Three days ago…
It was an unusually bright day, and the marble pillars at the entrance of Morgan Bank gleamed under the sun, reflecting soft waves of light as if the building itself was alive, breathing with an unspoken power. Mr. Mark Depp adjusted his tie nervously, squinting against the glare. His gaze lingered on the bank's grand entrance, a mix of anxiety and resentment swirling within him.
The truth gnawed at him. It was Ivan who had put him in this situation. With Ivan holding onto the missing pieces of the cement formula, Mr. Depp's fate now felt frustratingly tethered to the whims of another. All his life savings had been siphoned away, entrusted to Ivan for a promise of prosperity that now seemed to be slipping away. Without enough dollars, his career was on the verge of stagnation, and the elusive promotion he dreamed of looked further away than ever.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and was just about to step inside when a strange shiver coursed through his body. A cold, prickling sensation, like the touch of unseen eyes. And then, he heard it; a voice, low and hoarse, calling his name.
"Mark Depp."
He spun around, heart pounding. Standing there was a middle-aged man in a loose, black trench coat, his face unreadable. Beside him was a freckled red-haired boy, looking down and clutching his hands nervously. The man's eyes didn't linger on Mr. Depp. Instead, he focused on a piece of paper in his hand, as though Mr. Depp was merely a stop along the way.
"Do you know where Ivan went?" the man asked, his voice like gravel scraping across stone.
Mr. Depp's mind raced. This man knew Ivan. Was he from a rival company? Someone else who'd caught wind of the cement formula? Keeping his face carefully blank, Mr. Depp replied, "I don't know. He left the company two days ago. He's been missing since."
The man tilted his head slightly, scrutinizing Depp's face before nodding and folding up his list. "Very well," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "You can go."
Mr. Depp blinked, thrown off by the abrupt dismissal. He had expected a longer conversation, perhaps even a confrontation. But the man simply gestured impatiently, clearly done with him. Mr. Depp nodded hastily, mumbling a quick goodbye before backing away, feeling a mix of relief and unease.
As he retreated, he couldn't help but glance back. The man was now speaking quietly to the red-haired boy beside him, his tone thoughtful yet detached. "It seems this city holds little else for us," he murmured.
The boy, William; a young but promising 4D wizard, known as "Perfumer" in certain circles, lowered his gaze, shivering slightly under the man's presence. Draped around the man's neck, barely visible under his trench coat, were three small clay figurines. Their faces contorted in expressions of torment, and if one looked closely, those faces appeared to shift subtly, as if locked in eternal agony.
"What are we to do next?" William asked, his voice barely a whisper, an edge of fear betraying him.
The man, known only as "The Potter," a B-level wizard feared for his strength and unyielding cruelty, regarded the boy with a faint smile. "We keep looking, William. For those with… delusional tendencies." He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down William's spine.
William swallowed, forcing himself to ask, "What about me?"
The Potter's eyes glinted with a predatory light as he handed a folded piece of paper to the boy. "I have a different task for you, William. Can you find this man?"
William unfolded the paper to reveal a name: Ivan. His throat tightened as he read it. "Ivan… the Russian guy?" he asked, panic creeping into his voice. "But… there are many wizards with strange tendencies. Why chase after someone who's already fled the city?"
The Potter's smile widened, thin and chilling. "Because, if I'm correct, he might be our 'introduction.' Ivan is important, more than you know. Remember this: you don't need to understand why. You just need to obey."
The words were a warning. William knew better than to question further. In just two days of serving under the Potter, he had witnessed enough to know the price of defiance. He lowered his head, voice trembling, "I… I understand. I'll find him."
The Potter's expression didn't change. Without a word, he reached into his coat and withdrew an old, tattered book. Its cover was a faded maroon, stained with age and dust. He handed it to William. "When you locate him, use this to contact me. Write on it, and I'll know."
William clutched the book, nodding obediently. He could feel the weight of it, both literal and metaphorical, as if the book held secrets far heavier than its pages.
The Potter's gaze shifted, his attention turning inward as if already plotting his next steps. "I've lingered in this city long enough. It's time to move on."
He took a few steps, then paused, casting a final, lingering look over his shoulder. His eyes bore into William, cold and unyielding. "Remember, William," he said softly, his voice deadly calm. "Never even think of betraying me."
The threat was implicit, unmistakable. William swallowed hard, nodding fervently. He watched as the Potter turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the throng of pedestrians on the street. Only when the man was fully out of sight did William allow himself to breathe.
He stumbled backward, pressing himself against one of the marble pillars of the bank, feeling the cool stone against his back. He gripped the notebook tightly, heart pounding, his mind reeling from the implications of the task he had just accepted. This was no ordinary mission. He had stepped into a world of dark allegiances and powerful, remorseless figures. He could almost feel the chains tightening around him, binding him to a path he hadn't chosen, one that offered no escape.
In that moment, William understood that he was trapped.
William hesitated, his heart torn between duty and the urge to cling to a fragment of his former life. Again and again, he replayed the instructions he'd received, the weight of the Potter's command pressing down on him like a leaden shackle. But in the end, he chose to turn away, leaving the task unfinished, if only for now. He moved slowly through the city streets, his mind swirling with doubt and regret. He needed to see his parents, to hold onto something familiar; one final grasp at the life he was leaving behind, like a drowning man reaching for a last breath.
…
In a different part of the city, a dossier lay open on a polished oak desk.
[United States Bureau of Investigation Report No. 0115091920]
- Type: Routine Investigation—Plan No. 001
- Region: Newcastle
- Execution Group: 004
- Staff: [Redacted]
- Briefing: Conducted a routine investigation in Bridgewick. The number of wizarding communities in most areas remains stable. Team 004 has filed for an in-depth investigation of Bridgewick. Cross-border incidents in this area were noted, marked as Delta-078, and have been resolved.
- Note: Clues connected to the United States Alpha-04 incident have surfaced in this area and are under review.
Attachments:
1. August 1920 Magnetic Field Activity Report of "Tianyi Star"
2. Bridgewick Area Investigation Report (Delta-078 Incident)
3. Alpha-04 Incident Progress Notes
A man seated behind the desk methodically flipped through the report, absorbing each line with a hawk-like focus.
…
It had been five days since Ivan left town and four since the Potter vanished, leaving Bridgewick in a haze of turmoil. In his office, Jason Schman, known on the streets as the "Brahmin" sat reviewing the state of his empire. To the public, he was an enterprising businessman, one of the most prominent faces in Bridgewick. But those who knew his reputation understood his true business: running the largest casino, brothel, and bootlegging operation in the city, with ambitions to expand into the newly popular tap dance halls.
Three days ago, after witnessing the Potter's terrifying display of power, Jason had relented to the man's demands. He loosened his grip on his gang, lifting the controls that kept them in line. He'd even withdrawn from overseeing operations directly, keeping only a few of his closest allies nearby. The Potter had wanted chaos, and chaos had followed. The members, stripped of their usual hierarchy, had quickly descended into a savage hunt. The news trickling in to Jason was bloody: in just a few days, nearly a dozen wizards had fallen in vicious skirmishes.
But Jason, seasoned and wary, had decided to stay on the sidelines. Let others shed blood for power; he'd wait and see who emerged from the chaos.
A sharp knock on his office door interrupted his thoughts. He frowned, checking his appointment book. No meetings were scheduled today, and few dared to interrupt him unannounced.
"Who is it?" he called out, his voice edged with irritation.
A deep, steady voice replied from the other side, calm but authoritative. "We're investigators from the United States Bureau of Investigation, Mr. Jason Schman. Please cooperate with us."
Jason felt a flicker of relief at hearing his real name. This wasn't a rival wizard looking to claim his head, this was the law, something he could handle. After all, in his world, a problem that could be settled with legal maneuvering was barely a problem at all.
He opened the door and took in the figures standing there. The speaker was a man in his fifties with brown hair and sharp brown eyes, dressed in a no-nonsense trench coat. Two younger agents flanked him. One was a shorter man with a shock of red hair, and the other was a woman with long, dark hair, her eyes keen and unflinching. Jason noted her with mild surprise; female investigators were rare, and this one carried herself with an air of cold resolve.
"I'll cooperate, but I won't say anything without my lawyer present," Jason said smoothly. He'd evaded taxes, dodged regulations, and played his cards right for years. If this was about some financial misstep, his lawyer could make it disappear with a few well-placed words.
But the lead investigator's next words froze the smug expression on Jason's face.
"I don't think you understand, Mr. Schman," he said, voice steady but unyielding. "We have an arrest warrant for the leader of the Bridgewick wizard gang, a 4C-level wizard. That's you, Mr. 'Brahmin'… and you've crossed a line."
The color drained from Jason's face as the realization hit him. This wasn't about taxes or gambling licenses. The Bureau knew. They knew about the wizards, about the gang's darker dealings. This wasn't something his lawyer could smooth over with a loophole or a technicality. This was real, and it was dangerous.
He looked at the agents, his mind racing, calculating possible escapes, but his options were rapidly narrowing. The woman's piercing gaze met his, unwavering, as if daring him to try and talk his way out of this one.
The senior agent produced a set of papers, official, ironclad, impossible to dispute. "Jason Schman," he continued, "you're being detained under suspicion of orchestrating unlawful magical activities and endangering public safety. I'd suggest you come quietly. Any resistance, and we'll have no choice but to use force."
Jason clenched his fists, anger bubbling beneath his shock. The gang warfare, the Potter, his own empire crumbling into chaos, all of it had left him vulnerable. He had hoped to ride out the storm, but now it was clear that his empire, his life, was slipping from his grasp.
The realization sank in, heavy and suffocating. This wasn't a storm he could wait out. He was at the center of it, and it was closing in on him, tightening like a noose.