Very swiftly, the police cruiser roared as it drove straight out of the airport.
"Huh?"
Seated in the back row, Gwen—who had just opened her phone, intending to ask Locke if he was at the hotel—caught something out of the corner of her eye.
She glanced over and noticed the dozen or so strange men she had seen on the plane. They were walking down the road in a highly synchronized fashion, clutching their bags.
The snow was drifting heavily.
"Do they... not have a car?"
"Heh!" George glanced out, letting out a laugh. "Maybe their friends screwed up their business too, and they're too plagued by guilt to show their faces and pick them up."
Just like Cop.
The Peerless Assassin was as cunning as a rat. If you couldn't catch him, I wouldn't blame you.
But a Syndra?
So what if she was a witch?
You couldn't even keep a single woman contained?
Despicable!
Hearing the immense resentment toward Cop laced within George's words, Gwen shook her head. Recalling the bags those men were carrying, she shifted the topic out of curiosity.
"Could those people have come here to go hunting?"
The officer driving the vehicle laughed. "Hunting in New Orleans? Unless the quarry they're hunting happens to be witches."
Gwen blinked her eyes, listening to the driving officer.
"Witches?"
"Exactly." The officer smiled. "New Orleans possesses an deep-rooted witch culture and voodoo culture, blended with a bit of vampire and werewolf culture as well. It easily qualifies as a modern paranormal capital."
With those words, the officer began to narrate the witch and vampire stories of New Orleans like a man reciting his family treasures, highly enjoying the process.
Seated right beside him was a Captain from the New York Police Department, after all.
A massive figure!
If he could make this man's daughter happy, and the big shot was pleased, he might eventually be able to transfer from New Orleans to a massive metropolis like New York.
They were both patrol officers, but a patrol officer in New York was vastly superior to one in New Orleans.
He had heard there were fewer dark-skinned people over there too.
"The witch coven assembly?"
"Yes."
"On New Year's Eve?"
"Mm, right over at City Park."
Gwen blinked, opening her mobile network to type in a search query, preparing to do some quick homework.
George turned his head to glance back. Observing Gwen's small hands, he asked inquisitively, "The transparent hairs are standing up again. Are you cold?"
Snapping back to reality, Gwen looked at the downy hairs that had once again bristled. She blinked her eyes, smoothing them down as she shook her head.
"It was a bit chilly when we first stepped outside, but it's not cold anymore."
George offered a soft murmur.
Gwen tugged her sleeves and swayed her large ponytail.
The hairs bristling from time to time... It was quite strange. Gwen thought as much in her heart.
Very swiftly, she was drawn in by an event announcement loading across the network: *On December 31st, the New Orleans City Park will host a once-in-a-century Coven Assembly. All are welcome to participate. Event rule: Must be dressed in witch attire... This is great. Locke and I can head over to check it out.*
The officer spoke with a smile, "There are plenty of costume shops along the route that specialize in renting out witch garments."
Gwen raised her head. "Really?"
Seated in the front passenger seat, George directly let out a scoff. "Renting? You traveled all this way, and that wild boar would be willing to just rent a costume for you?"
The moment he thought about traveling all this way only to potentially harvest absolutely nothing, George felt profoundly speechless inside.
He had been too impulsive.
Wouldn't it be far sweeter to stay at home with his precious daughter?
The precious daughter referred to Andy, no longer Gwen.
Given that even her manner of lying had completely transformed into the shape of someone else's household, George had entirely abandoned his struggle.
As a member of the upper management of the NYPD, although his vacation time could be fully utilized like other high-ranking officers, he came from a authentic, old-school law enforcement background. Consequently, George only intended to grant himself a handful of days off before returning straight to work.
Look at the situation now.
His scarce vacation days were directly sacrificed to a wild boar who wasn't even a cop, yet insisted on solving cases.
When the time came to return, that wild boar would be taking his formerly devoted daughter over to Canada to happily enjoy a skiing trip, while he would have to bitterly return to the office to work.
The more George thought about it, the stronger his urge became to turn right back to the airport and board a plane straight back to New York.
Son of a bitch! When I was a son-in-law, I endured my father-in-law's temper. Now, I've become that wild boar's father-in-law—in the future tense—and I still have to endure this wild boar son-in-law's attitude?
What exactly am I gaining from him?
Just because he has a bit of dirty money, he can do whatever he pleases? This was entirely unscientific!
No way! Before heading back, he had to give Cop a thorough piece of his mind.
Damn it, he couldn't even keep a single woman contained!
Hearing George's words, Gwen shook her head. "Dad, Locke's money didn't just blow in with the wind."
George laughed.
"Indeed. If it blew in with the wind, you'd still have to bend down to pick it up. He doesn't even need to do that."
"..."
Listening to George—whose words were laced with immense jealousy, and whose expression was likely just as sour—Gwen opened her mouth, attempting to mount a defense. Yet, she blinked her eyes and abandoned the thought.
Fine. Locke's money was indeed obtained far more easily than if it had blown in with the wind.
Two lawsuits, and he directly transformed into a millionaire.
Wait!
A spark flashed across Gwen's eyes. "Dad, Locke earned his money while risking his life."
George: "..."
The first time, the Department of Homeland Security nearly coerced a confession out of Locke to frame him as a terrorist.
The second time, the London faction directly dispatched personnel over to assassinate Locke and her. It was incredibly fortunate that they hadn't succeeded. Gwen thought as much in her heart, subsequently smiling, "Dad, how about I treat you to a stay at the Hilton instead?"
She possessed money as well.
Although the vast majority of her funds had been deposited into a joint account alongside Locke, and that Long Island property had been purchased prior to Christmas—by the time Christmas arrived, the value of that Long Island house had already appreciated significantly, which equated to a massive profit when calculated against the total value.
However, that belonged to the joint account.
But Midtown High had already wired her scholarship funds for the upcoming term.
Although Gwen still intended to save it up to continue contributing to the joint account alongside Locke—saving up to purchase a residence on Manhattan Island for them to live in the future—she could easily afford the cost of treating George to a stay at a five-star hotel.
Hearing those words, warmth bloomed within George's heart.
Nonetheless, he declined.
Having arrived in New Orleans, choosing to stay in a hotel instead of bunking with his brother—what kind of nonsense was that? When Hank visited New York, George hadn't permitted Hank to stay in a hotel either. Brothers should stay together, drinking beer, burping, and boasting!
Seeing that George was set on his decision, Gwen smiled smoothly and didn't press further. Observing the scenery outside drawing closer, she suddenly realized she hadn't confirmed with Locke whether he was actually at the hotel. She hurriedly drew out her phone to compose a text message.
If she rushed over only to end up missing him entirely, it wouldn't be classified as a surprise anymore.
*Ding-dong!*
"Hmm?"
Inside the hotel.
Locke sat on the sofa, sipping the liquor within his glass. Watching the message sent over by Gwen, a smile broke across his face.
[Where are you? I heard it's snowing over there.]
[Mm, at the hotel. It is snowing.]
Where else could I possibly be?
Locke rose to his feet, carrying his glass as he stepped onto the balcony. Staring out at the intensifying blizzard—which seemed intent on utilizing the white snow to conceal the sins of Lake Pontchartrain not far away—he smiled slightly.
He would hunker down here, waiting for the Coven Assembly two days later.
Once the business here concluded.
He would return to New York, locate Gwen, and head over to Canada together for a skiing trip. Following that, he would return to school to commence a delightful journey of farming system points.
Right at that moment, the wind howled dynamically.
Locke caught a flash of purplish cloud mist sweeping past his eyes. Turning his torso around to look back, he noted Carrie emerging from within the fog. She sat heavily onto the sofa, staring blankly up at the ceiling.
Locke chuckled, stepping back into the living room. Walking over to the bar counter, he poured a glass of bourbon and extended it toward the tranced Carrie.
Carrie snapped back to reality, looking toward the glass.
"I don't—"
"When I completed my first mission, Chester served this exact drink to me. It's a tradition!"
"...Fine." Hearing his words, Carrie accepted the glass, sniffing it briefly before knocking back the bourbon in consecutive gulps.
The next second.
Carrie's face flushed crimson, and she burst into a fit of coughing.
Locke sat beside her, sipping his own drink. After a brief moment, watching Carrie's face gradually recover its flush and radiance, he smiled smoothly. "How is it? Feel a lot better, right?"
Carrie was just about to shake her head, before blanking slightly and nodding.
"Is this some sort of folk remedy?"
"No." Locke shook his head. "This is simply the alcohol doing its work."
Alcohol possessed the capability to suppress human cognitive processing, preventing a person from letting their thoughts wander wildly into other territories.
Carrie stared at the bourbon resting to the side, casting a glance at Locke.
Locke shrugged.
Subsequently...
Watching Carrie preparing to knock back a third glass, Locke raised an eyebrow, putting away the remaining bourbon. "Alcohol is a fine thing, but do not become addicted!"
He harbored absolutely no desire for his Dark Sovereign to transform into a common drunkard.
With her face flushed pink, Carrie looked toward Locke inquisitively. "How exactly did you manage to do it?"
Locke smiled. "Manage what?"
"To not care?"
"I do care." Locke's expression turned thoroughly serious as he looked at Carrie. "I care about every single existence that respects life. The ones I do not care about are merely those who hold absolutely no respect for life. Those individuals are nothing more than the filth of the human world. If you look at it from this perspective, you will feel much better."
Carrie shook her head. "No, I am referring to Lake Pontchartrain..."
Initially, she hadn't expected Lake Pontchartrain to be an outright witch graveyard! So many...
Locke offered an understanding murmur, stating, "I do care. If I were a witch, believe me, the ones dying wouldn't be limited to just those few individuals."
If he were a witch, the entire Vatican would explode! He said it. Even if God arrived in person, it would be entirely useless—even if Ancient One blocked the path, it wouldn't suffice!
He was a player. Furthermore, he possessed the Destiny of heaven.
What exactly was the mindset of a player?
While enjoying the human world like a playground, there was a deeper conviction: *If I desire an object to exist, the heavens dare not render it void; if I desire an object to vanish, the heavens dare not permit its existence.*
From the very beginning up until now, among those he intended to kill, absolutely no one had managed to remain among the living!
But... he wasn't a witch. At the very least, Locke Broughton was not a witch.
Mm.
However...
Locke looked at Carrie, who—as a witch staring down at the infinite skeletal remains of Lake Pontchartrain—clearly experienced a sense of grief over the fate of her own kind. He smiled smoothly.
"The headquarters of the Dolan Church is located right in New York. Perhaps once we return, you can head over there to take a look. I'll help you."
Carrie raised her head to look toward Locke.
The Dolan Church... hadn't been completely wiped out yet?
***
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