Life as a full-fledged member of the Wyrm-Breakers was far more than a simple sequence of hunts; it was an immersive crash course in the vast, subterranean machinery of the magical underworld.
Over the past few weeks, Leon had plunged headfirst into the full scope of a poacher’s life.
Hunting and tracking beastly prey through the wilderness was only the tip of the iceberg.
He learned how to weave complex, layered concealment charms to mask temporary camps, and how to methodically scramble tracks to throw Ministry Aurors and Department for the Control of Magical Creatures inspectors off their scent.
More importantly, he was introduced to the Syndicate’s broader human network.
Leon traveled alongside senior members to shadowy taverns and hidden safehouses, meeting the various operators who kept the Wyrm-Breakers’ empire running.
He dealt with greasy-eyed information brokers who traded in Auror patrol schedules and rival gang movements, haggled in backrooms with tight-lipped black-market fences who converted dangerous beast hides into clean Galleons, and rubbed shoulders with off-site Wyrm-Breakers—smugglers, corrupt ministry clerks, and urban spotters who never stepped foot in the wilderness camps but served as the gang’s vital eyes and ears in civilization.
He was absorbing every layer of the trade, understanding not just how to kill a magical beast, but how an entire criminal organisation functioned from top to bottom.
Yet, despite the harsh demands of the trade, becoming a recognized hunter brought one monumental change: freedom.
No longer locked in a cage or monitored as mere livestock, Leon found himself with a staggering amount of free time.
And now that he had gold in his pockets—his share from recent hunts along with a generous initiation bonus from Vane for officially joining the band—he had no intention of rotting away in a damp tent.
Taking advantage of a short lull between operations, Leon attached himself to a small supply run heading into the civilian magical world.
Slipping away from the older poachers as soon as they crossed the concealment wards into London, Leon made his way toward the legendary alleyway he had only ever read about or seen in distant memories.
The moment he stepped through the brick archway behind the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley, Leon froze.
For two long, brutal years, his entire perception of magic had been defined by mud, blood, iron cages, and dark spells cast under the cover of night.
But now, bathed in the warm afternoon sunlight, the wizarding world unfolded before him in all its vibrant, whimsical splendor.
Cobblestone streets stretched out beneath towering, crooked medieval storefronts that leaned against each other.
Owls swooped lazily between chimney pots, brass telescopes glittered in bay windows, and colorful banners fluttered in the breeze.
Self-knitting scarves worked tirelessly outside haberdasheries, while young children chased enchanted brass toy dragons that puffed harmless rings of purple smoke into the air.
For the first time since his reincarnation, the heavy, stoic mask Leon wore every single day slipped completely.
A broad, genuine smile broke across his face, and his blue eyes shone with unfiltered wonder.
He wasn’t a captive, a child soldier, or an assassin in training.
He was just a young wizard taking in the sheer magic of it all.
“So this is the good side…” Leon murmured, breathing in the scent of warm pastries and old wood.
His first stop was pure, unadulterated indulgence.
Guided by the rich scents wafting through the alley, Leon gravitated toward a charming outdoor tea shop nestled near the central plaza.
Floating oak tables drifted smoothly through the air, adjusting their height to match the patrons, while polished brass teapots flew gently overhead, pouring steaming cups of tea with practiced precision.
As he approached, a plump, middle-aged witch with a cheerful smile and a bright yellow apron stepped out from behind the counter.
Her eyes crinkled warmly as she took in the young boy standing before her.
“Welcome, dear!” she greeted him, her voice bubbling with kindness.
“A table for one today?”
“Yes, please,” Leon replied, giving her a genuine smile.
With a wave of her wand, a small round table drifted over and settled comfortably in a sunny spot.
She handed him a thick parchment menu whose glowing gold lettering shifted playfully across the page.
Left alone for a moment, Leon opened the menu—and paused.
His mind, usually tuned for survival and danger, was utterly overwhelmed by the sheer ridiculousness of magical gastronomy.
The options rolled before his eyes like an enchanted feast: Glittering Sunburst Scones that glowed softly in the mouth, Self-Baking Treacle Tarts that stayed perpetually warm, Peppermint Toads that actually hopped across the plate before being eaten, and Cloud-Cream Pastries that floated if you didn’t bite them fast enough.
When the witch returned a few minutes later, notepad and quill floating at her shoulder, she chuckled softly at the expression of intense, serious concentration on the boy’s face.
“Decided yet, love?” she asked pleasantly.
Leon looked up, abandoning his usual stoic demeanor with a light, sheepish grin.
“Honestly? I want to try everything. But let’s start with a plate of the color-shifting fruit tarts, a pair of warm cloud-cream pastries, and a tall, bubbling glass of Fizzing Whizbee cider.”
The witch blinked, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise before she let out a hearty laugh.
‘My, what a little sweet tooth!’ she thought to herself, charmed by the boy’s surprisingly massive appetite.
It was rare to see a kid order enough sugar to power a small village, yet he did it with such polite composure.
“Coming right up, dear! Keep an eye on those pastries, they like to float away if you get distracted,” she winked, hurrying back toward the kitchen.
When the tray arrived, Leon didn’t hesitate.
He picked up a warm, flaky tart that shimmered from deep crimson to soft gold under the sunlight.
As he bit into it, the pastry burst with a flavor that subtly shifted with every chew—starting as sweet, spiced cinnamon, melting into crisp green apple, and finishing with a hint of wild blackberry.
Leon let out a long, deeply appreciative sigh, closing his eyes for a moment just to savor it.
After two years of tough dried meat, cold rations, and murky water in the wilderness, this was pure bliss.
He spent over an hour at that floating table, slowly devouring his treats and sipping the fizzy cider that made him feel weightless.
From his sunny perch, he watched a street performance in the plaza, where a troupe of enchanted brass statues executed a flawless, breathtaking ballet to the music of a self-playing harp.
For sixty uninterrupted minutes, he simply sat back, relaxing into the warm afternoon, enjoying a world where no one was trying to bleed or kill him.