Kapitel 113: Chapter 113: The Death of Jonathan
Chapter 113: The Death of Jonathan
Something shattered within Jonathan.
He forcefully pushed open the door to the private room, and the scene inside made his eyes widen in horror.
Welma was still as beautiful as ever.
She wore a sheriff's uniform, her calves wrapped in leather boots. Her face was adorned with delicate makeup, her red lips striking.
But this proud goddess was now on her knees, crawling like a dog.
"Give it to me, Willard, please give it to me!"
Willard sat cross-legged on the table, green lights flickering at his fingertips, teasing Welma like a cat toy.
"Welma…" Jonathan whispered, the bouquet in his hand falling to the ground, scattering vibrant petals everywhere.
Willard turned his head, a mocking smile on his face. "Inspector Jonathan, you're here."
Welma, noticing Willard's moment of distraction, grabbed his hand and tried to pull the green light into her mouth.
She regained a bit of her senses, only then noticing Jonathan standing in the doorway.
A look of panic crossed Welma's face. "Jonathan…"
Willard angrily slapped Welma across the face. "You wretch, who told you to take it?"
Jonathan's face twisted with anger as he pointed at Willard, shouting, "What are you doing?"
He took a few strides and wrapped his arms around Welma, pulling her tightly to his chest. "Welma, what's happening to you?"
Suddenly, Jonathan felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. In disbelief, he looked down.
A dagger of ice was embedded in his stomach.
Jonathan looked at Welma in confusion. "Welma…"
Willard jumped down from the table, grabbing Jonathan's hair and slamming his head against the table.
Within moments, Jonathan's head was bleeding, and he collapsed onto the floor.
Willard's eyes were filled with malice. "Inspector Jonathan, weren't you going to arrest me? Here I am—arrest me!"
Jonathan clutched his stomach in pain, too weak to respond to Willard's taunts.
Unimpressed with Jonathan's reaction, Willard turned to Welma, kicking her to the ground.
Then, he placed his foot on her head and mocked Jonathan, "Aren't you so mighty? Let's see you act tough now! Aren't you an inspector? Don't you look down on people like me?"
Jonathan broke out in a cold sweat, his voice weak as he pleaded, "Don't… don't hurt her."
Only then did Willard feel some satisfaction.
He once again produced a green light at his fingertips, beckoning Welma like one would a pet dog. "Here, here, come on, my little pet. What do you call me?"
Welma's eyes flared with desire again, unable to hold herself back. "Master! Give it to me, Master!"
Jonathan struggled to get up. "What… what did you do to Welma?"
Willard laughed perversely. "Oh, I've done plenty to her! Which one are you asking about?"
The feeling of controlling someone's fate was exhilarating.
Jonathan's heart burned with rage, but he couldn't release it. He could only point at Willard, cursing, "I should never have wasted my time dealing with Ethan Blake. I should have caught a beast like you first!"
Willard clutched his stomach, unable to hold back his laughter. "Mentioning Ethan Blake just makes me laugh. Everyone in the world knows that Ethan Blake is the best sheriff in Bluewater City. Only a fool like you, coming down from your ivory tower, would try to pin crimes on him. You even think of yourself as the righteous one. I respect villains, and I respect heroes, but I look down on idiots like you who think they're above it all!"
Willard crouched down and patted Jonathan's face. "Tell me, how does someone like you get so lucky to be born with a silver spoon, a big shot from the start?"
His tone dripped with jealousy.
For twenty years, he had lived like a dog, yet he couldn't compare to someone born into privilege.
Jonathan's face turned pale at Willard's words, but he had no strength to retort. Blood poured from his stomach, and he felt his life slipping away.
Desperate to survive, he threatened Willard, "You can't kill me; my family won't let you get away with it."
Willard's lips twisted into a cold smile. "Your family? Just another stepping stone on my path to becoming an archmage! When I achieve that, I'll have your family's name engraved on the celestial stone tablet."
Jonathan stared at Willard with wide eyes, panting weakly. "Ha…ha… an archmage? If you let us go, I'll let bygones be bygones. My family won't trouble a madman. Or, let me live, and I'll have my family help you become an archmage."
Willard's expression twisted as if he had been struck a nerve.
He screamed, "What would mortals like you understand?!"
Willard conjured vines in his hand, ready to kill Jonathan right then and there! However, he felt that would be too easy, not satisfying enough.
Willard smirked darkly and said to Welma, "Strip, you slut."
Welma offered no resistance. Jonathan's eyes widened in horror as he helplessly watched Willard approach Welma.
Later that night, Willard left the restaurant with Welma in tow.
Jonathan, of course, was dead, dying in a state of utter helplessness.
(As for the details of his suffering, let's leave that unspoken.)
Willard hailed a cab and headed toward the old district.
His gaze was determined; he was set on eliminating anyone who disturbed his path to enlightenment.
He would never forget the humiliation he faced that day at Eastport Elementary, where he was humiliated in front of others. Willard was always vengeful by nature.
As for how he knew where Alexander lived, he owed it to his omniscient master! His master could divine the location with ease.
When Willard got out of the cab, he led Welma to the location his master had revealed.
Welma suddenly stopped, frowning as she said, "Something isn't right."
Willard looked at her, puzzled.
Welma glanced around, her eyes wary. "It's too quiet here."
Willard slapped her across the face. "Shut up! Why are you so jumpy? We're almost at the old district! What else would you expect here besides silence?"
Welma held her face, not saying another word, but she remained rooted in place, refusing to take another step forward.
Willard's anger flared, and he extended his finger, summoning a green, glowing light at its tip.
At that moment, a shadow flashed across the sky, instantly putting Willard on high alert.
The shadow landed on a barren tree branch, looking like a large raven.
Rubbing his eyes, Willard could finally make out the figure. It was a person, dressed entirely in black, face hidden behind a ghastly mask.
A chill ran from Willard's feet straight up to the back of his head.
A hunter!
A hunter from the Mercenary Guild!
This was an organization even his master dared not cross.
Hearing movement behind him, Willard spun around, catching sight of two more masked hunters.
"It's over… the hunters have come."
Willard thought of his master, Tian Sui Dao Ren, and the likelihood that the Mercenary Guild had added him to their hit list.
His master's instructions were clear: when facing a hunter, run!
"Run!"
Grabbing Welma's hand, Willard dashed blindly toward the darkened street ahead.
He ran for an unknown length of time before finally daring to look back.
"Thank goodness, they didn't follow us," he murmured, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead and plopping down on a roadside rock.
Welma stood rigidly nearby, spiritual energy beginning to gather around her as she squinted and said, "They're here."
"What's here?" Willard asked.
No sooner had he spoken than three figures emerged from the shadows, each wearing a mask.
Welma's eyes widened as she recognized the man in the lead. Her pupils contracted sharply.
He wore a mask of the Crying Ghost King—a figure she had once seen at the Rasputin Pub, where they'd discussed malt whisky.
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