Werewolf, the Holy Grail Society, Zombie, Harpy, Darkins, Elders...
These terms had almost flummoxed Clayton.
Clayton had expected the Holy Grail Society to retreat from Sasha City after he had knocked off all their watchers, since they dreaded clashing with the Church and the government. But he had never conceived that another force was entrenched in Sasha. The situation seemed far more complex than imagined.
"In Sasha, the Council of Elders and the Constabulary jointly maintain order and peace. Organizations like the Council also exist in other cities. Besides keeping things under control, they also safeguard our kind's interests."
Gilead directed a smiling gaze at Clayton."The government is well-informed of this."
Casually, he dropped a few Darkins' names. All were influential and celebrated.
Clayton was familiar with one, a military equipment supplier.
The White Church's mythology stated that the God of Light, Carola, created all normal animals and plants in a white cloud of light, whereas those distorted life-forms, mutants of God-created creatures, were classified as Dark Races, or Darkins, branded as natural-born sinners.
Among these Dark Races, monkey-faced men, ghouls, vampires, and the like were common characters in bedtime stories.
However, since the rollout of the Nighttime Illumination Decree, hardly anyone had seen them on the street for decades. People gradually began doubting their actual existence until losing interest in them, whereas some writers beautified those absurd stories involving them, slotting them into fairy tale books.
But their existence was unquestionable; Clayton had stumbled upon the truth after becoming a werewolf himself.
But, unimaginable to him back then, these Dark Races held sway in this ostensibly peaceful world.
"Elder Gronne is negotiating with the mayor about whether to clear the silted-up river. If only that succeeds-------the port area will bustle once more."
Holding the dog's leash, Gilead remarked with a sigh. All the while, Clayton couldn't tell him apart from ordinary people.
Moreover, Gilead seemed to hold a certain sense of confidence, as though he and the creatures backing him were the owners of this city.
"You're very courteous------nothing commonplace. Perhaps you should quit your job and join us as a constable. Although it is normally an unpaid part-time job, the Council offers a constable of our own kind an eight-pound weekly salary. Besides, I believe we will get along fine." Gilead suggested sincerely.
An ordinary single person only needed eighty pounds to lead a decent life for a whole year --- in their own class.
This job's salary was undoubtedly handsome.
However, with the Council in command, Clayton believed, the job must come with other responsibilities.
Clayton was unsure why Gilead had suggested this. Anyway, after a moment of silence, he answered, "My current job's salary is three times that much."
Upon hearing this, Gilead coughed lightly. "Let it drop, then. Sometimes staying put isn't a bad thing."
For an unknown reason, Gilead's pace turned unsteady.
.........
After parting ways with Gilead, Clayton returned to the tree-lined avenue, retrieving his clothes and conveniently erasing the traces.
Back home, he put on gloves and cleaned the apartment as part of his daily routine. As he worked, all his lingering emotions gradually dissipated.
Then, he made his way to the study, settling into the sofa. As a commendable habit from his military service, he began reviewing his secret operation today. Yet, to his surprise, his memories regarding Gilead had evaporated altogether.
Gilead was a man walking a dog. Besides this, his impression of Gilead was blank.
"Is he taller or shorter than me?
What color is his hair?
What is his age?
Is the bridge of his nose prominent or sunken?
What does he smell like?
Does he smoke? What brand of cigarettes?...."
Clayton carefully recalled but dredged up no memories. He was certain that, back then, he had not emotionally neglected Gilead's appearance. But he did forget all these.
Perhaps this resulted from Gilead's special power.
Then, the two watchers from the Holy Grail Society crossed his mind.
Both had a Darkin's features but were still mortals with no Extraordinary power.
He had found on the eagle-bodied demoness a surgical wound that hadn't healed. She was not a real harpy. And the 'zombie' would lose control due to his instincts.
Apparently, the Holy Grail Society possessed a technology for creating fake 'Darkins'.
Clayton swung his gaze around, from the desk to the wall-mounted Conqueror, then to the book-lined lacquered wooden shelves.
After living here for four years, this was the first time he felt unsettled. Not that he had changed, but a hidden truth in life had struck him.
He would not have given it a damn.
But the eagle-bodied demoness's face had instilled fear in him.
Her face belonged to a girl around fifteen, a beauty exuding the vibes of youth.
That reminded him of his niece, Donna Bello.
Because Cuitis would no longer meet with any of the Bellos, Clayton had never seen his niece, but he had imagined his only living blood relative's visage many a time.
If inheriting her handsome father's looks, Donna ought to be a pretty teenage girl as well.
Among those imagined faces, with one, the eagle-bodied demoness's dovetailed, stirring deep sympathy in Clayton. Precisely this had prompted him to take the demoness's life, freeing her from the malformed, putrid bird's body, before he could have coaxed some intelligence out of her.
He hated thinking that his relatives would end up that way.
To his relief, the demoness could only understand Tauntonese, ruling out the possibility that she was Donna.
Nevertheless, this kindled his crisis awareness.
Gilead seemed friendly with him and likely acted the same toward every Darkin.
Should an ordinary person fall victim to a Darkin unnoticed, Gilead would, in all likelihood, help cover it up for the Darkin like he brushed aside Clayton's shooting last night.
God only knows how many similar incidents had happened
Sasha City had a population of 1.1 million. One-fifth was a highly mobile immigrant community. Cases of missing persons were most common here.
Clayton hardly considered the city a land of peace.
Should Donna attend school here, what might happen to her would be unpredictable. Better let her stay where she was. Even if she had trouble finishing her academic career, Clayton's wealth could provide her with a well-off life.
He no longer needed to consult Charlotte about schools open to girls.
However he desired to see his relative, he had to tell Cuitisi not to come.
With conflicting emotions, he drew out a sheet of stationery and started a letter to Cuitisi.
.............
"I want to confess, Father Petri."
Kneeling before a divine statue and crossing his fingers, Joe lamented to the priest in charge of this chapel.
Already undisguised, his face was revealed.
The episode last night was the last straw for Joe. He was the Holy Grail Society's target, yet Clayton had to come to his constant aid, and the troubles had become ever more outrageous.
From the Holy Grail Society's sealing off the small town, things escalated to their dispatching a monster---the stuff of legend---against him.
All these constituted something of a nightmare.
Joe had not the slightest desire to broaden his horizon by taking on the Holy Grail Society.
Even if only to pluck his friend from the conflict, he had to do everything possible to stop the Holy Grail Society.
"My name is not Martin, but Joe Mani. I have volunteered here not out of my devotion, but to seek shelter."
The young priest was clad in black, with a sword-cross pendant hung from a silver chain, on his chest. Brilliantly blonde, he appeared more youthful than Joe.
From behind, the sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window, creating a kaleidoscopic trail over them and down on the floor.
"Be relaxed, my son. Even unbelievers are also protected by the Heavenly Father," he comforted Joe affably. "Whether it be vegetables, cows, tobacco...., though unbelievers, the warm sunlight will also wash over them all the time... "
Such an analogy sounded flipping weird, yet it was exactly the stance Joe needed.
"Feel free to tell me whatever hardships you have encountered," Petri promised.
A witness to Joe's hard work at the chapel these few days, Petri scarcely found Joe unlikable even after the confession.
Guiding and winning over unbelievers was also part of his job, anyway.
"Our Lord is merciful."
Head lowered, Joe was forming an intensely emotional narrative."During my journey around Taunton, my path has collided with an eccentric cult's, who also worships the Heavenly Father. When I chanced upon them, they were preaching in a small border town..."
Though high-strung, Joe was one of those in whom nervousness could bring out the best.
In Father Petri's presence, his every breath and syllable pumped from deep within, his talk eloquent as a speech.
He intended to recount, without a pause for breath, what atrocities had clawed his eyes in Taunton.
"... They claimed to be the Holy Grail Society, whose founder is named Sirilus..."
As the affability flaked off the priest's face, Joe's elation soared.
He could tell the priest took the matter seriously.
The White Church was not only an infinitely tolerant religion, but also just the opposite.
These devout clergymen could tolerate unbelievers and infidels but never heretics.
In history, the Pope's Knights of the White Church had expelled and exterminated their onetime brethren on several crusades.