The legends about werewolves across the world echoed one another, partly owing to the White Church's propaganda.
Accursed, werewolves were an extremely dangerous kind of shifter that could metamorphose into a beast from a human.
They possessed immense strength and a swift recovery speed from wounds. They shared a weakness for raw meat and an itch for battles. Every so often, they would assault a ranch in the shape of a wolf at nighttime. Moreover, they could marshal a pack of wild wolves.
During the day, werewolves would return to their human forms and blend into human society.
As a verifiable werewolf, Clayton Bello could confirm the truth of these legends.
At full moon half a month ago, he shifted into a werewolf, before which signs of abnormalities had already arrived: an unquenchable appetite, the growth of his stature in adulthood, tirelessness after a whole night of stay up...
It provided for nothing beneficial in his social life to become a werewolf and made him feel troubled at the thought of his exposure.
Fortunately, Dark Races had faded away since those distant times. People now treated them as the stuff of legends and wouldn't dwell on the slightest suggestion of some abnormality that Clayton betrayed.
For instance, his doctor had diagnosed him with pica and delusional disorder...
After recognizing his own identity as a werewolf, he had been in search of the legendary Extraordinary world, but till now, his efforts yielded no fruits. Unexpectedly, his comrade Joe Mani had brought a clue to him.
Clayton pulled the ring off his little finger as he felt both worried and delighted.
Did his comrade know the ring's peculiarity?
Joe Mani had traveled extensively to many countries and was supposedly better-informed than him, which, though, was not necessarily something that would work for Clayton.
He decided to ask him about it when they met tomorrow.
...
Tree House was a famous public house in Sasha.
Its owner, Jason, offered services to veteran soldiers at half price.
The familiar sight of the polished mahogany furniture and the bright gas lamps installed on the walls made Clayton feel at home. It's the place where he and Joe Mani bid farewell to each other last time.
Nonetheless, his sense of smell was now countless times keener than before. The scent of alcohol that permeated the air assailed his nasal mucosa and made him grimace.
Clayton prepared several questions beforehand, all of which proved hard to ask now.
Joe Mani was his comrade, but not for a very long time.
At the last stage of the Lauren War, the cavalry underwent an overhaul. At that point, Joe found his way in.
The White River Battle was the only one that they fought together. By then, Clayton had already become Joe's superior. After their discharges, they parted to go their own ways. Their relationship was never anywhere close to talking about everything. Furthermore, they hadn't seen each other for four years until now.
Clayton picked up a random topic in anticipation that he could coax some much-needed information out from Joe.
"It's been four years, but you looks more youthful. It seems that the trips you have made keeps you well-maintained, don't them?"
Joe was seated across a square table from Clayton. His hair had been waxed, and he had changed into a tight-fitting outfit under which his muscles swelled and rolled. Now, he looked like quite a playboy. Apparently, apart from Clayton, he had arranged to meet with someone else tonight.
"No, they don't. It's fine liquor and girls that do the job."
After an attendant filled their wooden mugs with beer, Clayton thrust out and clinked it with Joe's.
"To be honest, only after I embarked on my journey did I realize how difficult it is to travel around the world. Merely a border town in Taunton nearly made me stay there forever. The marvels this world has to offer is more than abundant."
"So you still have the guts to go to Taunton? Aren't you afraid of a throat-slitting when you are asleep?" Clayton showed an astonished expression on his face.
The Lauren War was a struggle for a colony in which the Kingdom of Dorne fought against and defeated Taunton, leaving behind quite some bad blood between the two countries.
Joe swayed his mug, "I am not stupid enough to reveal the fact I am once a soldier."
Clayton held his nose with his fingers and took a sip. When he put down the mug, his mustache was coated with white foam. "Actually, it's fine even if you had told it since you have never been responsible for anyone's death."
Joe Mani coughed hard before bursting into raucous laughter.
Back when he joined the military, the cavalry was manned inadequately. Even though he only knew how to ride a mule, his resume still overshadowed the other new recruits', prompting his assignment to the cavalry.
Since Joe had never ridden a horse, Clayton transferred him to the Supply Department, keeping him from crossing swords with the enemies.
"You're exactly right. But despite your kind-heartedness, I still suffered a lot. Samuel and Ken shared deep-seated jealousy toward me. During the period of time before the White River Battle, I nearly fought them twice everyday. That's no easier than charging on the battlefield."
"But you managed to settle it with your own method."
Clayton raised his mug. "Toast to Joe Mani and his breathtaking cooking skills."
Joe clinked mugs with him once more.
After another few rounds of drinks, Clayton was of a mind to beat around the bush and asked about the Signet Ring but never saw an opening.
"Look and tell me what is this?"
Joe put on a mystical air and took out two tickets from his bosom, which were so awkwardly painted that they appeared to be hand-drawn, reminiscent of the tickets of a traveling circus.
In amazement, Clayton read it out loud, "Broken-Winged Angel? That's unheard of."
"Then I will bring you along and broaden your horizon. Consider yourself lucky."
........
In an underground theatre where people were coming and going, the shrill cries of young men and women rose and fell constantly, reverberating in the confined space.
Rows of scarlet red chairs excited the audience with their color.
Joe Mani held a bottle of liquor and took Clayton along toward the seats that he reserved.
As his imposing figure squeezed through the crowd, Clayton's face darkened at the mix of low-quality fragrance and body odor that suffused the air.
Back when they left the pub, he felt devoutly relieved and never expected that Joe would bring him to such a place.
"Broken-Winged Angel" was a secret strip club. As Clayton perceived, the air was ill-smelling here, the ceiling and floor were worn out, and even the red cover on the seats was frayed.
Oddly enough, the theatre was brimming with the audience despite such a wretched setting.
"What's wrong, Lieutenant, you looks unhappy?"
Joe tapped on the arm of a chair before Clayton sat down beside him.
"Nothing, just the place is somewhat smelly."
Enlightened, Joe put down the green bottle. "Oh, it's very normal. Take care not to touch the the arms and the back of the chair in front of you, if you mind this."
Furrowing his brows, Clayton was sure that Joe was talking about something else altogether.
"The performance is starting, don't talk about this any further." Crossing his legs, Joe seemed to be bursting with anticipation.
A man was holding high a countdown board on the stage. The moment the board that read '1' appeared, all the lights in the venue went out at once.
Three seconds later, a bolt of intense light struck the empty stage.
Clayton looked up at the iron platform above the stage, where a person was maneuvering a mirror-like device. As he spun it around, the beam of light moved here and there. A single oil lamp was all it took to illuminate a large spot.
To exotic string music, a coquettish female dancer cloaked in pink gossamer fabric slowly came on the stage following the rhythm.
She had a cascade of black curls, snowy white skin, and a lovely figure wrapped in cloth bands. Bare-footed, she twisted her plump body like a snake under the spotlight, a sight that drew the eyes of everyone present.
At some ill-lit spots, a few backup dancers, whose countenances were indiscernible and dressing style was alike, danced the same choreography as her.
Due to her veil, Clayton was unable to discern the lead dancer's visage. But the deafening cheers all around gave him a glimpse of her popularity.
"Rosa! Rosa!"
"Rosa! The Queen of the Night!"
"...."
To tell the truth, if Joe hadn't brought him along here, he would have never known the existence of such a place in Sasha.
This was nothing strange. Even though he had lived in Sasha for four years, Joe surely knew the city better than him since it was Joe's hometown where he was raised. Furthermore, Clayton had never intentionally sought such kind of place, which was of little interest to him.
But one thing puzzled him.
Scanning the surroundings out of the corner of his eye, he was now sure that he hadn't made any mistakes.
Among the audience were some females disguised as males, which left him bewildered.
Could it be that the strip club attracted the customers with its exceptional artistry that transcended the boundary of gender?
But, was there indeed any artistic merits to a strip show?
"How did you discover this place?" he asked Joe.
The traveler was in no mood to respond to his question for the dancer was taking off her gossamer coat and flinging it towards the audience seats.
Almost instantly, Joe rose to his feet and held up his hands as though he were signaling an airship that he was an ally.
His gesture couldn't be considered strange as the rows of people fore and aft did the same, their hands forming a billowing wave. On the other hand, someone like Clayton, who kept seated motionlessly, appeared singular. As his line of vision was blocked, he couldn't fathom what was happening on the stage.
Clayton had no idea what they were doing; sort of a crazy action from his point of view.
He held down the brim of his hat for fear that it would be knocked off by the hands sticking out from behind.
"Yes, I've got it, it's me who's got it!"
Joe Mani's efforts had been rewarded. He had claimed the laurel wreath among a host of competitors. He draped the pink gossamer coat around him and showed it off to the people around or farther away from him.
Clayton captured the traces of jealousy and envy deep within their eyes, but none of them took these emotions a step further.
Soon enough, they acted as though nothing had happened, including the fanatic struggle for it.
These people enjoyed themselves in an unbridled manner here but also acted strictly to the strip club's rules.
They adjusted their clothes and sat down once more to watch the dancing performance.
Clayton was amazed by how uniform their actions were. Laying eyes on the 'culprit' draping around Joe, he asked, "What's the point of getting it?"
Joe triumphantly pinched up a corner of the gossamer fabric with his fingers. "It means that I can share a bed with Miss Rosa for tonight."
Clayton crinkled his nose before letting out a sneeze.
Outside of the scent of perfume, he caught a whiff of a strange yet half-familiar odor.
Back when he made his way into the theatre, he smelled this odor, which appeared to be so strong on the gossamer coat now.
Joe brought it to his nose and drank in its fragrance. Judging from his infatuated expression, Clayton surmised that Joe smelled nothing besides the perfume. After all, Joe's sense of smell was nothing comparable to Clayton's.
But this was way too odd.