Chapter 15: The End of the Foul-Mouthed Bastard

The white guy didn't leave the kitchen.

That's what Tommy told Allen. Although the two couldn't communicate in complex ways, Tommy could still express his meaning through actions and gestures.

But the question remained: how were they supposed to catch that guy?

What was certain, however, was that whoever that guy was, he was still thinking about Tommy—the crow—because Tommy's feathers were now all fluffed up, making him look round, puffy, and surprisingly cute.

Allen picked up Tommy and carried him out of the kitchen, heading toward his room.

Tommy remained on edge the entire way, nervously scanning his surroundings. He looked left and right, paranoid that something might suddenly leap out and eat him.

Once they were back in the room, Allen set the jittery Tommy next to the cage—but deliberately didn't shut the cage door.

Tommy panicked at this and immediately raised his claws in an attempt to shut the door himself, cawing anxiously as he flapped his wings.

Allen ignored the display, fiddled with the setup for a moment, placed a small button-like object next to the cage, and turned away, walking to the windowsill.

Suddenly, a pure white, furry head poked up from the floor.

It was a mink—or more precisely, a snow-white marten—lying flat against the ground. Its eyes shifted rapidly, glancing toward Allen on the windowsill, who was busy with something. Then, without hesitation, the marten turned its attention to Tommy in the cage.

It crept toward the cage silently. Its snow-white fur made it highly visible, yet it somehow carried no presence at all. Tommy could sense danger approaching, but no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't actually see the threat.

When the marten finally reached the underside of the table, it didn't hesitate any longer. With a quick burst of movement, it lunged toward the cage, trying to squeeze inside and snatch Tommy.

Tommy let out a terrified cry.

Just then, the button Allen had placed earlier beside the cage twisted and instantly unfurled into a wide, leafy mouth.

A biting cabbage.

And naturally, biting cabbages bite.

The moment it sensed something approaching, the cabbage reacted instinctively, clamping down with its leafy jaws—biting straight into the marten's hind leg.

The marten, quick and clever as it was, hadn't anticipated an attack from underneath. The biting cabbage had chomped its leg before it had a chance to dodge, sinking its leafy teeth deep into the snowy fur.

The marten tried to flee, scrambling to dive into the floor in panic. But the biting cabbage refused to let go. Even though the marten had the ability to phase through solid materials, it couldn't shake off the stubborn cabbage now stuck to its leg.

That slight hesitation sealed its fate.

A hand reached down and grabbed it by the neck with ease.

"Oh, a… snow ferret?" Allen looked at the squirming, snow-white creature he'd caught and instinctively assumed it was a familiar magical animal.

But a moment later, his Eye of Analysis kicked in, feeding him data:

[Marten]

Hunting Level: 12

Special Abilities: Breath Concealment – C, Material Shuttle – B

Food Characteristics: Tender meat, stimulating smell, magical enrichment – E−

The hunting level typically correlated with a creature's overall strength, though it could also reflect unique skills or characteristics. For instance, Allen—who had only recently begun learning first-year Hogwarts spells—had a hunting level of 14, even though he hadn't mastered any offensive magic yet. His level came largely from magical potential and versatility.

So, although this marten had a hunting level of 12 and primarily stealth-based abilities, it appeared weak on the surface. Still, high-level magical creatures were highly valuable as food. The higher the hunting level, the more magical enhancement points Allen could gain from consuming them.

"Marten, huh?" Allen murmured, trying to recall if he'd read anything useful about this species. His mind drew a blank, so he turned and grabbed a book from his shelf.

It was the essential textbook Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander—a required read for all first-year students at Hogwarts, even though Care of Magical Creatures wouldn't officially begin until third year.

Flipping through the pages, Allen quickly found the entry on martens. There was even a detailed illustration of one just like the creature he held in his hand.

"Hmm… magical beasts forbidden for sale. That's odd. What's a creature like this doing in the Leaky Cauldron?"

Allen smiled faintly, his eyes crinkling as he looked at the page. The way his brows curved gave him the look of a cartoon emoji—comically amused, with a hint of menace.

Clearly, whoever owned this marten wouldn't dare come forward. After all, if it was an illegal magical animal, losing it was probably the least of their worries. They wouldn't want anyone to trace it back to them.

Which meant…

Allen glanced at the snow-white marten still caught in his grasp. Its struggling had grown weaker. Despite its powerful stealth and escape abilities, its physical strength was roughly equivalent to a regular ferret. There was no way it could resist Allen's hold.

Noticing Allen's cold gaze, the little marten raised its head and, in a flash, changed its demeanor—putting on a wide-eyed, pitiful expression, trying to appear innocent.

"Let me go, you big idiot!" the marten suddenly shouted, completely shattering the illusion.

Allen's expression froze. He stared at the creature in stunned silence.

Then he glanced back at the book again.

"You're capable of speaking human language… and you chose not to?" he said coldly.

"What are you staring at, you idiot?" the marten snapped back, clearly eager to insult someone even on the brink of death.

Allen's smile faded, and a dangerous coldness settled into his features.

He might not know who this little guy belonged to, but the fact that it had gone after Tommy meant Allen had every right to retaliate.

It wasn't even about whether the marten was clean or not. Its very presence was a threat to his pet. That alone justified whatever happened next.

And besides—its unknown owner definitely wouldn't want any trouble. If Allen just quietly handled the matter himself, no one would ever know.

He looked at the cursing, struggling marten still clamped in his grip and raised an eyebrow.

"You tried to hurt Tommy. That makes you dinner."

"What?! You psycho! You can't—" the marten started to yell, but Allen had already turned away and began preparations.

He pulled a small iron pot from the cupboard, setting it on the stove with an eerie calm.

"Oh, don't worry. I've got a recipe just for you," Allen said lightly, flipping through the back of the magical beasts cookbook.

The marten continued to thrash, but its fate was sealed.

It screamed a few more foul curses at Allen—language that would've made even a banshee blush—but Allen didn't even flinch.

"You know," Allen mused, "you're kind of like a foul-mouthed mushroom. Cute on the outside, but absolutely toxic inside."

He paused.

"But mushrooms are still edible. And you…"

He gave the marten one last look.

"…You're delicious."

Tommy watched from the safety of the cage, eyes wide, still a bit panicked but visibly relieved. The biting cabbage had gone back to its dormant state beside the cage, twitching contentedly like a pet that had just done a good job.

The last words from the marten—uttered between clenched teeth—were a string of insults, curses, and unfinished threats.

Then, silence.

Allen closed the pot lid and turned on the heat.

The kitchen filled with the smell of sizzling meat, tinged faintly with a metallic sweetness and an undercurrent of wild herbs.

Tommy fluffed up again, half in fear and half in satisfaction.

Allen turned and gave him a small wave.

"Dinner will be ready soon."