Chapter 87 – The Cooper Clan
Among the local demon hunters, there was a saying:
"A Cooper hound is your last line of defense in the Plague Zone."
That alone was enough to show the place Cooper hounds held in the hearts of southern hunters.
Likewise, the Allard clan's modified ammunition enjoyed a similar reputation in the region.
Although both families' businesses centered on combating monsters, they weren't in direct competition.
And needless to say—this was no Romeo and Juliet tale. On paper, the two houses had no reason to be enemies.
But the truth was very different.
The Plague Zone, for all its dangers, was also brimming with opportunities—chief among them, resources. Rare herbs, strange ores, even the remains of slain monsters carried tremendous value. Crafted properly, such materials could be forged into equipment that even demons from beyond the veil would fear.
As a result, hunters from across the South flocked to St. Fréyan, seeking fortune in the Plague Zone.
Taverns doubled as bounty halls, filled with commissions from employers eager for these exotic spoils.
In this environment, the Cooper family held a tremendous edge.
With a pack of their trained hounds at their side, they could move through the Plague Zone at will.
Swamp beasts, venomous wasps, mutant humans—individually terrifying, yes, but sheer numbers were the hounds' greatest weapon. Through attrition, the Coopers always emerged victorious.
The Allards, by contrast, had to face monsters head-on. Worse still, their modified ammunition was notoriously loud. Every shot echoed across the marshes like a thunderclap—far louder than any common bullet.
Every time they hunted, it was as if they announced to the entire Zone: we've struck treasure here.
Thus, the Allards were forced to adopt a "swift strike, swift exit" strategy: kill fast, retrieve the spoils, then vanish before drawing too much attention.
But there was one problem—the Coopers.
Claiming that "training hounds isn't cheap," the Coopers rarely fought monsters directly. Instead, they lingered on the fringes of lairs, waiting.
The moment another hunter succeeded in slaying a target, the hounds were unleashed.
More than one hunter had seen hard-won spoils—purchased with blood and risk—snatched away by a Cooper pack.
Yet few dared retaliate. After all, no one knew when they themselves might one day need a Cooper hound to survive.
And so, southern demon hunters lived in a state of both respect and resentment toward the Coopers.
None more so than the Allards.
Whenever the Allards ventured into the Plague Zone, the Coopers didn't need scouts or maps.
All they had to do was follow the sound of gunfire, and soon enough they'd be at the Allards' heels.
Over time, these "visits" grew into a bitter feud.
Unlike common hunters, however, the Allards weren't afraid of the Coopers.
Thus their rivalry, born in the Plague Zone, soon bled into the world beyond.
For decades, violent clashes frequently erupted in the small town.
Only in recent years—when the number of malevolent spirits and demons had risen sharply—did the two rival families ease their hostilities somewhat.
Now, with the sealing ritual about to begin, the Plague Zone would grow more dangerous than ever.
But the resources within it would also become far richer.
That was why Ophelia was intent on developing special ammunition—to deal the Cooper family's hunting dogs a crushing blow once the ritual commenced.
On the surface, it seemed logical enough.
Yet the Cooper hounds were their family's most prized asset. Every dog carried a unique identification number, and even in death they were always reclaimed.
This was why Skoll was deeply troubled—how could his youngest daughter so easily obtain a hound's corpse? Was there deception at play?
Hearing her father's concerns, Sadie realized something was wrong as well.
"Who did Ophelia win over?" she asked, frowning.
"Gavin."
"The Cooper bastard child?"
Sadie narrowed her eyes. Gavin had always been infatuated with her younger sister. No doubt his feelings had been exploited.
Skoll gave a grave nod, sharing the same suspicion.
"But the fact remains—Ophelia succeeded in her modifications. That's what keeps me wavering."
He had tested the bullets himself. Their effects were undeniable.
Sadie hesitated. She could see her father's temptation—after all, finding a way to counter the Cooper hounds would be a breakthrough.
But since her encounter with Ambrose's party, she had learned to think beyond the immediate.
At such a critical moment, could the Coopers really make such a mistake?
What's more, if her father truly approved Ophelia's plan, then Sadie might lose the chance to get Gideon into the Plague Zone.
That cursed place was shrouded in toxic miasma—ordinary people couldn't last long within.
Most hunters stuffed their mouths and nostrils with "swamp leaves", plants that provided temporary protection but grew deep inside the Zone and cost a fortune.
The Aled family, however, used something even rarer: small stones called "Blackwater Hearts."
Held under the tongue, they allowed a normal person to endure the Zone for a full day.
But Blackwater Hearts only appeared at fixed sites, sometimes taking years to form. The Aleds possessed only a handful.
If Ophelia were made expedition leader, she would surely claim the slot Sadie intended for Gideon.
After a long silence, Sadie decided she needed to speak with him first.
Turning to her father, she asked, "Ophelia said earlier she would conduct her 'final experiment' today?"
Skoll nodded. "Gavin stole her a hound."
Gideon rubbed his chin. By now, he had pieced it together—the woman had walked into a trap.
Sadie clearly thought the same.
"Where is this experiment taking place?" she pressed.
"Near the Dead Dog Tavern," Skoll replied.
The words had barely left his lips when urgent knocking rattled the door.
Butler Bazel entered, visibly anxious. Spotting the priest among them, he hesitated.
"He is my friend," Sadie reassured him. "There is nothing he cannot hear."
After a pause, Skoll said nothing further.
"Very well, Miss Sadie," Bazel bowed.
"Miss Ophelia has been reported for harboring a magebeast. She is currently cornered near the tavern. The Hunters' Guild has dispatched enforcers."
Skoll's face darkened. "What?!"
"That's impossible!" Sadie exclaimed.
Gideon arched a brow. "This is serious, then?"
Sadie nodded, her voice low and grave.
"Magebeasts are steeped in ill-omen. Smuggling them out of the Plague Zone risks spreading corruption to nearby lands… it could even trigger an early rupture of the seal.
Such an act is a heinous crime. In St. Fréyan, it carries the penalty of hanging."
Her eyes darted back to her father.
"I'll go to the tavern first. Father, please prepare… to save her." She stressed the words deliberately.
For harboring a magebeast, not only the offender but their entire faction could be implicated.
Worry clouded Sadie's face. If this incident disrupted the ritual, the whole of Louisiana would be engulfed in disaster.
"Father Gideon," she turned to the man beside her, "shall we leave now?"
"Let's go," Gideon replied with a firm nod. He had accepted the commission—there was no question of shirking it.
They took a carriage toward the town center.
The streets surged with people, all moving in the same direction. It wasn't hard to find the scene.
Near a warehouse by the Dead Dog Tavern, a crowd had gathered—though they kept a wary distance.
Most of the hunters already had their firearms drawn, their expressions grim.
Following their gaze, Gideon saw a man in a cowboy's getup sprawled on the ground.
His arms and legs were bent at unnatural angles. His eyes had rolled completely white, the pupils gone—leaving only an eerie blank stare.
A voice rose from the crowd:
"No saving him. The spirit's already taken his soul."
Gideon's brow furrowed.
"An evil spirit…?"
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