Chapter 1058 - 145: The Pact
Abigail’s expression faltered for a moment.
Fontana...
It’s Agilbert Fontaine, the headmaster of Iphamoni.
When she was young, she joined the Scourers, harboring an unresolvable hatred and bitterness, determined to kill all the wizards in the world!
But when she was eleven, she received an invitation from Iphamoni.
Abigail stubbornly intended to refuse, but her mentor persuaded her to accept.
"Serra, you must enter their world, learn their knowledge, master their magic... become one of their best."
The mentor gazed into her eyes and said in a deep voice:
"Only in this way can you grasp the power to restrain them, find their most fatal weakness!"
"This is not betrayal, Serra, it’s the highest form of sacrifice and revenge!"
"You must also bring back the wizard’s knowledge to us, so that future children do not need to be like you... suppressing their own personality, enduring hatred and resentment, humbling yourself to please the enemies..."
"I’m sorry, Serra. I hate that I’m not a wizard; otherwise, I truly wish to endure this pain for you."
She was convinced, her tears replaced by a cold determination, she packed her bags and followed the professor who came to pick her up to the school she hated.
While at Iphamoni, Serra wasn’t particularly close to Headmaster Fontana, and she always felt out of place with her classmates.
Because every minute of leisure time, Serra Abigail was busy transcribing library books, sending spells she didn’t quite understand back to the Scourers’ base.
Yet she felt clearly that the boarding life was far better than she expected, those peaceful, leisurely, laughter-filled days were a precious gem in her clouded memories.
Once, while Abigail was sitting alone in the corner, swiftly transcribing "Advanced Transfiguration," she suddenly noticed someone standing by her side.
As she looked up, she saw the face of Headmaster Fontana.
At that moment, the girl felt like a deer targeted by a hunter, her whole body stiff and motionless, convinced she was already dead.
But Headmaster Fontana just smiled and said, "Beautiful handwriting, Miss Abigail."
"You... you know me?" The girl was so nervous that her voice trembled.
"Of course, a child as hardworking as you would be noticed by anyone."
Headmaster Fontana said, "As a professor, I’m proud of you."
"But I also must say... child, sometimes you should lift your eyes from the books for a while, look at the sky outside, try to understand your noisy classmates."
"These dull words and symbols are not everything, if you keep your head down and rush ahead, you’ll miss all the scenery along the way. You might even unknowingly... lose yourself."
...
"Ring-ring-ring..."
A shrill bell suddenly rang, interrupting Abigail’s memories.
She adjusted her posture and found that everyone seemed not to notice her drifting off once again.
Bloren and Stern were originally discussing an action plan, but when the phone rang, both of them stopped speaking simultaneously and turned to the old-fashioned phone with serious expressions.
Rolando Stern picked up the phone, and before he could speak, a hurried and flustered voice came through:
"Mr. Bloren, Mr. Stern! Something’s happened! Our import and export company is being shut down by the IRS, the items you wanted won’t be delivered this week! We might not even be able to keep them!"
Stern’s pupils constricted sharply, he quickly asked, "How could the IRS..."
"Heard there was a report!" the person urgently said on the other end, "Sorry, I have to hang up."
Stern held the receiver, his gaze heavy as he looked at leader Bloren.
"I hope this is just a coincidence," he said in a dry voice, "and not the Witch Pure Party discovering our connection with the Aurora Import and Export Company."
Bloren frowned and said, "You must be overthinking. How could the Witch Pure Party use such a method? They’re not even American, they wouldn’t understand..."
"Ring-ring-ring..."
"Ring-ring-ring..."
"Ring-ring-ring..."
Before Bloren could finish speaking and while Stern was still holding the receiver, several other phones emitted sharp, loud rings.
"Leader, the IRS is accusing us of money laundering and tax fraud..."
"...the accounts have been frozen by the IRS!"
"They discovered we submitted false tax returns..."
"The person in charge was taken away by agents, heard the Long Island transport ship was detained by the Coast Guard..."
Not only Bloren and the others, but even the Alchemist Illari, always sitting in the corner, deeply consumed by otherworldly affairs, raised his head in confusion. The tool in his hand dropped to the ground, making a clear sound.
Finally, someone provided the reason.
"Listen, this is my last call to you."
The person on the other end said in despair, "The executives are like crazy, unexpectedly took the initiative to report to the IRS! They handed over the company and their own most fatal secrets to the IRS themselves!"
"I’ll surely spend the rest of my life in federal prison, I reckon you won’t be far off! After years of collaboration, I only have one piece of advice for you—"
"Go to hell, you bastards!"
"Click!"
The phone was forcefully hung up, Bloren slowly raised his head, the light from the gas lamp cast deep shadows across his face.
"Imperio... or some advanced mental technique."
He squeezed out this sentence through clenched teeth, "Truly impressive, Witch Pure Party! Overnight, they’ve achieved what the Magic Congress hasn’t accomplished in a hundred years!"
His expression twisted, looking extremely terrifying.
"Leader..." Abigail said softly.
"Leave," Bloren quickly regained composure, and said expressionlessly, "Let me be alone."
The group glanced at each other, then stood up at Stern’s gesture and left.
A few seconds passed, Bloren watched the door close, the sound of dripping water magnified infinitely in the open space.
Then he reached into his inner pocket and took out a Communication Pea.
As soon as the communication connected, he hastily said, "We had an agreement... I need an explanation!"
The person on the other side paused, confused, "Agreement about what?"
Bloren: "..."
His eyes flashed dangerously in the dark, suppressing his anger, "We had an understanding, Ms. Picquery! I control those restless flames, eliminate the radical ones, handle your inconvenient dirty work, you provide me assurance!"
"Oh, you’re talking about this... Haven’t you been protected?" Laira Picquery’s light laughter came, "For so many years, your ’small business,’ have we ever set up obstacles?"