Chapter 273 — The Alluring Witch (Part 1)
Although Archbishop Jolan hadn't revealed the exact details of the selection, his standards had always been exceptionally high.
For someone like him to personally write and emphasize that: this time is dangerous...
It meant the risks involved were far greater than Gideon had initially imagined.
So he held no illusions.
This time, he would prepare with maximum seriousness.
A saint's remains were, without question, essential.
They were a key material for cultivating [Spiritual Bone Evangelism], and Gideon had already progressed this far.
If he could fully master this holy technique before the selection began, it would add another powerful trump card to his arsenal.
But that wasn't all.
Saintly remains were also a core component in rituals used to summon angels.
Such materials were extremely rare and difficult to obtain, often requiring immense time and effort.
So whenever an opportunity appeared—
Gideon would never let it slip away.
After all…
Who could refuse the chance to have a true angel fighting at their side?
Thinking back, Sister Lynn had once mentioned that the saint's remains were located on an ancient battlefield—
A place where the Church and witches had once joined forces to repel a great evil.
The location written on the note:
"Edge of the Orleans Forest."
But that event had taken place many years ago.
Pinpointing its exact location now would be extremely difficult.
Even Lynn herself had only learned about it by overhearing a conversation among witches.
Which meant—
If Gideon wanted to find the remains,
He would have to start with the witches.
He had already investigated recent movements of the Rosicrucian Order.
Since openly opposing both the Witch Association and the Church last time, the organization had remained relatively quiet.
No major incidents.
Just one thing—
They had been steadily recruiting new witches.
"Looks like I'll have to make a trip to New Orleans myself," Gideon murmured.
After making his decision, he arranged his responsibilities at the academy.
He also informed Judy that he would be away for a while.
Then, without delay, he set off for the airport.
New Orleans
French Quarter — 1132 Royal Street
This was one of the city's wealthier districts.
Lush green trees lined the quiet streets, and the entire area exuded an air of calm and exclusivity.
At the center stood a large, white three-story building, occupying a wide stretch of land.
A sign at the entrance read:
"Private Property."
Older locals knew its history well.
During wartime, it had once served as a hospital.
Later, it was converted into a girls' school.
Then, during an economic downturn in North America, the building was sold once again.
But this time—
No one knew who the new owner was.
And from that point on, the building was completely closed to the public.
Some observant residents had noticed something unusual.
Young, beautiful women frequently came and went from the premises.
They wore matching uniforms—like students from an academy.
And yet…
There was no official sign indicating it was a school.
Even stranger—
Some passersby claimed they had witnessed things inside that defied common sense.
Gradually, the building became shrouded in mystery.
"Alright everyone, that concludes the history of this building!"
A tour guide wearing a red cap called out loudly.
"You're free to take photos—but please do not cross the fence!"
Behind him stood a group of elderly tourists, all dressed in matching red polo shirts printed with:
"Old Porcelain Travel Company."
Click—click—click—
The sound of camera shutters echoed one after another.
A sudden gust of wind swept down the street.
One of the elderly tourists nearly lost his grip on his camera.
He immediately let out a shout, bending his knees slightly and planting his stance firmly on the ground.
"I've practiced horse stance for thirty years—what kind of breeze do you think this is?!" the old man snorted, steadying himself before raising his camera again.
The tour guide, however, went pale.
He had been working in New Orleans tourism for years—long enough to know that some things here weren't… normal.
And that wind?
Definitely not natural.
Forcing a smile, he clapped his hands.
"Alright, uncles and aunties, time to head to the next stop!"
"What? I haven't finished taking pictures yet!"
"Yeah! I still need photos for my grandson—he's never seen American houses like this!"
Complaints erupted instantly.
The guide wiped the sweat from his forehead, glanced nervously at the building one last time—
Then pulled out his ultimate trump card:
"At the next stop, there are free eggs! But if we're late, they might run out!"
Silence.
Then—
"Why didn't you say so earlier?!"
"You silly boy! That's the important part!"
Within a minute, every single tourist had packed up and boarded the bus.
"Phew…" the guide exhaled in relief.
Moments later, the vehicle drove off.
A few minutes passed.
Then—
Three figures emerged from the shadows beside the building.
"Madison," one girl said, arms crossed, her blunt-cut bangs framing her face,
"weren't you supposed to just kill those old folks?"
"Why only stir up a bit of wind? Don't tell me after being resurrected… your powers got weaker?"
She tilted her head slightly, voice laced with mockery.
"If that's the case, maybe Quentin should reconsider her choice of assistant."
Madison Montgomery, dressed in a long black gown, let out a cold laugh.
"They were just tourists," she said lazily.
"Killing them would only bring unnecessary trouble."
"Or are you trying to expose the unified witchcraft plan?"
"You—!"
"And besides," Madison continued, unhurried,
"she hasn't even secured the position of Supreme Witch yet."
"If anyone's choosing an assistant… shouldn't it be Jenny?"
The atmosphere instantly grew tense.
"You don't need to test me," another girl finally spoke.
She had long jet-black hair, her features sharp and striking. Dark eyeshadow framed her eyes, giving her an unforgettable beauty—
But her expression was cold, distant.
Unapproachable.
"Becoming the Supreme is only a matter of time," Quentin said calmly.
"As long as you cooperate fully… I won't forget our agreement."
Madison narrowed her eyes.
"Are you sure about that?"
"Jenny seems to be working very hard."
She lifted her chin slightly, glancing toward a third-floor window.
"Hmph. Hard work means nothing," Quentin replied coldly.
"She took what belongs to me—she'll return it."
"Even if she has a strong background… it won't save her."
Her gaze turned venomous.
Witch Academy — Third Floor
Room 306
The room was spacious—
But sparsely furnished.
Just a bed.
A table.
And a chair.
At the table sat a short-haired blonde girl.
Her academy uniform was stained and worn, with several torn patches.
In front of her were dozens of metal containers.
Inside each—
An animal.
Rabbits. Cats. Dogs. Foxes…
Every single one was injured.
Some had minor cuts.
Others were so badly wounded that flesh was exposed.
The smell of blood mixed with the animals' scent, filling the room with a suffocating stench.
Jenny had stuffed tissues into her nose.
She picked up a container holding a rabbit.
Placing her hands gently on its injured thigh, she spoke softly:
"Don't be afraid… I'll heal you soon."
A faint green light glowed between her palms.
Then—
Something miraculous happened.
Flesh began to regenerate.
Rapidly.
Nerves, blood vessels, muscle, skin—
All reformed seamlessly, as if the injury had never existed.
Within a minute, the rabbit regained full mobility.
Jenny quickly placed it into a prepared cage.
"Alright… halfway done."
She looked at the dozens of remaining boxes and quietly encouraged herself.
But suddenly—
Her breathing grew heavy.
Fine wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes.
Strands of her blonde hair began turning pale.
She hurriedly grabbed a wooden jar beside her.
When she opened it—
Dark mist poured out.
A small, grotesque spirit crawled from within.
Jenny took out a bracelet, chanting softly.
Soon, a trace of energy was extracted from the spirit—
But it was tainted.
Filled with corruption.
The spirit grew more violent.
The bracelet in her hand darkened.
"Whoosh!"
The spirit suddenly broke free and lunged at her.
Panic flashed in Jenny's eyes—
But at that moment—
A soft glow emerged from her chest.
The spirit froze midair, trembling violently.
Jenny quickly resumed her chant, sealing it back into the jar.
"...That was close."
Her hair slowly returned to its golden color.
Her skin smoothed out once more.
She reached into her collar and pulled out a silver cross.
"Good thing I still have this…"
She paused.
"…I wonder how Mr. Gideon is doing."
A figure in black robes appeared in her mind.
After parting ways with that priest, Jenny had followed her father, Jack, to New Orleans.
This was the base of the Rosicrucian Order.
Her mother had once been acquainted with the current Supreme Witch, Fiona—they had studied together at this very academy years ago.
They found Fiona.
And she welcomed Jenny warmly.
Jenny became a new student at the academy.
Jack rented a nearby apartment to stay with her.
For a while—
Life seemed to finally be getting back on track.
Until one day—
Fiona approached Jenny with a secret.
The Rosicrucian Order was preparing to overthrow the Church.
And to do so—
They needed to perform a powerful combined witchcraft ritual.
It required five powerful witches.
And suitable candidates were rare.
That was why the academy had begun recruiting across North America.
Fiona wanted Jenny to become one of the primary witches.
It was a crucial role—
Requiring both compatibility with the ritual and mastery over one's own power.
Jenny had wanted to refuse.
But in gratitude for Fiona's help—
She accepted.
And so began her grueling training.
Every day, injured animals were delivered.
She had to heal all of them before the day ended.
Over time, exhaustion set in.
But when Jack heard about it—
He was delighted.
He urged her to keep working hard.
To support her, he began purchasing dark materials from the city—
Items that could replenish her energy and prevent aging from magical overuse.
The academy provided materials too.
But for some reason—
Jenny would occasionally receive low-quality supplies.
Impure.
Weak.
Corrupted.
To compensate, Jack took on extra work to afford better ones.
Until—
One day—
He stopped contacting her.
After searching, Jenny found him in the hospital.
A cold body.
The police claimed it was an accident.
A truck collision.
But Jenny knew better.
She couldn't revive him.
With her current abilities, she could restore even long-dead beings—
But something on her father's body…
Blocked her power completely.
A powerful witchcraft residue.
She could only watch as his body decayed.
Fiona later told her the truth.
The culprit—
Was the Voodoo Coven.
An older witch lineage that had existed in New Orleans long before the Rosicrucians.
They had deep grudges with the Witch Association—
And naturally, with its offshoot.
The academy and the Voodoo Coven had clashed many times.
Jenny simply hadn't noticed.
From that moment—
They became her enemies.
Fiona made a promise:
If Jenny became a primary witch in the ritual—
The Voodoo Coven would be destroyed alongside the Church.
And so—
Jenny trained even harder.
Relentlessly.
Back to the present.
She tucked the cross back into her collar, making sure it was hidden.
Only then did she relax.
At the academy, anything related to the Church was strictly forbidden.
Violation meant punishment—
Or expulsion.
"Why isn't Quentin here yet…"
She looked at the empty jars.
Only one unit of material remained.
Nowhere near enough.
Usually, Quentin would have delivered more by now.
But today—
Something was wrong.
New Orleans — East District
Gideon walked down the street, dressed casually with a large bag slung over his shoulder.
This was the most densely populated area of the city.
Low buildings crowded both sides of the road.
Cracked pavement.
Industrial waste in alleyways.
Workers in uniforms.
Cheap beer.
Outdated cars.
This place had a name:
The working-class district.
But there was something else.
Gideon glanced at a bar sign.
A large banner hung outside:
"Witches, get out."
Other shops had similar slogans:
"Witches bring nothing but misfortune."
"They've taken our city. They feed on our children."
"New Orleans belongs to its people!"
"To hell with the witches!"
Gideon rubbed his chin.
"Looks like witches don't have a great reputation here…"
Since arriving, he had been searching for clues about their whereabouts.
But instead of finding them—
He found something else.
The city's… enthusiastic hostility toward them.
Still—
For the sake of the saint's remains—
Gideon pushed open the door of a nearby bar once again.