Allen's refusal left the Auror completely stunned. Although he had just seen Allen moments ago, on the way here he had already factored Allen's combat power into the forces he could mobilize—never underestimate the intelligence network of the American Ministry of Magic, and never overestimate the moral bottom line of an Auror who does dirty work for the Ministry.
Experts like Allen—absurdly strong yet astonishingly cheap in terms of demands—were incredibly rare. Sure, the Galleons Allen asked for were never a small sum, but compared to the bizarre materials, magical artifacts, or even inherited legacies other wizards demanded, Galleons were far easier to come by. Especially when the amount wasn't outrageously high, the Ministry would reimburse it in full without even asking questions. That alone had given the Auror immense confidence to count Allen as one of his own.
But what is this situation now? That money-loving little bastard had actually said he was done taking black jobs? Merlin's beard—how could this walking embodiment of greed, whose avarice rivaled that of goblins, suddenly abandon his pursuit of Galleons? To the Auror, this blow was no less devastating than that humiliating letter earlier—if anything, it was worse. Because it meant he could no longer freely borrow Allen's strength.
"H-Heavens—my dear friend, what's gotten into you? Is our friendship really not deep enough? When you were in danger, didn't I immediately bring a whole squad from America to back you up? And now that I'm in trouble, you just stand by and watch?" His tone carried a hint of grievance, making Allen instinctively grip his wand. If this bastard dares come any closer and try to wipe snot or tears on me, I'll teach him—with a curse—what 'maintaining necessary distance' really means.
Allen, who was about to have a thousand Galleons credited to his account, absolutely wasn't going to help recklessly right now. This guy had taken a serious psychological hit today—what if he snapped and decided to attack the Ilvermorny headmaster on impulse?
Sure, that headmaster wasn't exactly a good person either, and Allen wouldn't feel much guilt being an accomplice. But if Headmaster Charlid actually died, who was going to pay him?
Dumbledore had told him there would be a thousand Galleons coming in—but hadn't said who would be paying. That was… extremely awkward.
So Allen quickly gave his response. "That's right—my friend. Which is exactly why this is business now. And when it's business, we can't talk about feelings. Talking about feelings hurts money."
Allen's answer gave the Auror a powerful urge to strangle him—but he held back. First, he couldn't afford to fall out with such a powerful ally over a single sentence. Second—ever since the time he helped Allen kill that monster in the desert, he had been absolutely certain of one thing.
He couldn't beat Allen.
It was a sad story. Back when they first met, they could still fight back and forth evenly—he'd even had the upper hand at times. And now? His own strength had steadily improved, yet that bastard across from him seemed to be cheating, skyrocketing in power. At this point, Allen could hang him up and beat him senseless without effort.
"My dear friend, this is a three-hundred-Galleon deal—you should know, that's not a sum just anyone can afford." Gritting his teeth, the Auror raised the price slightly. He truly needed Allen's help.
After all, a thousand Galleons was enough for twin brothers to buy a house, purchase materials, and prepare to open a shop. One-third of that as payment for a single mission was absolutely a high salary. Countless people would risk their lives for half a lifetime just to scrape together enough to open a small shop in their later years—getting a third of that in one task would have people lining up.
However, this price only earned Allen a massive eye-roll. Give up a thousand Galleons for your three hundred? Are you joking? If it weren't for our past friendship, do you believe I wouldn't tie you up and sell you right now?
"Three hundred and fifty!"
Allen pulled out a honey candy and popped it into his mouth, casually offering one to the Auror as well. This price still wasn't acceptable, and the other side clearly couldn't go much higher. He might as well head back and sleep.
"Four hundred! That's the absolute limit!" the Auror blurted out in pain. Still far too low—Allen was just about to tell him the truth and crush that unrealistic fantasy once and for all.
Why on earth were you so obsessed with that headmaster? Losing face is just losing face—why risk so much to attack him? Just to vent your anger?
"There's really no more—but I genuinely need your help, Allen." The Auror's tone turned mournful. "I can't come up with any more Galleons. This mission is infuriating, but I still have to escort those bastards back home. If you don't help me along the way, I really won't make it back alive."
The Auror slammed his fist into a nearby tree, rage boiling over. "That old bastard! I'd bet anything—before I even get those guys out of Japan's magical borders, he'll intercept me with his people and kill me. Then he'll achieve his goal: spare the lives of those four and cement his authority. He's a damned jackal—he'll never stop until he's wrung out every last bit of profit!"
"Help me—just a little. You only need to escort me out of Japan. Once I'm beyond the border, I can shake them off. I know you're capable of this—you can hold them back. For the sake of all our past pleasant collaborations, help me just this once, okay?"
I overestimated you, brother.
I thought after getting publicly humiliated, you were planning a sneak attack and a glorious counterkill. Turns out your big plan is… running away.
That made the mission absurdly easy. Since the other side was planning to ambush the Auror, at most they'd bring a few trusted subordinates—no way they'd mobilize a full force, and no reinforcements would suddenly show up. If, say, the First Wizard popped out mid-fight, Allen would immediately transform into Allen the Runner.
"You should've said that earlier—I thought you were about to lose your mind and go all-in against him. I was already figuring out how to talk you out of such a stupid idea. Trying to ambush that headmaster in this environment is way too dangerous—there's basically zero feasibility." Allen replied lightly.
No doubt about it—this job was acceptable.
They'd always worked together smoothly, and the Auror paid promptly. Losing such a big spender wasn't a good thing. Besides, Allen had never liked Headmaster Charlid anyway.
At this moment, the Auror was utterly dumbfounded. Now he understood why Allen's look earlier had felt… off. Combined with what Allen just said, that gaze had clearly been one of sympathy for the intellectually disabled.
A single sentence suddenly surfaced in his mind:
Are you messing with me?!
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