Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 141 The Witch's Counterattack (First Update!)

"Where did you go yesterday?" Coulson seemed somewhat obsessive about this question; he desperately wanted to know where Salomon had been the previous night. But the sorcerer, noticing the bloodshot in the agent's eyes, simply attributed it to Coulson's concern for his comrade and reassured him to rest, saying he could handle it himself. However, Agent Coulson seemed persistent, inhaling heavily as he continued to press the question. Only then did Salomon realize something was amiss. "What's wrong?" he asked. "What exactly do you want to know?"

"Were you... in town last night?" Coulson swallowed hard, asking nervously. After receiving Salomon's affirmative answer, he displayed a complex mix of joy and fear. This left the arcane mage even more bewildered; he had no idea what had happened.

The agent seemed even more nervous when he questioned Coulson.

"I think this might be my imagination." He lowered his voice, afraid his words would travel through the thin wall and reach the ears of others. "It's bizarre, but magic exists, so I can only believe in the strangest things. I had a nightmare. I dreamt that a storm was raging outside my window, hail was pelting the windowpane, I dreamt that a huge bonfire was burning in a forest clearing, blue, purple, and orange smoke rising through the leaves and lingering in the sky. I also dreamt of several cloaked figures—who vaguely looked like women—who were chanting prayers I couldn't understand in hoarse voices. I dreamt of the girls we had met lying pale on the ground, and I dreamt of a black man holding two smoking stakes, gnawing at their souls. I seemed to be standing there, unable to speak, unable to move, unable to do anything, until the black man looked at me with those evil eyes, and I realized that his eyes were filled with cruelty and mockery. He seemed to be laughing at me, laughing at my good deeds."

When I woke up, I heard the noise of rats. I knew rats were rampant these days, but what I heard was the noise of many rats. I was absolutely certain I wasn't mistaken. Even without lighting a candle, I could guess they were scurrying between the walls. I heard them scurrying past behind the thin wooden walls, and I heard their claws scratching at the wooden planks. Not only the walls, but countless rats were also swarming through the ceiling, seemingly trying to scratch through the planks and get into the room. When I touched the walls, I could even feel a slight but frequent vibration and friction. I thought they wanted to get in, wanted to…”

"Heh heh!" Salomon, forced to intervene, slapped Coulson's face hard, interrupting his increasingly frantic mutterings. He knew Coulson was having some mental issues, perhaps because the scenes of the witch trials had shaken his mind, causing him to see things he shouldn't have. "Wake up, Coulson, wake up," he said. "Don't think about it, absolutely not, you'll go crazy. If you can't calm down, I'll give you a sedative."

"I'm telling the truth! I... I'm sorry, my reaction was a bit overreacted... Maybe I'm just too tired." Coulson blinked hard, rubbed his face, and calmed down again. This was the result of Salomon's spell; he used magic to redirect Coulson's attention to reality, but he still unconsciously moved away from the wall, as if those rats might jump out at any moment to tear his flesh apart. Agent Coulson said, "What mission do you have for me? But before that, I think it would be better to go and bring Agent Romanov back first."

"I will give you all the gold I have in a moment. You need to gather people and build something." Salomon pulled a parchment from the scroll case. On the parchment was a diagram of an altar, with detailed parameters marked on it by the sorcerer. "I need you to find me a stone tower at least 10 yards high, and then find people to build this thing on top of it. The people of Salem are probably still mired in the quagmire of the witch trials. You can go to the village of Salem to the west to gather people; it's relatively more peaceful there. This altar must be completed before I deal with the mastermind behind it all. It must be built exactly according to the measurements on the diagram, and the stone tower must be built in an open wilderness—this is not easy, and you can't do it alone."

"Alright." Coulson took the parchment and examined it carefully. He asked, "What's this for? Are you going to cast some kind of spell?"

"Yes, magic that can solve all problems." Salomon sighed. "I'll find the casting materials (sacrifices) myself—you don't need to know what the casting materials are, that's my business. Also, about Tituba."

"What's wrong?"

“We can send her back to Randolph Carter’s estate,” Salomon said. “Mr. Carter assures you he’ll take good care of Tituba. But you know, this trial will involve a lot of people, and you can’t save everyone—Pricy Farm is now unclaimed, and you might need it.”

"Thank you," Coulson said. "Thank you for everything."

"It's nothing. I'll go pick Natasha up; you'll need her help."

As Salomon followed the address given by Coulson to Natasha's hideout, the streets gradually filled with people, mostly men. In addition, royal guards armed with muskets patrolled the streets—due to a witch hunt, the governor had ordered Cotton Mather to maintain order and ensure witches could not openly appear in public.

Orders are one thing, but execution is quite another. On the advice of Matthew Hopkins, Cotton Mather ordered the Royal Army to conduct random witch hunts in the streets. However, since the reign of Charles II in 1661, Royal Army ranks had become a commodity; ranks in cavalry and infantry regiments (from second lieutenant to colonel) could be purchased. Many nobles would buy a rank for their good-for-nothing sons. Furthermore, the Royal Army was largely composed of the lowest classes of English society—the dregs of English society (in the Duke of Wellington's words)—so naturally, one couldn't expect them to have high discipline (though their fighting ability was decent). They would randomly arrest women in the streets, while the surrounding men applauded and cheered, because those women were likely witches, people who had summoned the devil, and they couldn't wait to see more people hanged.

Salomon frowned and, taking advantage of the fact that no one else was watching, stepped into the dark, damp alley. Although he was fearless with firearms when prepared, and capable of killing all the King's soldiers, now was not the time to invite trouble. To the sorcerer's surprise, when he reached his destination, he found no trace of Natasha—this was a rarely used alley, usually frequented only by drunkards and drug addicts, exactly like America three hundred years in the future. The sorcerer looked around—there were no signs of a struggle, and the footprints were not haphazard; he could easily distinguish which were Natasha's footprints and which were those of drunkards.

Natasha wasn't arrested (the sorcerer didn't believe the King's army was capable of capturing her); she left on her own. This puzzled Salomon, as Natasha's mission was merely surveillance, not action. The sorcerer peeked out from the alley; across the street was the location of the four witches. Coulson's intelligence work was excellent; Salomon could even glean the girls' schedules from their reports. But when the girls were supposed to appear, they were nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, the sorcerer heard a faint rustling sound behind him. He turned around abruptly and saw a rat perched on the low eaves—this rat had human hands and feet and a man's face, with a long scar on its lower left cheek, and a sinister smile on its face.

Those are human-faced rats, the witch's magical pets! The sorcerer sensed something was wrong. Coulson and Natasha were likely already exposed to Nyarlathotep, and as the leader of the witch cult, the Dark One might very well order the witches to attack them! Although Salomon believed Natasha wouldn't give in so easily, the sorcerer had no idea what kind of magic those witches possessed.

Just as he drew his magic missile wand, ready to cast a spell, the rat leaped from the eaves and fell into the ditch filled with black sewage and silt. The sorcerer chased after it, accidentally stepping on two drunkards in the process, but the human-faced rat was too fast, and Salomon lost sight of it in the blink of an eye.

"F*uck!" The arcane mage clenched his fists in anger, hoping that Natasha hadn't really encountered a witch, or that she had escaped quickly enough. He spotted a stray dog ​​on the road—the very material he needed for his spellcasting; it seemed this was the only option for now.

I desperately need your votes!

(End of this chapter)