The internal agency auction, though fiercely competitive, was conducted with incredible efficiency, with all major deals finalized by the end of the evening banquet.
Alan walked away with orders for 73,000 Galleons worth of alchemy tools. The 20% deposits alone brought in nearly 15,000 Galleons in liquid cash, while agency fees—though a smaller portion—added another 8,000 Galleons of pure profit. Simultaneously, he secured the British distribution rights for high-demand items like magic cameras, weather blankets, and expanded magic tents. With the exception of flying carpets, which the Ministry would likely restrict to protect the domestic broom industry, Alan now controlled the British pipeline for the mainstream alchemy products of the international wizarding world.
Director Bianca, observing from the sidelines, was completely numb. Hearing these alchemists toss around tens of thousands of Galleons made her brain short-circuit. She confirmed once again that Alan and his Silver Lightning Trading Company were truly becoming the "benefactors" of the British Ministry of Magic. This trade agreement was going to be far bolder than anyone had imagined.
After the banquet, Alan returned to his room and immediately sent an overnight letter to Kiki, instructing her to fire up every lathe in the underground workshop. For the foreseeable future, his factory would be operating at maximum capacity.
The next day, the International Alchemy Conference officially began. Over three days, it would present awards and host academic exchanges on the latest spells, runes, and materials. On the first day, Alan was awarded the "International Alchemy Conference Pioneering Contribution Gold Award."
To Alan, the process was somewhat tedious—walking on stage, receiving a trophy, and giving a speech felt like receiving a "student of the month" award in primary school. However, to the audience, Alan was a figure of immense prestige. They saw a dignified young wizard achieving an honor not seen at that age since Dumbledore. Reporters flocked to him, knowing that while a dry academic lecture on rune theory wouldn't sell papers, a story about the youngest gold medalist in history certainly would.
Alan spent the following days listening to the masters' lectures with genuine interest. These complex theories, which sounded like gibberish to most, were treasures to him. This was less fun for Mavis and the other witches, who understood nothing but had to remain on-site as security. Director Bianca had quietly slipped away after the ceremony, claiming he needed to meet the other Directors arriving for the trade talks.
As evening approached on the day of the trap, the ladies finished their headache-inducing sessions and began discussing dinner plans. However, when they went to find Alan, he had already vanished. Only a bored Mavis and Vanessa, and a frowning, thoughtful Aseria remained.
Around 9 PM, the Thunderbird materialized in the Eb-Sawai Mountains, radiating a murderous aura. He surveyed the clearing, his mind set on giving Alan a "surprise" he would never forget. He still felt the sting of humiliation from their last encounter and decided to use his full power from the start to disintegrate the boy's resistance. He didn't think he was underestimating the brat; he acknowledged Alan's skill, but believed that without his "underhanded tricks," the boy had no chance of parrying a true master.
"Arrogant Alan, tonight I will show you true despair..." the Thunderbird muttered, his voice thick with resentment.
Suddenly, his face darkened. A familiar, sickening feeling rose from beneath his boots.
"Boom!"
A deafening roar erupted as the ground beneath the Thunderbird's feet shattered. It was a terrifying tremor—one he wished never to experience again. His figure was instantly engulfed by a violent explosion that lasted several seconds, tossing dust and debris dozens of meters into the air. The tremor could be felt for kilometers.
When the smoke finally cleared, the Thunderbird's ferocious face emerged. Like last time, he was enveloped in a crimson spherical shield, but this time the light was dim and the color distribution was uneven. The shield had buckled under the intensity of the blast. While his external injuries weren't as severe as the first time—showing his reactions had improved—the blood flowing from his ears and nose revealed significant internal trauma.
"Alan!" The Thunderbird screamed, bloody tears dripping from his eyes. He realized someone had leaked the plan. Was it Sphinx or Aseria? He quickly suspected the latter, but he didn't have time to ponder.
A crescent-shaped blade of energy shot out from behind him. It was faintly visible, resembling the *Sectumsempra* Alan had used before, but this "sword qi" was longer, flickering with blue-silver electric arcs.
"You finally show yourself, you coward!" Infuriated by the ambush on top of the explosion, the Thunderbird roared and summoned a fierce blue Fiendfyre. The flames transformed into a massive tiger that bit the incoming energy blade into pieces and pounced toward Alan with surging power.
Alan faced the beast with cold eyes. He held Eclipse and walked forward. His pace accelerated—from a walk to a jog, and then into a full sprint. A year ago, he would have run from blue Fiendfyre. Now, he didn't flinch.
He gripped his sword with both hands, the blade erupting with dazzling blue-silver light. With a powerful downward swing, a massive arc of electricity split the Fiendfyre tiger clean in half. Without breaking his stride, Alan flourished the blade, sending several more silver-flickering energy blades—enhanced versions of *Sectumsempra*—directly at the Thunderbird.
The Thunderbird was stunned. How could this boy face Fiendfyre head-on? And why were the magic fluctuations from that sword so astonishing? The intensity of Alan's magic was far beyond what it had been a year ago. It was as if he had undergone a complete transformation.