Chapter 1245: The Wizarding World of Africa (Part 2)

Chapter 1245: Chapter 401: The Wizarding World of Africa (Part 2)

It is not an ordinary human tribe.

Nor is it a modern city, but more like a large gathering area retaining rich traditional colors of a tribe, yet mixed with some modern elements like satellite dishes, solar panels, and motorcycles.

The air is filled with complex magic fluctuations, indicating that this place is inhabited by a large number of wizards, belonging to an African wizard community. Totem poles surround the village, engraved with snakes, leopards, eagles, and other totems, inlaid with sparkling gemstones, clearly nodes of defense magic arrays.

In the village, roads are painted with symbols in ashes and bone powder, with smoke from herbs and spices lingering in the air, masking the magic fluctuations. Ian did not venture in recklessly. He found a concealed high ground in the distance, his form blurred, transforming into a pitch-black raven, silently flying over the gathering area.

Using sharp bird eyes to carefully observe below.

Round adobe houses with thatched roofs are mixed with modern brick and stone buildings. Women in traditional tribal robes are drying herbs, while several children chase a magically floating ball. Not far away, some young people are gathered around a worn-out truck, trying to repair it with both magic and wrenches, muttering a mix of Swahili and spells.

Life here is rich and vibrant, just starkly different in style from the British Wizarding World, more rugged, more… down-to-earth. Ian even saw a stall where the vendor was demonstrating to customers how to apply the “Never Jam” and “Precision Blessing” magic on an old AK-47.

The street is narrow and muddy.

People wear traditional robes, don feather or animal bone accessories on their heads, and paint mystical totems on their faces. But what they hold are not just magic staffs but also modified rifles, bows, and arrows.

Some even carry rocket launchers.

This is a society that perfectly merges magic with real-world violence. A stall sells “Cursed Bullets,” claiming to drive one insane upon being hit; another stall sells “Ancestral Spirit Potion,” granting briefly the memory of ancestors upon drinking; there’s a witch doctor performing exorcisms with live chicken sacrifices, chanting ancient spells.

Raven-formed Ian circled a few times, finally locking his gaze on a central stone hall in the village that appeared the oldest, covered with complex colorful patterns.

He observed that occasionally, well-dressed wizards resembling tribe elders or prominent merchants would come before the stone hall, converse briefly with the guards, then touch a certain carved pattern on the outer wall of the ceremonial stone hall, and their figures would blur and disappear.

“Door Key?” Ian realized, “And it’s a Door Key for a fixed location, activated in a specific way. It seems this is the entrance to the African Magic World exchange place.”

He patiently waited for a moment, seized the opportunity when no one was around, and the raven dove down like an arrowhead, swiftly transforming back into human form as he approached the stone hall and simultaneously casting an Illusionary Body Spell.

Imitating those wizards from before, he placed his hand on the specific pattern carved with the shape of a lightning bird. Instantly, a familiar hook-like force tugged strongly at his navel.

Space began to revolve and distort.

A few seconds later, the dizzying sensation vanished. Ian found himself standing in a noisy, crowded, colorful place, but indeed…rather shabby.

It was as shabby as a flea market in a slum.

Yet the atmosphere was completely different.

Wizards here freely conversed, trading magic items, intelligence, and weapons. The air was filled with strong scents of herbs, blood, and gunpowder.

The air was somewhat sweltering, the surroundings extremely noisy, primarily illuminated by floating magic light balls and eternal flames burning in stone basins carved into rock walls on both sides.

The sides of the cave were packed densely with stalls, most of which were run by Black wizards, dressed in tribal costumes, loudly hawking to attract business.

“African Diagon Alley? Even wizards have their own marketplaces.” Ian had already transformed into the appearance of an African person, put on a hood, concealed his form, and quietly entered the crowd.

The goods sold by these people were diverse, bundles of herbs shimmering with magical light, magic potion powders of various colors, crudely made but surprisingly powerful protective talismans, beast hide scrolls.

There were even live fantastic beasts.

“Hopefully, it’s not a Monday dog, Wednesday cat, or any weekly animal.” Ian, admiring the exotic scenery, saw a plethora of things in the market.

The quality was not very high.

Not even comparable to Knockturn Alley.

However, in this region where the level of alchemy and magic potions was not great, and most magic potions were handled similarly to how people on Claire’s small island would, it was considered decent. The market even had… a bunch of Muggle items, from phones to bicycles, all evidently second-hand goods transformed with all sorts of magic.

The bustle here may rival Diagon Alley, but the refinement of the environment and goods falls far short. The ground is uneven rock, without neatly paved stone slabs; stalls are simple wooden racks or even ground stalls, lacking polished windows; bargaining sounds are more direct and loud, full of a marketplace atmosphere.

“Raw materials will do too; it’s just a bit tough on my Little Left and Little Right to crush out the materials I need.” Ian pulled the hood of his robe, discreetly blending into the crowd.

Curiously surveying the surroundings, he also perked his ears to catch nearby conversations.