Chapter 1261: Bat and Viper_2

Yes.

The status of bats in this place is comparable to the owls of Hogwarts. Outside a shop named “Night Wing,” dozens of cages are hanging.

The bats in the cages come in diverse forms.

There are giant bats with wingspans like eagles, capable of carrying heavy loads during flight; pitch-black bats with fiery red eyes called “Blood-Eyed Bats” said to have night vision for miles; and petite “Sound Wave Bats” capable of emitting directional sound waves for reconnaissance or expelling foes.

“Get a ‘Messenger Bat’!” The shopkeeper called out, “Three times faster than owls and can navigate through vents, immune to a warlord’s aerial spells!”

“Malawi Messenger Bat, quick speed, excellent nocturnal flight concealment, superb navigation skills! Guaranteed training!” Another stall owner shouted loudly.

A hefty creature was grooming its fur on his shoulder, occasionally emitting a subtle ultrasonic chirp.

“Looks like there are quite a few pet sellers here, not dedicated shops.” Ian stopped for a moment. In Europe, owls are the symbol of magical messengers, tame and loyal. Here, bats are the mainstream — they are better suited to the rainforest environment, more agile, and more “combat-ready.”

This again proves the survival philosophy of the African Magic World: practicality over tradition.

Ian also noticed the sale of a species dubbed “Golden Striped Bats,” smaller-sized bats known for their gentle temperament and extremely sharp sense of smell, used by some wizards to locate specific magical medicinal ingredients.

Absolutely.

Just like Hogwarts also has cats and toads. Besides bats, he saw some stalls selling other unique pets: baskets filled with vibrantly colored venomous snakes.

The stall owner claimed they are tamed for home protection.

In addition, there were cages containing “Warning Lizards” with buzzing tails, and even “Dream-Eating Tapir” cubs reportedly capable of devouring nightmares.

“This creature looks like a small warthog with a long snout.” Ian found it somewhat amusing. As he continued, he passed by a “Magic Potion Shop,” its sign depicting a melting human head.

The potion shop had distinctive features. Aside from the usual array of herbs and animal organs, Ian saw a plethora of dried insects, scorpions, snake sheddings, and various oddly colored bubbling viscous liquids with names like “Crocodile Power Potion,” “Cheetah Agility Potion,” and “Earth Wolf Courage Essence,” names full of wild vitality.

The scent in the air was also more complex and… pungent, shelves crowded with bizarre jars — Voodoo Doll Powder made from enemy hair and ashes, for remotely inflicting curses, and potions granting temporary leopard speed and claws with the risk of permanent beast transformation.

One can only say.

The safety of these potions clearly isn’t prioritized here.

Very wild indeed.

Unlike Professor Snape’s utterly rigorous potion chamber, these potions resemble “battle supplies,” favoring immediate effects with little regard for long-term consequences.

Even more difficult to appraise than Knockturn Alley.

Because in Ian’s view, these potions aren’t quite mature, thus his interest in African potion recipes waned instantly.

“Let’s check out something else.”

Ian stepped out of the potion shop with magical artifact shops being even more varied. Besides professional Magic Rune Engraving Shops like Master Caleb’s, many sold tribal-style magical items.

Totem-carved masks, dolls adorned with feathers and shells, drums made from animal pelts and bones, and protective talismans of various materials and shapes.

From simple beast teeth to intricate metal pieces, all could be found.

The most unique were the “Magical Prosthetics” hanging at the shop entrance — amputees could purchase artificial limbs embedded with magical mechanisms, some firing fireballs, others discharging electric webs.

“Cyber Magic.”

Ian marveled as he wandered past a “bookstore” named “Ancestral Spirit Bookstore.” The store lacked “Standard Spell” or “Advanced Potion Making.”

“Tribal War History: Using Magic to Fight Against Colonizers,” “Dark Arts Atlas: How to Make Zombie Soldiers,” “Prophecy and Sacrifice: Interpreting the Future with Living People.”

The knowledge here isn’t for exams but survival and combat.

“Tsk tsk, indeed, the academic learning style doesn’t trend here at all.” Ian continued forward, sighing. Diagon Alley is the “Civilized Showcase” of the Magic World, exquisite, orderly, and scholarly. Whereas this market is the magic “Frontline Base,” rugged, direct, tinged with the scent of blood and fire.

Ian even discovered a store specializing in Animagus services!

But their focus isn’t on transformation guidance, rather tailoring magic items or armor based on one’s transformed animal shape! Like “Swift Wind” rune-engraved claw gloves for Cheetah Animagus or “Solid” magic rune-imbued forehead armor for Rhino Animagus.

This pragmatic yet feral approach broadened Ian’s horizons.

Of course, he also took note of other Magic Rune Engraving Shops. Indeed, there were a few similar shops in the market, some larger and more luxurious.

Ian explored inside, finding their primary focus on enchanting weapons, armor, and items with magic runes, skilled in their craft, but upon discreetly inquiring about human rune engravings, he received identical replies — only Caleb’s shop performs such engravings.

Quite evident.

Olivander is a one-of-a-kind presence in Diagon Alley, while here, Caleb’s “Magic Rune Artifact” shop, too, is the sole establishment offering “Bone Carving Enlightenment” for children.

Indeed, Master Caleb’s shop in this African market represents an irreplaceable pinnacle in a certain domain, akin to a family monopoly in the industry. Perhaps this is a phenomenon in the Magic Realm, where only one family in a region can guide young wizards onto the magical path.

“Fate is indeed amazing.” Ian murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The first shop he randomly ventured into turned out to be overseen by the master holding the region’s most core and unique skill. Was this pure chance or some higher-level guidance?

He looked up at the market’s dome adorned with twinkling magic light balls, seemingly wanting to discern some predestined pattern. Nevertheless, this African journey yielded far beyond expectations.

He not only pinpointed space-time coordinates, but also found clues to returning home and engaged with a completely different yet profoundly intricate magic system.

Even obtained a precious heritage.

Ian shoved “Secret Bone Text” deeper into his embrace, feeling the heavy weight of knowledge. Now, he needed to find a place to settle down.

“I must thoroughly study this fascinating book while waiting for the information from the merchant Baboua.” The path home might still be long, but the scenery along the way has been extraordinarily captivating.

The beast hide scroll lay quietly in his arms, waiting to be deciphered and passed on.

“Speaking of which, this should rightly be a blend of Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley without such clear-cut distinctions between Dark Arts and White Magic — considered a unique locale.” Ian traversed the bustling African market, night winds carrying herbal, roasted meat, and distant bonfire smoke scents.

The market’s night was not asleep.

Wizards gathered in groups at an open-air tavern exchanging intelligence over palm wine; vendors peddled talismans to repel venomous snakes, ointments for enhanced night vision; and a few children sat around an elderly Witch Doctor listening to tales of the “Battle between Thunder God and Ancestral Spirit,” a story interwoven with real magic knowledge.

“This is somewhat interesting indeed.”

Ian passed a stall selling “Soul Lanterns” — made from hollowed-out animal skulls, containing faint ghosts to automatically expel evil spirits. He also saw a couple divining at a “Destiny Stone,” where the stone surface revealed not the future but the two’s intertwined bloodline totem.

None of these fascinated Ian.

He ultimately found a small shop named “Tree Shadow Inn” at the edge of the market. The inn was converted from giant baobabs, rooms carved out within tree trunks, connected by vine bridges, roofed with waterproof giant leaves. An elderly Night Watcher sat at the entrance.

The man played low melodies on a bone flute, repelling nighttime pests.

“Any vacant rooms?” Ian asked.

The Night Watcher lifted his gaze to assess him, noticing his robe was old yet tidy and lacking any bad aura, nodded: “Yes, ‘Calm Heart House,’ fifty copper coins for three nights.”

This side has its currency system too.

Ian paid, the Night Watcher handed him a bone key, pointing to the furthest tree: “Top floor, third room on the left. Candle flame in the pot, water in the urn, don’t drink from the well — there’s voodoo in there.”

This warning left Ian a bit perplexed.

There’s black magic in the inn.

Surely, a place wild enough.