Chapter 25: Chapter 13: Truth Technique 3
’Worst comes to worst, I’ll just take these bastards down with me. Even if Jenny and I don’t survive, I’ll make sure a few of them accompany us in death!’
His Magic Power gathered in his hands.
But just then, something cold and hard pressed against his back.
Johnson reflexively turned his head.
He saw Jenny, a complete mess of tears. The same hands that had embraced him countless times were now gripping a small, elegant lady’s pistol.
It was the gift he had given her for self-defense when they first joined the club and went on their first expedition.
"Jenny, you..."
"I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Johnson... *sob*... I don’t want to die. Instead of us both getting killed, it’s better if one of us survives. As long as one of us is alive, there’s hope... right?" Jenny said through her tears.
Her tears welled up, one by one, streaming down her cheeks and falling onto the grass.
A chill ran down Johnson’s spine, his face ashen. He never would have dreamed that Jenny would make such a choice.
’Did she never love me at all?’
He opened his mouth, as if to ask something, but he never got the chance.
Vincent’s voice was like a Demon’s whisper. "My patience is limited, little girl."
"BANG!"
The trigger was pulled, accompanied by the girl’s heart-wrenching screams.
That morning, Jenny killed Johnson.
"Well done. You have potential. I’ll do my best to get you some leniency. If you perform well from now on, you might even be able to join us Witch Hunters," Vincent said with a faint smile.
As for what constituted "performing well," he trusted that Jenny would understand even without him spelling it out.
She was a pretty, smart girl.
"I’m sorry... I’m so, so sorry..." Jenny looked at Johnson, who lay in a pool of blood, his dead eyes fixed on her. The pistol slipped from her grasp, and she couldn’t help but break down in sobs.
Vincent paid Jenny no more mind, turning instead to Sean.
"Your turn, Mr. Writer."
He said with a smile, "You didn’t think I’d forget about you just because you kept quiet, did you?"
"You’re the one Florist Hospital specifically requested. They even sent someone over just for you."
As he finished speaking, one of the believers beside him willingly pulled back his hood, revealing a familiar face.
Sean had seen him before—at the front desk of the morgue. He was the orderly.
"We meet again, Mr. Sean."
"Quill sent you?" Sean asked.
The orderly smiled slightly. "Yes. Dr. Quill is a big fan of your novels."
Sean: "And?"
"Come back with me," he said. "You know the conditions at our hospital. They’re better than anywhere else."
Sean looked at him. "And if I refuse?"
"Then that would be a shame. I’d have to dispose of you." The man spread his hands. "Dead or alive, I have to take you back. That’s my mission. I hope you can understand, Mr. Sean."
Sean sneered, "You want to kill me, yet you feign politeness and ask for my understanding. Are you Witch Hunters always this hypocritical?"
"Actually, I’m quite curious myself. Three of your companions have died right before your eyes, yet you remain so calm and unaffected. Are you always this composed, Mr. Sean?" the orderly said.
"Because I was preparing a surprise for you." Sean raised his hands, a faint golden light spilling from his palms.
This was the signal for a fight to the death.
"I feel I must remind you, Mr. Sean, that bullets are faster than channeled Magic. At your current stage, the Magic you’ve mastered can’t stand up to firearms. Jim is the perfect example of that."
"But from the looks of it, you’ve already made up your mind, Mr. Sean. In that case..."
"Let’s put it to the test."
The man waved a hand and ordered, "Switch to Armor-Piercing Bullets."
He hadn’t forgotten that Sean had asked someone to buy a Bulletproof Vest.
If this was Sean’s so-called surprise—an attempt to escape in the chaos—then he was doomed to be sorely disappointed.
However.
He was wrong.
The Bulletproof Vest wasn’t the surprise; it was just a diversion Sean had deliberately used to bait them into increasing their firepower.
The real surprise was a form of Magic they had probably never even heard of—the Truth Technique.
The more ferocious the enemy’s attack, the more ferocious his counterattack would be.
"Fire."
"BANG! BANG! BANG...!"
At the orderly’s command, dozens of muzzles simultaneously erupted with fire.
It was a merciless volley, intended to ensure the man who had dared to knowingly cross their line would have no escape and pay the ultimate price. Even at this point, they were still confident in the final outcome. Just as the Flame Crow Maiden had said, Low-tier Wizards couldn’t resist bullets; they would just become another one of the countless corpses riddled with holes in the Witch Hunt Operation.
Until a golden light surged forth.
Only then did they realize Sean’s Magic wasn’t the fire that Wizards naturally controlled, nor was it frost, rock, wind, or lightning. It was a series of characters shaped like the letter "F."
They seemed to flake off from Sean’s palms and float into the air, forming a huge golden ring that radiated a light filled with reason and knowledge.
These characters spread out along the edge of the ring, connected by "=" signs, as if inscribed like an epitaph. They laid out a formula that both mortals and Wizards were all too familiar with: the Third Law of Mysticism—
F=-F’
The essence of matter is Energy.
And the effects of Energy are reciprocal.
A storm of bullets struck the center of the ring. Though it appeared empty, the bullets couldn’t pass through. Instead, it was as if beams of light were hitting a mirror.
The next second—
The ring began to rotate slowly like the hands of a clock, sending out ripples of golden light.
In that instant, every bullet fired at Sean was reflected back in the opposite direction.
Vincent: "???"
The orderly: "???"
Both men’s eyes widened in disbelief, as if they had seen a ghost. What kind of Magic could reflect bullets?!
This is fucking unscientific!
"Stop shooting!" they wanted to scream.
But it was too late.
The speed of the bullets far exceeded the reaction speed of a Junior Wizard, and likewise, it far exceeded the reaction speed of mere mortals like them.
They didn’t even have time to drop to the ground. All they could do was watch as a dense barrage of bullets pierced and tore through Jenny’s body as she stood in the field, erupting in a mist of blood. The bullets then rapidly grew larger in their own vision, right up until the moment of their deaths.
...
