The Werewolf Hunting Law

In Clayton's school days, a major news story broke out in Gorivar County that four robbers in self-made iron armor, each weighing thirty kilos, had assaulted a bank. Even rifle bullets would ricochet off the armor. The constable force had confronted them at the bank for twenty-two hours yet failed to subdue them and ended up forced to set the bank ablaze, roasting the four robbers to death.

These robbers' armor almost weighed the same as the Taunton knights', thus Clayton had been unimpressed by the latter.

Now, turning it over in his mind, he found the cavalrymen way nimbler than those robbers who, burdened by the armor, had failed to escape the scene.

When a person saw a thing often, he would include it in the ordinary as he would himself.

Clayton had been pursuing the shadow of the Extraordinary world but never woken up to its immediate presence.

After all, 'Extraordinary' was not confined to a twisted look.

Thinking a second time, he realized that many people he had seen seemed suspicious.

Take the 'Hunters' for instance: they could aim at a target from across three hundred yards with naked eyes, a feat Clayton could never accomplish.

It was said that in the Dorne navy, some mariners could dive one-hundred-twenty yards deep into the sea; any given grenadier of the Northern Mirendi Republic towered above two and a half meters; in the colony of Lauren, there were individuals capable of lying entombed, a scarf swathed around their head, for three straight days without eating and drinking...

There must be Beyonders in the military.

But Clayton was unsure whether those oddities were owing to Extraordinary power or racist disparity.

In short, the limits of ordinary folks were not definite values.

Dwarves on the Eastern Plateau possessed strength greater than average human beings; the pointed-eared tribesmen in the Mithril Forest were known for most exceptional stamina among all races. The strong points of every race varied.

Therefore, he could hardly distinguish those naturally gifted from monsters like him.

He stroked his bearded chin and mumbled to himself, "If there is an international competition where long-trained, similarly sized sportsmen from the same race compete against one another, then I might be able to determine the limits of ordinary folks."

But this was clearly impractical.

Every few years, conflicts between countries would flare up in this world, but such an international competition demanded a peaceful environment.

Clayton cast off his fantasies and resumed reading Cuitisi's letter.

"Considering your constant ignorance, I will include with the letter a reference book, which could answer most of your questions. If they remain unsolved, I suggest that you go ask a priest..."

'Her attitude is really awful. What's more, a priest is the last person I want to see for now...' Clayton sighed.

He cast a glance at the tome's cover, where the golden-embossed title glared against the aged, dusty black cardboard.

"Two Thousand Common Knowledge Facts for Enthusiasts of the Occult."

It sounded non-serious enough. Clayton was already suspecting whether Cuitisi had sent him this book because Cuitisi begrudged the space it occupied. By doing this, she had done Clayton a favor so conveniently.

Cuitisi's suggestions ended here.

But Clayton spotted strange protruding marks underneath, so he turned the letter over.

There was a short paragraph, written in a small, twisted script and in ink whose color differed from the front page's.

Beside the words were numerous strange, round water stains, making the paper roll upward and feel dry and crisp.

Dried-up teardrops?

Clayton furrowed his eyebrows; he could hardly imagine why Cuitisi would cry.

That woman must have sneezed at the scent of chemicals while writing the letter.

He shifted his gaze to the segment of words:

"By the way, Donna is about to change school, but we don't have good alternatives here... How about Sasha City?"

Clayton's hand holding the letter stiffened while a bolt of light tore through his soul.

His mind went blank for a moment with only one lingering thought:

'Cuitisi has gone crazy!'

He could instantly dredge up a regiment of derogatory terms to brand her, but he wouldn't dispute her strong-will with which she never changed her mind lightly.

Cuitis had never laid it bare, but Clayton was aware of her constant belief that the Bellos owed her.

Uren Bello had failed as a husband. After marrying her, he volunteered for the military and eventually died on the battlefield, leaving behind Cuitisi and Donna.

Perhaps the grudge she felt toward Clayton stemmed from Uren; after all, they shared the surname 'Bello'.

Had it been possible, Cuitisi would have changed her daughter's surname and never met Clayton again.

That was what she had persisted in the whole time.

But why would she ask something like this now?

Could it be that she was finally willing to let bygones be bygones and planned on moving to Sasha, allowing the last two Bellos to meet?

He rose and paced the study, trying to cool himself down. Then, he opened a window for the night breeze.

At the thought of his niece, Donna Bello, Clayton's mood floated both nimble and heavy like a military airship loaded with grenades.

She was the last normal Bello and should receive utmost care.

"Better write another letter to ask."

Despite a simple question from Cuitisi, he was already headache-stricken.

He had never seen Donna, but he could work out that she was about high-school age. He decided to consult his female assistant, Charlotte, a Sion University graduate.

Despite the progress of the times, many schools remained conservative as two centuries ago.

The schools open to female students were on the lean side. But Sasha City, a relatively rich metropolis, did hold several gender-inclusive public high schools, yet he struggled to choose one for Donna.

As for the Holy Grail Society... Clayton vowed to send all of them to meet their maker within a month!

He could not allow them to endanger the public safety of this city,

If Donna was willing to come and live here.

.............

On the next day, Clayton didn't go to Rusty Silver Coin.

Charlotte would take care of everything.

He was about to tackle the watcher around Joe Mani today. Tomorrow, he would ask Charlotte about the school matters.

The Holy Grail Society must have already realized that Clayton's watcher had been knocked off. Going forward, they would grow more meticulous. He had to finish this before the surveillance around him resumed.

When Clayton had last visited with Joe, Joe's watcher must have been in place.

But Clayton had failed to detect the unfamiliar smell among the assorted ones wafting around him. However, if the watcher had been observing them through binoculars from somewhere up high, the scent, however strong and offensive, could not have found its way into his nose.

He needed a vantage point to spot the watcher.

It was troublesome for him to take the Conqueror out on the streets, so he decided to operate at nighttime.

But this did not mean he would sit around during the day.

He headed to a covert detective agency in the west of the city.

Its owner, Bruno, had become acquainted with Clayton after meeting each other at the Retired Officers' Club. He was also a regular customer at Tree House. Both his professionalism and intelligence were reliable.

The only flaws in an otherwise perfect lackey were his struggle with alcoholism since the war had ended, and his pill-sustained, troubled mental state. Thus, he could not afford to advertise his business in newspapers. Its fame grew solely through word of mouth from a handful of regular patrons.

The detective agency was actually at Bruno's home.

Ringing the doorbell, Clayton waited a few seconds before the door opened.

The receptionist was an unfamiliar woman.

Her shoulder-length brown hair was domed with a wide-brimmed black top hat, and she sported a tall figure clad in tight-fitting black cotton shirts and trousers, stepping in high-heeled boots. Eyecatchingly, at her hip were holstered a rapier and a short musket.

The sight of this masculine outfit evoked memories of Clayton's cavalry days, dazing him a moment.

Outside of the difference in color, it looked almost the same as the standard military attire.

"I'm here for Bruno."

The masculine-dressed girl tilted her head, "He's inside the room, but couldn't get up."

Clayton was unsure of her relationship with Bruno while his gaze was drawn to her wide-brimmed hat.

"May I have your name?"

"Mary Eata, Bruno's customer." She gave Clayton a hard stare, showing no traces of timidity. "Sir, have we met somewhere?"

Clayton failed to remember ever encountering her; the way she dressed was head-turning and unforgettable.

"I'm afraid we haven't, Ms."

"Never mind."

Mary Eata turned back inside, with Clayton at her tail, who dragged the door shut behind him.

This was Clayton's first time here after he awakened as a werewolf.

The alcohol and tobacco smells hung heavier over the room than at the strip show club. Sweat-stained clothes and empty bottles were scattered in every nook and cranny.

Bruno lay face-up on the deep colored living room sofa, whose fabric was tattered and horsehair stuffing pouring out, one foot bare and another shod and socked. And his sleeves had been rolled up unseasonably.

His right hand dangled from the sofa, an apple core in its gentle grip, as though clasping a bouquet of flowers.

The detective's face looked worse than a dead man's. He gave no evidence of noticing his customers' arrival but muttered, "My love, Katarina, why leave my side, the priest has presided over our wedding, our sweet marriage shall last forever..."

"He has looked like this since I came in." Mary briefed.

Her glance at Bruno dripped with contempt while her finger was making subconscious circles around the butt of her musket.

She was not a patient person.

To save time for both Mary Eata and himself, Clayton picked an empty cup off a table and filled it up with water in the bathroom, before returning and splashing it over Bruno's face.

"Wake up, Bruno! Katarina is a fictional character from 'The Hussite Sanctuary', you have neither a lover nor a wife, because no woman would like to marry a lazy alcoholic! "

Bruno's eyes flew wide open as he sat up.

He was now wide-awake.