"Drink, aren't you thirsty at all?"
Of course, Grindelwald was thirsty.
But this was pumpkin juice—from Blake.
"Ah… Master Blake, no need. I feel fine. Thank you for the potion," Grindelwald politely declined.
"Don't worry! Your constipation should be gone by now. Here—pumpkin juice to rehydrate!"
All eyes turned to Grindelwald.
He froze.
With Blake personally offering the drink, refusal would seem rude—maybe even suspicious.
If he refused again, it would look like he was trying to hide something.
Exposed.
"…Thank you, then," Grindelwald murmured, accepting the glass and downing it.
It did quench his thirst. Still, he knew his stomach was doomed.
He remembered the earlier disaster vividly and choked on the memory.
Bolton, watching from the crowd, nodded when he saw "Bart" drink. He'd been suspicious earlier when Bart hesitated with the juice, even prepared to attack if things looked off.
But now? All good. Clearly, the old man still respected Master Blake.
Look at those teary eyes after drinking Blake's personally offered juice!
"You go rest now," Blake said, motioning Grindelwald aside.
Grindelwald shuffled away, face bitter.
Blake fought the urge to laugh.
Actually, there was nothing wrong with this batch of pumpkin juice. Grindelwald's "treasure chest" had already been emptied for the day—no more need for laxatives.
Blake wasn't that cruel.
"Alright, everyone," Blake began. "I believe Old Lepp has convinced you—"
Old Lepp raised his hand.
"Yes?" Blake asked.
"I've been training lately," Old Lepp said. "And I'd like to test my skills against you, Master Blake. Just to see how far I've come."
"Oh? You want to duel me?" Blake asked with a smile.
"Exactly," Lepp replied, his gaze steady despite the drunken haze.
The crowd stirred. Was this a challenge?
"Mr. Lepp, maybe that's not a good idea," Bolton said cautiously.
They had just witnessed Old Lepp's terrifying strength. But Blake, talented as he was, was still a teenager.
There was no way he could match Lepp.
"Mr. Lepp, we respect you, but that doesn't mean you can replace Master Blake," another added.
It was clear: even if Blake lost, their loyalty wouldn't shift.
But Old Lepp didn't react—his eyes stayed on Blake.
"Alright, I accept!" Blake agreed.
"Master Blake—" Bolton started.
"Relax. I'm stronger than you think."
Blake understood Lepp's intention: this wasn't rebellion. Lepp was helping him.
Lepp, unaware of the system helping Blake win over these people, simply thought a display of dominance was needed to solidify Blake's authority.
Blake appreciated it—and also welcomed the challenge. His hands were itching for a good duel.
Plus, he hadn't raided all their treasure chests yet.
And he couldn't exactly explain the system directory to everyone…
Lepp, hearing Blake's acceptance, turned serious.
This duel had to look real. Half measures could get him fried—literally.
"Please wait, Master Blake," Lepp said, and began suiting up in his flashy alchemy gear.
The crowd groaned.
Challenging a teenager was bad enough. Now armor?
Noticing the looks, Lepp grinned. "You don't understand. If I don't wear this, I might die."
Blake sighed. The old man made it sound like he wouldn't hold back.
Still… if he was ready to be fried…
Maybe Blake could go a little harder?
No! He was one of Blake's people.
What if he broke something?
A few moments later, fully geared, Old Lepp faced Blake.
Tension surged.
This time, Lepp's magical pressure was even more oppressive than before.
Bolton realized the horrifying truth—Lepp had held back in their earlier duel.
He'd been proud to have torn Lepp's sleeve. Now? Just embarrassed.
He glanced nervously at Blake.
But Blake stood calm, smiling, unmoved. His robe didn't even flutter.
Was Lepp faking?
Then— CRACK!
BOOM!
A wave of magical pressure slammed into the crowd, forcing everyone back.
In the center of the field, lightning crackled from Blake's hand, clashing with Lepp's glowing red spell.
Arcane sparks shot in all directions.
Everyone stepped back again.
"DEAR MERLIN—!"
"So intense!"
"I thought Lepp was holding back—"
Bolton muttered, "The one holding back… is Master Blake."
Doubt rippled through the crowd.
Then—a tear appeared in Lepp's enchanted robe.
An arc had pierced it cleanly.
"BANG!"
Another explosion—one of Lepp's enchanted devices blew apart.
His hair stood on end, frizzed and smoking.
"Horrifying…"
"If that were me… I'd be toast…"
BANG!
SNAP!
Piece by piece, Lepp's armor erupted.
"Alright, alright!" Lepp raised his hands. "At least leave me a pair of pants—I give up!"
BOOM!
The final blast shredded the last of his equipment.
Lepp grabbed a strip of cloth and tied it around his waist, barely decent.
From the sidelines, Grindelwald watched in awe.
No, he wasn't staring at the old man's exposed backside—he was stunned by Lepp's strength.
He already knew how monstrous Blake was—he'd seen the vampire incident.
But Lepp? This was the first he'd seen of him.
And Lepp was clearly in the same league as Dumbledore and Grindelwald himself.
Grindelwald exhaled. If Blake were ever taken down a peg, this old man could still keep things running.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
They hadn't been able to scratch Lepp. Now Blake had left him in rags.
Sweet revenge.
Lepp, still grinning despite his state, felt the plan had worked.
Blake gave a small nod and pointed his wand at Lepp.
A new robe appeared instantly, wrapping him.
"Your gear was too rough," Blake said. "Looked uncomfortable. I'll make you a new set."
"Really? Hahaha!" Lepp beamed, snot bubbling with joy.
A new set of alchemy equipment—from Blake himself!
Jackpot.
Lepp knew how insanely talented his young master was in alchemy.
Blake added, "Also, follow up on Agatha's commission. I'm curious. And assign some tasks to the others."
"Absolutely!" Lepp agreed happily.
Elsewhere, Cassandra prepared tea.
"Sweetheart," Mr. Warley said solemnly, "Blake's not a serious young man. Dating multiple girls at once? He's too carefree! You can't be his only one…"
Cassandra silently boiled water, ignoring him.
Mrs. Warley gestured to her.
Cassandra lifted her wand and pointed to her ear. "Mom? What's wrong?"
"Dear, the porridge is ready."
"Alright, I'll serve it."
Mr. Warley watched Cassandra rush off.
"She… she had a muffling charm on the whole time!?"
"So I've been talking for thirty minutes and she didn't hear a word!?"
He looked heartbroken.
"My daughter doesn't want to listen to me anymore…"
Mrs. Warley rolled her eyes. "You've been nagging for half an hour. I'd block you too!"
"But… I just worry. Our daughter's beautiful and kind, and Blake—he's too wild! I can't stand it!"
"My dear," Mrs. Warley said gently. "Blake never said he was dating Cassandra. She said they're just friends."
"No such thing!" Mr. Warley snapped. "No pure friendship exists between men and women! That's a lie!"
Mrs. Worley's eyes narrowed.
"Oh really? Then what about you and Mrs. Phils? You said you were just friends."
"I—well—we are—just friends—"
"But you just said pure friendship is impossible! So?"
"Wait, no—"
"YOU LYING SCOUNDREL!"
"I didn't—! You're misunderstanding—!"
Mr. Worley's plan to protect his daughter had backfired spectacularly.
=============
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