"Tonight..."
"Why does it feel so exceptionally long?"
Out by Lake Pontchartrain, beyond the city limits, the cold wind cut like a knife. Light snow had even begun to drift down from the sky once more, adding a layer of bone-chilling frost to the air.
Jim Rhodes looked up at the night sky, a sudden wave of unease welling up inside his heart.
"Long?"
The elder Fox chuckled from the side, refilling both of their glasses. He drew an exquisite antique pocket watch from his coat. "It's already five in the morning. The sky is about to turn cold."
With that.
The elder Fox looked over toward the shivering men arriving from the docks. "Well? Did you find it?"
The men walked over and tossed a bunch of bizarre, eerie water weeds that had grown from the underwater witch grave straight onto the table between the elder Fox and Jim Rhodes.
The water weeds were soaking wet and even radiated a distinct trace of magical aura.
These weeds were known as Sensor Grass.
In the old days, witches would combine this Sensor Grass with other ingredients to brew potions, which they would then smear onto objects. If they crossed paths with a witch later on, the items would react.
This was precisely why the badges of the witch hunter group would change colors whenever a witch was detected.
They were utilizing a witch's own potion to track down witches and subsequently hunt them down.
"Boss," an underling spoke to Jim Rhodes. "The underwater pit has already been dug. We're just waiting for Hank to bring back that witch who killed our brothers."
The elder Fox laughed heartily. "My son should be back very soon."
Poor elder Fox—he didn't seem to have the slightest clue that his son had already descended to Hell to report directly to Mephisto.
Jim Rhodes, however, pulled the bag containing the Sensor Grass shut and tossed it directly to his underling, speaking expressionlessly.
"Take this to the Voodoo Queen. Same old arrangement: an eighty-twenty split."
Witch potions, as the name implied, could fundamentally only be brewed by witches. Voodoo practitioners could manage it too.
But they were the sole exception.
They possessed Salem witch bloodlines, yet they were male. Leave alone turning into witches, they couldn't even manage to awaken, much less manufacture witch potions.
The underling nodded, taking the bag Jim Rhodes had thrown over.
"Boss, then I'll head out."
Jim Rhodes nodded. "Be careful."
He felt deeply uneasy.
But...
He could only sense an impending misfortune without any means to distinguish where exactly this omen was originating from.
The elder Fox downed the whiskey in his glass in one gulp. "Another hour and the sky will start to brighten. Then, by tomorrow, the Dolan Church headquarters in New York will be dispatching people over. This time, we can finally wipe that entire bunch of damn witches out in one fell swoop."
On what grounds can females turn into witches while males cannot?
How did that saying go again?
One does not worry about scarcity, but rather about uneven distribution.
Don't look at how the few of them had persisted in hunting witches for so many years; that was purely because they also possessed the potential to become witches, yet were barred solely due to their gender.
It could be said that if they were capable of it, they would instantly flip their identities from witch hunters to witch guardians.
To protect the best witches in the entire world.
Men, after all.
Supernatural power ultimately equated to longevity, an extended lifespan, and even meant wielding far more formidable authority. Faced with such temptation, who wouldn't be swayed?
Consequently, when they became tempted only to discover that they could see the door but were entirely locked out—and that due to Salem, they couldn't even pursue other avenues.
What cannot be obtained must be destroyed!
Thus, they became witch hunters.
Jim Rhodes nodded, first agreeing with the elder Fox's words before asking, "That daughter-in-law of yours isn't suspecting you, is she?"
The once-in-three-centuries witch Coven was just two days away.
This time, they had broadly invited the Dolan Churches from various locations across the US to converge on New Orleans to participate in this grand event together. This time, because they had an inside agent—and Hank Fox had even personally visited that witch academy—they were fully confident.
On the very night the Coven selected the Supreme Witch, they would set a fire, exactly like the Salem era, and completely bury the survivors of these damn Salem witches.
Naturally.
The fact that the New York headquarters of the Dolan Church could arrive this time held extraordinary significance for them.
Originally, the New York Church didn't seem to have any intention of coming over. However, around eight or nine in the evening, a phone call came through stating that once they dispatched their Crusaders over tomorrow, they would hold discussions on forging alliances to annihilate the Salem witches.
As for the Crusaders, their ancestors were genuine, bona fide Holy See Crusaders. They were an entirely different entity from the current Holy See that occupied the Vatican and similarly relied on the remnants of the Heaven dimension to manufacture so-called holy water.
The sharp silver greatswords of the Dolan Church's Crusader descendants could swiftly and precisely slice open the bellies of one witch after another.
The elder Fox shook his head. "I know you think Kaulder is coming, but he isn't. In fact, even the thirty-sixth generation Dolan Priest won't be coming."
Jim Rhodes frowned, looking toward the elder Fox.
Could the source of his unease lie right here?
"Kaulder isn't coming?"
Within the Dolan Church, he was the most legendary hunter. Any witch discovered by him, without a single exception, would be utterly eradicated. He was infamous for never leaving a single survivor.
The elder Fox nodded. "A new witch has appeared over in New York as well, called the Dark Sovereign, Syndra. Kaulder and the thirty-sixth generation Dolan Priest went to track down that witch's trail, suspecting that person is related to the dark witch who once tried to destroy the world."
"The Dark Sovereign! Syndra!"
"Yes."
The elder Fox was already retired. However, as a veteran of the Dolan Church, while watching over this place that read as Lake Pontchartrain but was practically a witch grave, he still concurrently handled the duties of a Dolan liaison.
"But there's no need to worry. This time, the Crusader captain is leading the team over personally. Furthermore, there are several powerful Grimm Hunters coming along!"
Jim Rhodes blanked slightly. "Seriously?"
The elder Fox nodded. "Yes."
Jim Rhodes became slightly thrilled. "That's fantastic."
Just like the Salem witches, Grimm Hunters naturally corresponded to Grimm Wesen. Furthermore, unlike the Salem dimension which exclusively protected females, the Grimm dimension was all-encompassing.
However, Grimm Hunters didn't slaughter all Wesen indiscriminately; they only executed those that were inherently evil, acting essentially like the sheriffs among Wesen.
Regrettably.
Just like all other dimensions, while the Grimm dimension accepted any comers, it kept a respectful distance from entities that had already been branded by someone else's imprint.
During their youth, upon learning that Grimm Wesen existed in the Portland area, the elder Fox and Jim Rhodes had once gone to seek them out, and Grimm had likewise delivered his promise.
There was only a single method to acquire the power of Grimm, and that was to eradicate the imprint on one's body. How to eradicate it? Naturally, it meant slaughtering the Salem witches. So long as the Salem witches were completely wiped out, they would be free to join Grimm.
This was also one major reason why they had become Salem witch hunters.
To use the blood of Salem to pave their pathway toward Grimm and acquire the power of Grimm.
Only...
After another hour passed and the sky began to lighten, Jim Rhodes looked up, watching the beautiful snowflakes drifting through the air, before turning his gaze back to the elder Fox. "Hank isn't back yet?"
The elder Fox was also starting to feel a bit strange by this point.
In the past, no matter how late Hank stayed out hunting, he would always return before dawn. After all, while they knew they were executing damn witches, if they were discovered by others, they would be perceived as mere murderers.
Right at that moment.
An underling came sprinting in from outside. "Boss, Roy is missing."
Roy was that bespectacled otaku.
"What?"
Jim Rhodes sensed that things were turning slightly south. "Didn't I tell you guys to keep a close eye on him?"
He had previously thought about disposing of this Roy after sending Mullen away, just to be entirely safe.
But...
Although he was the boss, as that saying went—the boss is frequently just a figurehead. Underlings would never perceive your worries; they would only perceive you cutting them loose after they had outlived their usefulness.
Therefore, while Jim Rhodes had wanted to make a move against Roy, bound by the reservations of the members, he chose to let Roy stay put and not wander around. To ensure absolute safety, he had still dispatched people to keep tabs on him.
And the result?
"Where did Roy go?" Jim Rhodes said in a deep voice. "When did he go missing?"
The underling opened his mouth, hesitating to speak.
Jim Rhodes felt his entire world collapsing.
A brief moment later.
Inside the town's Dolan Church.
Jim Rhodes walked into the surveillance room. Casting his gaze forward, he looked at a frame within the surveillance footage. In that frame, inside Roy's room, the Roy sleeping on the bed would shift around from time to time, exposing his face.
The underling who had followed him inside spoke with an immense sense of grievance, "Boss, Roy said he didn't like being watched while sleeping, so he turned on the surveillance loop. I saw Roy was sleeping, so I didn't pay it much mind. Consequently, dawn has broken, but his side is still pitch black. Only then did I feel something was..."
Jim Rhodes instantly flared up in rage, "Fuck! Roy is a computer expert. Is it difficult for him to manufacture a fake surveillance loop?!"
An underling frowned. "Boss, yesterday Roy headed out together with Hank."
"Hmm?" Jim Rhodes looked toward the underling who had spoken.
The underling stepped forward and said, "I was on night watch last night. Hank brought Roy over, saying he had already discussed it with you. Hank needed Roy to help him lure that witch out."
"When the fuck did I ever say that?!"
"I did send a message to you."
"..."
Jim Rhodes drew out his phone. Only at this moment did the messages come popping up sequentially. His words were practically squeezed out from the gaps between his teeth,
"Damn it... Lake Pontchartrain was fitted with signal jammers yesterday afternoon. Didn't you know about this?!"
To prevent similar incidents from occurring again and having the police department locate Lake Pontchartrain.
Therefore...
Jim Rhodes had urgently manufactured a batch of signal jammers and installed them all around Lake Pontchartrain, ensuring that even if future witches possessed any sort of tracking locators, they would be entirely useless.
And the result?
He had dug a pit for himself?
"Fuck!"
Right at that moment, another underling came rushing in frantically.
"Boss, the New Orleans Police Department... their people have come again!!"
"..."
***
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