Is there a blacksmith here?

"This... Mr. Dumbledore, is he some kind of relative of mine?" Harry was taken aback. His parents' inheritance was in that man's hands?

Hagrid didn't sense anything amiss and began to introduce him with great pride: "No, but he is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the greatest white wizard!"

Harry nodded.

He did not doubt that great people truly existed in this world.

However, he had seen too much of the unpredictability of the human heart and the intermingling of good and evil. He had never even met this Mr. Dumbledore, so it was difficult to cast aside his suspicions.

Especially when it concerned his parents' inheritance.

Money was hard to come by!

Working himself to the bone, the commissions from a few farmsteads weren't even enough to pay for a single silver sword.

"Then when are we going to retrieve my parents' inheritance?" Harry asked, then feeling that sounded improper, he quickly corrected himself, "I mean, when are we going to purchase these supplies?"

Hagrid glanced outside: "It's getting late. Let's go tomorrow."

"Since you grew up with Muggles, I'm afraid you don't know much about the wizarding world. Let me introduce it to you properly."

This was a demi-human with a high desire to express himself.

At least he was much better than the thick tongues of trolls.

Hagrid introduced many things to Harry.

He spoke of his excellent parents and how great Dumbledore was—mentioning that he had been unfortunately expelled in his third year, and that it was entirely due to Dumbledore that he was allowed to remain at Hogwarts.

He also explained that Harry was a well-known hero in the wizarding world, the legendary Boy Who Lived, the savior.

An existence much like the protagonist of a knight's novel.

This also made Harry realize a fact.

In this world...

Wizards had almost no intersection with Muggles—the term wizards used for ordinary humans—and even their currencies were different.

In Hagrid's words, this was to protect the Muggles.

Yet, Harry felt a sense of sorrow.

He thought of the sorcerers persecuted by the kingdoms and the Eternal Fire—if the Conjunction of the Spheres ceased to occur, and monsters and evil spirits were gradually cleared away.

He feared the fate of witchers and sorcerers would be just like the wizards here: hiding in the shadows of society as quietly and as much as possible.

Oh, no...

Witchers probably wouldn't last that long.

Without monsters, he doubted anyone would be willing to undergo those cruel, agonizing mutations.

The next day.

Harry rose early and ran five laps around the entire block; his body was always a witcher's most important weapon. When he returned, he ate two sausages—the kind Hagrid had brought, each nearly as thick as his forearm—and milk was also essential.

Once he finished all this, Hagrid woke up from the living room, bleary-eyed.

After washing up, he took Harry toward Diagon Alley.

Just as Hagrid had said, he was indeed a celebrity in the wizarding world—he had never received such enthusiastic treatment in his life.

People rushed over one after another, wanting to shake his hand, but Harry did not agree to their requests; a witcher was never the type to enjoy socializing.

After dealing with these pleasantries.

Hagrid led him to a small courtyard and began to chatter away: "From here, count three bricks up from the trash can, then two across—"

"Once you get your wand, tap this brick three times."

"Harry, you stand back a bit."

He picked up his umbrella and tapped the brick three times.

The bricks trembled and quickly retreated to the sides, shifting to reveal a wide archway leading to a cobblestone path.

An illusion?

No...

It didn't look like the kind of illusion sorcerers would use.

Was it the use of something called Transfiguration?

"Welcome to Diagon Alley." Hagrid raised his arm and led Harry inside, "Did you bring your letter?"

Harry nodded.

"We have to go to Gringotts first, that's the wizards' bank. Your parents' inheritance is all there. Only after we withdraw the money can we go buy other things."

Although wizards were separated from humans.

There wasn't a very strong medieval flavor; the streets were clean, the shops were eccentric but not cramped, and all sorts of strange and curious things appeared before Harry's eyes.

Brooms that could fly, pets flying about in disarray.

What caught his eye most were the materials—powdered asphodel root, daisy roots, mandrake stems...

And some materials he had never heard of, yet their very names sent a thrill through his heart—dragon liver, dragon blood, unicorn hair, feathers of a Sound-Deadening Bird...

What kind of potions could be brewed with these, and could they be used to concoct sword oils?

It was truly intriguing.

Gringotts was the most magnificent building in Diagon Alley, and Harry saw a goblin for the first time—they looked very much like the gnomes from the Witcher world, though he had never encountered them personally, he had seen portraits.

He had just experienced how insane the transportation in the wizarding world could be.

It was hard to imagine that such a breakneck, wind-whipping contraption was a legitimate mode of transport—it was even more stimulating than being snatched up by a griffin and forced to do sit-ups in the sky.

He also witnessed his parents' inheritance.

A pile of gold, along with mountains of silver and copper coins.

Unlike Hagrid, who looked battered and dispirited, Harry felt somewhat exhilarated, even though he wasn't sure what the actual purchasing power of the currency was.

But...

An ounce of dragon liver was only seventeen Sickles.

Dragons, or even dragon-kin, could not possibly have cheap materials; this money was more than enough to forge a pair of swords.

He swept a hundred Galleons into his pouch, along with some odd Sickles and Knuts, and walked out of Gringotts with his head held high, full of vigor and spirit.

In all his years of living, he had never been this wealthy.

"Harry, I'm afraid we'll have to get your uniform first." Hagrid pointed to a shop on the street with a sign that read "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions," adding, "I need to go to the Leaky Cauldron for a pick-me-up; that blasted little cart is just too much."

Harry nodded: "Of course."

"I'll wait for you in the shop."

Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief and hurried away as if fleeing for his life.

Harry pushed the door open and entered alone, where a stout, good-natured witch came up to greet him: "Hogwarts student? Here for a uniform, are you?"

Harry nodded: "Yes, Madam."

"Then stand here, and I'll take your measurements." Madam Malkin pointed to a footstool. As Harry stepped onto it, she waved her wand, and a tape measure slithered up like a snake to coil around him.

"Do you need it a bit larger?" Madam Malkin asked familiarly, "You young wizards always grow so fast."

"Thank you, Madam, I think that's quite necessary." Harry nodded, "And there is one more thing I'd like to trouble you with. Do you know if there is a blacksmith in Diagon Alley?"

"A blacksmith?" Madam Malkin looked up, puzzled, "Why would you ask about that place?"

Harry replied quite directly: "I want to forge two swords."

"Swords?" Madam Malkin paused, then giggled, "Are you hoping to go to Gryffindor? A sword in one hand and a wand in the other?"

"It's a pity, though, there are no blacksmiths in Diagon Alley. You might be able to have your parents use Transfiguration to conjure a pair for you."

"Of course, I would hope you could learn to conjure them yourself."

"The Head of Gryffindor is a famous master of Transfiguration, and Mr. Dumbledore is as well; he also came from Gryffindor House."

"Come to think of it..."

"You Gryffindors all seem to be very skilled at Transfiguration."

Harry nodded, lost in thought.

Gryffindor equals the School of Transfiguration?

Hope for your support.