Extremes give way to their opposites.
Faith can bestow boundless courage upon a person.
Yet when it crumbles, it unleashes a catastrophe beyond measure.
Just as it is now.
Having earned great merit by bringing the crocodile-man's head,
Ruboo no longer needed to conceal himself. Pursuing the fleeing cultists, he effortlessly claimed one life after another.
None dared turn back to resist.
Even if they had guns, even if they were many.
Those caught by Ruboo, unable to escape, would weep bitterly and beg for mercy, all trace of their former bravery utterly gone.
Ruboo came to understand why, throughout history, the heaviest casualties in any war invariably occurred when one side collapsed in defeat.
He showed no mercy.
Every last one of these cultists, whose hands were stained with blood over the years, deserved to die.
As for handing them over to the police?
Forget it.
Never mind how long the legal proceedings might drag on, but then again, would it be wise to expose the fact that they themselves were sorcerers?
Therefore, it was best for this godfather of the American people to personally administer justice.
With a single shot to the head, Ruboo watched as the figure before him fell. Looking ahead, he saw a gleaming bald head illuminated by the moonlight.
Ruboo cheerfully called out, "Boss, don't be in such a hurry to leave! We must thank you for guiding us to such a wonderfully surprising adventure spot."
The bald boss, Jonah, shuddered violently.
Gone was his usual "affable" demeanour; he dared not even respond, instead scrambling forward with all his might.
Yet the footsteps behind him grew ever closer.
He finally couldn't resist turning around, screaming in terror:
"The devil!!!"
...
Meanwhile.
Noticing the enemy's panic and retreat, Madison and Zoe—suspecting Ruboo's hand in it—didn't sit idly by. Grabbing the seized shotgun, they charged out to beat the fleeing foes, venting their earlier frustration from being surrounded.
"I surrender! Don't... don't kill me!"
An old man broke his own leg while fleeing. As he lay on the ground wailing in agony, he heard footsteps approaching from behind and hastily raised his hands.
"The crocodile men aren't nearly as formidable as you claimed in the shop, are they?"
A voice rang out.
The old man, Old John, looked up to see the speaker was none other than the girl who had stood before the crocodile man statue at the petrol station earlier that day.
He immediately pleaded for mercy: "It's... true. They're nowhere near as formidable as you lot. Spare my life! I'm old, I won't live much longer anyway."
Zoe raised her hunting rifle and shook her head. "Well then, before you die of old age, let us judge your crimes."
"No—"
Bang!
It was over.
Zoe raised the barrel, calmly stepped over Old John's corpse, and pressed onward in pursuit.
Though outwardly an innocent, sweet-faced girl, after tonight's baptism of blood and fire, she showed no hesitation when it came to taking action.
After all, she was the wicked witch of legend.
The pursuit through the dense forest continued.
Before long, Ruboo, Zoe, and Madison converged once more.
"Bloody brilliant, Ruboo!"
Madison's eyes lit up as she admired the crocodile head that had been discarded earlier, only for Ruboo to reattach it to his waist.
Zoe, too, felt a surge of affection.
Who wouldn't want a boyfriend who was fierce, formidable, and utterly powerful?
Had the timing been right, she would have rushed over to express her excitement.
Ruboo patted the crocodile man's head, his trophy to be hung upon returning home, and chuckled, "Save the praise for later. First, let's finish off the remaining few."
The cult group of forty or fifty had now been whittled down to mere stragglers.
As Ruboo, Zoe, and Madison pressed their pursuit, a sudden burst of terrified screams erupted ahead. The commotion quickly subsided.
Then, a familiar voice rang out:
"Bloody hell! Finally spotted you lot!"
Ruboo looked over and breathed a sigh of relief. It was Quinny.
Under the cover of night, her natural camouflage made her nearly impossible to spot until she spoke.
She strode over, a deep wound on her neck visibly healing itself, a dagger clutched firmly in her hand.
Clearly, the fate of those last few individuals was now evident.
Zoe hurried over to Quinny, concerned. "Quinny, are you alright?"
Quinny shook her head, then replied in a distinctly annoyed tone, "I'm fine, just got my knickers wet. Bloody hell! That bastard ambushed me while I was taking a piss, knocked me out. Utterly unethical!"
Zoe fought back a laugh. "So, you took him out?"
"Of course!" Quinny declared, still seething. "When I woke up, I found myself tied up in a wooden hut. That ambusher held a dagger to my throat, demanding silence. My neck just slid right over the blade, silencing him..."
Quinny recounted his ordeal.
It matched Ruboo's guesses.
Quinny had been knocked unconscious whilst out alone.
For breeding purposes, the cultists wouldn't kill her, merely subdue her.
Yet they underestimated Quinny's capabilities, only to be slaughtered by her as she fought her way through.
"Hearing gunfire and flames, I knew you were here and followed the trail. Ended up encountering those blighters and disposed of them on the spot," Quinny concluded.
Once it was safe, she hadn't intended to flee but to come and lend a hand. Little did she know Ruboo and the others had already dealt with most of them.
"Right then! Witch versus cultists game over. Witches win!" Madison tossed aside her now-useless shotgun, brushed the dust from her hands, and declared triumphantly.
Zoe wasn't nearly as excited.
Thinking more deeply, she glanced at the corpses littering the ground and frowned as she asked Ruboo, "Ruboo, what do we do with these bodies?"
Ruboo: "Dump them in the swamp."
Disposing of the bodies was necessary.
Especially dozens of corpses at once.
To simply leave them unattended would be a major scandal if discovered.
Besides, the swamp isn't exactly short of burial grounds.
Even if the matter came to light, given the efficiency of the American police force, it would be ages before they managed to investigate it properly.
But that's tomorrow's concern.
In the pitch-black darkness, dumping so many bodies risked one accidentally falling into the marsh themselves – that would be bloody unlucky.
After such a long battle, everyone was thoroughly exhausted. They returned to the camp they'd set up earlier and decided to rest for the night.
"Oh~~ Quinny, you'd best change your trousers, they're absolutely stinking."
"You filthy pig, why don't you take a look in the mirror? You look like you've crawled out of a mud pit. Get yourself changed from head to toe!"
"Gentlemen, I've got a crate of mineral water here. Any takers?"
"..."
Listening to the witches' bickering, Ruboo dragged the horse-faced bloke he'd headshot away from the camp to avoid the foul stench disturbing his sleep. After a quick change of clothes, he headed into the tent to rest.
In the haze of sleep, he felt someone join him.
Vaguely, another seemed to draw near.
A familiar scent tickled his nostrils.
Never mind. Sleep.