Chapter 52：Displaying Strength

Allen didn't need to take another look to know that the old man was suspicious.

This was only natural.

Especially for someone who had navigated the Bacha black market for years, it was impossible to easily trust a stranger.

Allen always considered those who disregarded advice from close friends and family but were swayed by the sweet words of a stranger to be fools.

Old classmates or friends who hadn't been in touch for years would definitely have something to ask if they called or messaged.

Much less a stranger. Are you so captivating that they fall in love at first sight? Or are you a universally loved coin?

Failing to understand this would, at best, lead to being deceived, with men losing money and women losing their dignity.

At worst, you could be harvested for organs or sold to remote, lawless regions, where life and death are out of your control, and you'd be enslaved for life.

Wilbur, with his extensive experience, was well aware of various scams and tricks.

Thus, he knew that most scams weren't sophisticated; they simply catered to one's desires.

The Walter in front of him, with an unknown identity, had revealed his secret in a single sentence, likely to unsettle him and then strike.

However, Allen had no intention of wasting time with him.

Seeing the old man's suspicion, Allen didn't hesitate and swiftly moved forward.

His right hand shot out like a dragon's claw, as fast as lightning.

Not even thunder and lightning could match this speed.

His fingers, like sharp claws, instantly gripped Wilbur's throat.

Wilbur's right hand, reaching for the hunting knife on his back, was stopped before it could grasp the hilt, feeling a tight grip on his throat.

A powerful hand had already seized his vital spot.

As Allen's grip tightened, Wilbur felt his breathing become difficult.

His old face turned a purplish-red.

It wasn't just because Allen had choked him, making it hard to breathe, but also because Wilbur, unable to resist, was easily subdued by a youngster.

This humiliation made Wilbur's old face burn with shame.

"Walter... sir, I believe you. Please... let go."

Wilbur struggled to speak. An old fox, faced with an overwhelming force, he submitted smoothly.

Allen nonchalantly released Wilbur, giving him a slight push back into his seat.

"So, do you still want to block my way?"

Hearing the cold question, Wilbur felt as if a giant, irresistible python's cold eyes were staring at him.

The gaze was like ice, freezing his body; the tone was like a cold wind, chilling his soul.

At that moment, Wilbur had only one thought: "An extraordinary occultist!"

The Walter before him, a young man about the same age as his grandson, was definitely an extraordinary being in the occult!

His strength was more than enough to be Wilbur's grandfather.

"Mr. Walter, please forgive my poor eyesight and offense today..." Wilbur began to apologize but then had another thought.

Tortured by pain and the approaching footsteps of death, Wilbur stared at the man before him, like grasping at his last straw.

The words of apology were swallowed, replaced by a new plea, "If you can see my ailment, please help me. Save my life, and you can have anything in this shop."

Allen ignored Wilbur's hopeful gaze. At this point, the initiative was in his hands, and the roles had reversed.

Seeing Walter unmoved, Wilbur's old face changed several times, pondering for a long time, unsure of what this extraordinary stranger wanted.

"Please name your price. If you can save me, I'll give everything I have," Wilbur said sincerely.

"To you, how much is your life worth?" Allen asked.

Wilbur pondered for a moment, then smiled bitterly, sighing, "Priceless."

"If so, what price should you pay? There's no such thing as a free lunch."

Wilbur frowned, struggling for a while, "No free lunch, indeed... I don't know what you want, but just ask. If I can do it, I will."

Allen had already calculated.

Though Wilbur's injuries were severe, for a Plant Mage skilled in medicine, it was not difficult.

Removing the dragon claw embedded in him was beyond Allen's current abilities, as it had fused with his body.

But using potions to prolong his life and delay the injury's effects was easy.

In the short term, Allen could use the Plant Mage's curse, a hallucinogenic, addictive potion, to stimulate Wilbur's vitality, creating the illusion of recovery.

As for the future worsening of his condition, that wasn't Allen's concern. He would have already gotten what he wanted.

However, Allen didn't plan to do that. Meeting Wilbur was a coincidence, but controlling him would be more useful than killing him.

By refining the Plant Mage's Song and purifying it, he could create a healing potion without side effects, suppressing Wilbur's condition.

"I'll save you, and you'll pledge your loyalty to me," Allen said, leaving Wilbur speechless.

He was a servant of the old count and a trusted aide of the second son. In terms of power, this stranger couldn't compare.

But his life was at stake. Without it, wealth and power were meaningless.

Moreover, Wilbur knew that an extraordinary occultist was a different breed entirely.

The old count and the eldest son's beast-taming prowess were unforgettable. An ordinary person couldn't resist an occultist's methods.

And the young man before him was likely a rare mage, one of the three primary occult professions.

Mages were the most mysterious, with endless means, easily controlling an old man like him.

Thinking this, Wilbur felt relieved. At least the man was straightforward about his intentions.

Otherwise, if he took the potion and his condition was suppressed, his life would still be in someone else's hands.

This clarity made it seem more honest.

"Alright. Save my life, and I swear loyalty to you!"