"The time has come." Ian put down his teacup, straightened his robe, and made himself look more like an ordinary traveling wizard, perhaps from North Africa or the Middle East.
Then he walked toward the tent.
He lifted the beaded curtain and went inside. The inside of the tent was even smaller than it appeared from the outside, and the air was filled with a strong smell of tobacco and some unknown spices.
A thin, middle-aged Black man sat behind a low wooden table, a long pipe dangling from his lips, squinting as he sized up Ian as he entered. He wore a flashy suit, but the fabric was worn, and several extravagant rings on his fingers that seemed to emanate magical energy.
"What do you need?" The man exhaled a smoke ring, his voice hoarse and heavily accented, speaking in English. His keen observation skills certainly indicated he was a qualified intelligence broker.
Ian sat down on the cushion opposite him and smiled slightly.
"I'd like to find out some information."
This is getting straight to the point.
The man looked Ian up and down, then shook his head: "You have a dangerous aura about you. I don't know who you are."
Therefore, I choose not to do business with strangers.
"Go out."
His tone was cold, with an unquestionable air.
Ian wasn't discouraged and kept smiling: "After chatting for a bit, we're not strangers anymore, are we? I can pay the consultation fee first."
He deliberately took out a small purse containing several silver coins of decent quality that he had brought from other worlds. He had previously used magic to alter their shape to suit this era.
Babua glanced at the money pouch, his eyes flickered for a moment, but then he shook his head firmly, his tone becoming even more unfriendly:
"Don't you understand? Get out. Or—"
He raised the hand holding the pipe, his other hand seemingly casually resting on the table, but his index finger was slightly raised, aimed at Ian. A faint but malicious magical fluctuation began to gather—a silent threatening spell, usually used to make disobedient customers feel slightly uncomfortable and thus back down.
Ian's smile vanished.
He sighed, seemingly with some regret: "It's a real shame, I wanted to conduct the transaction in a civilized manner."
Before he could finish speaking, Ian merely raised his eyelids and glanced indifferently at Babua. In an instant, an invisible magical wave spread out, unleashing a magic sealing spell.
There were no incantations, no hand gestures. But Babua suddenly froze, his face contorted with extreme terror! He felt the magic flowing around him instantly solidify and become blocked, as if he were firmly locked in place by invisible shackles! He tried to mobilize his magic to resist, but it was like an ant trying to shake a tree.
The unfathomable power pressed down on him, making it difficult to even breathe. The rings on his fingers, which had been shimmering faintly, instantly dimmed. This was a high-level restrictive magic bestowed by the Sun God, capable of severing the target's connection to the source of magic in an instant. The magic within the merchant's body froze completely, like a river frozen in time.
"You—you—" Babua's voice trembled violently, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
He didn't even notice when the pipe fell from his mouth onto the table.
Only now did he truly realize that this seemingly ordinary stranger was definitely one of the most unfathomable wizards he had ever met in his life!
My little tricks are probably like child's play in the eyes of the other party.
In his forty years of life, he had never witnessed such precise and powerful mental suppression. The other party hadn't even chanted an incantation or made a move; with just a glance, they had crippled all of his defenses.
Ian looked at him calmly, his voice still gentle, yet carrying an undeniable authority: "Now, can we talk business properly? I like fair trade and I can afford the price. But I don't like being threatened."
Babua broke out in a cold sweat, nodded hurriedly, and his tone became extremely respectful: "Of course! Respected sir!"
"It was my fault just now! I was blind! What—what do you want to know? Babua will tell you everything he knows!"
He hurriedly swept the pipes off the table and wiped the surface with his sleeve.
As an intelligence dealer, he knew more than most wizards, and because of this, he knew he had met a real tough opponent—not an ordinary wizard.
Rather, they are beings that exist only in legends.
"That's a lot, isn't it? That's the feeling I prefer. I like civilized communication." Ian placed the small purse on the table and pushed it over.
Let's talk about that first.
He gestured slightly with his chin toward the bulletin board outside the tent. "Announcement from the International Wizarding Federation regarding smuggling."
What exactly happened? Why is the African Ministry of Magic so concerned?
Babua carefully picked up the money bag, put it in his pocket without even looking at it, and then lowered his voice and said, "Sir, you've come to the right person! I do know something about this."
He licked his lips and leaned forward. "The Federation and our Ministry of Magic here have been keeping a close eye on things lately. Apparently, they're guarding against a—super troublesome smuggler."
"Oh? Super troublesome?" Ian asked cooperatively.
"Yes!" Babua nodded vigorously. "He's supposedly a white man, looks quite gentle, but is incredibly powerful! He's especially good at dealing with dangerous magical creatures. They say he has a magical briefcase that can hold an entire zoo! Many people want that briefcase, but they all disappeared afterward."
"I reckon he became food for those magical creatures. Believe me, that guy wasn't a good person." Abaku swallowed and, seeing Ian's signal, began to give a detailed account.
"He appeared in Lualaba province a month ago with a huge brown leather suitcase. The local witch doctor said that the suitcase contained a 'living storm' and 'flying snakes.'"
He attempted to trade rare herbs and a bottle of "Phoenix Tears" for permission to enter the "Sacred Rainforest," but the elders refused.
Because the federation has already issued a ban.
"However—" Abaku lowered his voice, "someone saw him go to the 'Ghost Canyon' in the east—a secret passage to the upper Congo River, and a habitat for many rare creatures. Someone hired a mercenary team to capture him."
But three days later, all the mercenaries were dead.
"There were no wounds on the body, it looked like—he was scared to death by something," Babua continued, his tone somewhat exaggerated.
Ian nodded. This was exactly in Newt's style—he wouldn't kill indiscriminately, but he wasn't incapable of killing either, and his magical creatures were enough to deter any threat.
"I want to know more about this person."
Ian continued to ask questions.
The intelligence dealer immediately shared everything he knew.
"This guy is incredibly capable. It seems he's been traveling the world for the past few years, specifically looking for rare, endangered, or—well—especially dangerous creatures. Then, using some unknown method, he manages to smuggle them away! I've heard that many ministries of magic in Europe, Asia, and the Americas are having a major headache because of him!"
"He's in Africa this time?"
"Here's the rumor!" Babua said mysteriously, "I heard he's active in the East African region. That's why the Ministry of Magic is so worried and has issued a notice, strengthening border and port checks, afraid he might bring something terrible in or out again. Like a thunderbird, or an angry horned beast—that would cause a huge mess!"
Ian seemed thoughtful. Newt's activities in Africa meant he could indeed find the other person.
"Why is the Federation so afraid of him?" Ian asked.
"Because he crossed the line," Abaku said. "The Ministry of Magic here believes that all magical creatures should be controlled, used, or destroyed. And that white man wanted to 'protect' them. In his eyes, dragons weren't weapons, but life itself. That kind of thinking—is more dangerous than dark magic."
Ian remained silent. For the first time, he felt that Newt Scamander had become a "revolutionary" in some sense in this distorted world.
No wonder Hermione Granger admires Newt so much.
So Newt was the one who inspired Hermione's "equal rights movement".
He pushed the gold coins in front of Abaku: "I need to know his exact location and his next move. Can you do that?"
Abaku looked at the gold coins, then at Ian's eyes that seemed to see right through his soul, and finally nodded: "Give me three days."
I'll send my "shadow" to track it down. I have connections at several ports and in the cross-border air route network management offices—three days! Come back here in three days, and I should have some information by then.”
He doesn't just want gold coins.
He was also afraid that Ian would kill him in a fit of rage.
In the wizarding world, might makes right.
"Very good." Ian stood up. "Remember, if you lie to me—"
He didn't finish speaking; he simply raised his hand slightly, and the magical seal within Abaku's body loosened slightly—that momentary feeling of suffocation made the intelligence merchant tremble all over.
"I understand, sir," Abaku bowed his head. "I would never dare to have any disloyal thoughts."
Ian said no more, turned around, lifted the beaded curtain, and walked out, leaving the intelligence merchant in the tent wiping away cold sweat, both excited about making a fortune.
Still shaken by what he had just experienced, Ian stepped out of the tent and took a deep breath of the market's murky air. Finding a clue to Newt greatly increased his hope of returning home.
He now needs to wait patiently for three days while also making other preparations.
He glanced at the vibrant African magic market and thought to himself: perhaps I should go and trade for some local magical materials.
Of course, the most important thing is to study the spellcasting techniques of the wizards here.