Life resembles a stagnating pool of water.
As time drags on, some unexpected pieces of junk find their way into it.
He used the candle as illumination as his yellowish-brown eyes glinted amid the darkness.
Numerous iron chains were affixed on the cellar's ceiling. Chunks of raw meat were hung on the hooks at their ends, keeping rats away, but not human beings.
With his back to Clayton, a man was gnawing at the hooked frozen beef, his shoulders quaking, the chewing sounds floating over intermittently as the iron chain vibrated noisily continuously.
Clayton's guess proved true: the Holy Grail Society could order Zombies around.
The colonial region was abuzz with rumors about Zombies, corroborated with unauthenticated photos. The souls of these half-dead and half-alive individuals, suffering cruel torture and dying an excruciating death, were bound to half-rotten corpses as fury filled up their rib cages. A wizard wielded the power to awaken them under his command.
It's said that they reeked of corrupt flesh and shared their food preferences with werewolves, their hunger insatiable.
That explained why he was attracted to the meat.
But Clayton had never expected that the man would lose control in the presence of raw meat.
Since his quest for surveillance was unfinished, yet he was already pilfering, the man seemed to lack any professional dedication.
Sensing the sudden illumination, the man stopped chomping down on the meat and turned around, revealing his lifeless, glass-ball-like eyes and bloodstained mouth to Clayton.
Clayton remembered the man's smell because he had been around him in the theater.
"What are you doing here? If you are not leaving now, I will go make a report to the sheriff!"
As the legends went, a Zombie didn't speak. But, back in the theater, he looked like an exuberant guy, displaying a complex of expressions and making all sorts of gestures, so Clayton gave it a try to communicate with him.
Without a word, the Zombie drew a dagger from his waist and slightly bent his knees before pouncing upon Clayton.
Clayton raised his right hand and grabbed hold of his wrist, preventing the blade from cutting him.
A Zombie's strength was far greater than that of an average man. If he hadn't awakened as a werewolf, the Zombie would have been tricky to him.
But, for now, the Zombie could definitely not break free of his grip.
Having lost his senses, the monster didn't take defeat lying down but instead took hold of Clayton's right wrist and then opened his jaws, seemingly intent on grabbing Clayton's wrist in his surprisingly well-aligned teeth.
Clayton was in no mood to let the Zombie succeed in his attempt. He whirled a quarter circle about, shifting his weight to his right leg while lifting his left leg, landing a swift, solid kick on the Zombie's knee.
With a crack, the Zombie's right leg turned to the left side.
Losing his balance, the Zombie's attempt was frustrated but still tightly grasped hold of Clayton's wrist.
In Clayton's left hand, the tiny candlelight was flickering vehemently at the mercy of the rushing currents of air.
Clayton indeed had night vision, but it only meant that his eyes were more sensitive to light. In a pitch-black environment, such as the cellar, without a source of illumination, he still couldn't see clearly.
If the Zombie could swim like a fish in the darkness after the candlelight was gone, that would put Clayton in danger.
He had to go with all he had.
With this in mind, he held the candle high with his left hand and abruptly pulled his right hand, in the grasp of the Zombie, back, toppling the now crippled Zombie toward him. Then, he leaned on his left heel, whipping his right leg from right to left, driving his knee heavily into the Zombie's temple...
The corpse thudded to the ground while darkness claimed the cellar.
Due to his violent motion, the candlelight, despite his care, was extinguished.
In the darkness, he managed to pry the Zombie's gripping hand off his wrist. Upon contact, he felt a sensation of the warmth and softness of the Zombie's skin before his mind immediately went blank.
The legend stated that a Zombie, as he recalled, was freezing cold all over the body...
...........
On the next morning, after walking out of the Public Security Bureau of Saint Modred Parish, Clayton was stricken with an unprecedentedly deep depression.
The sheriff couldn't be considered as a main job, but more akin to a part-time volunteer job which righteous citizens dedicated themselves to.
The sheriffs in a city were elected by the citizens, who donated to raise their operation fund. A sheriff didn't wield much power, and the ways they approached law enforcement differed.
As an antique merchant well-connected in the city, he could be deemed a figure to be reckoned with here. The sheriffs didn't even bother to go to his apartment before determining his innocence. By now, the corpse had already been transferred to the mortuary at the Public Security Bureau, awaiting collection by his family.
The dead was an illegal trespasser who had resorted to violence. Thereby, Clayton wouldn't be sentenced for murder.
But this was not Clayton's top concern.
Finishing off an enemy who acted on his own accord was one thing; Clayton would not feel the slightest bit of guilt by doing so. But killing a mindless person manipulated by an evil force was something else altogether.
Perhaps this man was a decent gentleman earlier on, but now he died, burdened with a guilty name.
The Holy Grail Society deserved the blame for all this.
The rotten smell made him mistake the man for a Zombie. Clayton had never thought that he was a living person.
Through closer contact, Clayton discovered that although the corpse was covered in a strong, decaying odor, it wasn't the watcher's own body odor.
The scent must come from the mastermind behind the scenes from the Holy Grail Society.
Clayton believed that the mastermind possessed the ability to make an individual go crazy and then exert mental control over him. Otherwise, what could explain this unfortunate fellow's tendency to feast on raw meat ---- he had a normal man's body, after all.
By far, since the watcher didn't return, the envoys of the Holy Grail Society in Sasha must have already been aware of what had happened to him.
Regardless of whether it's an accident, the other party would very likely press him harder.
Before entering into the foreseen conflict, he had to ensure himself as well-informed as possible.
Perhaps Joe didn't tell him about the Holy Grail Society in detail for fear that Clayton would be drawn deeper into the trouble; that's a choice proving ineffective now.
He was to look for Joe Mani and ask him at length.
Clayton found in place the hackney carriage which took him here. Pulling open its door, he stepped on its steps. As he climbed aboard, the carriage slightly trembled.
The coach in the front opened his half-closed eyes and held tighter the reins in his hands.
"Sir, where are you headed? "
"Just circle around the Parish, I want to get familiar with the area."
"Understood."
The coach jerked the reins up before the horse reared up and then took off. The wheels started trundling along the road awash with muddy water, which was splashed about, triggering a disturbance from the crowd of passers-by.
In the aftermath of the Lauren War, Sasha City was renovated, partly by broadening the roads. However, when more and more out-of-towners swarmed here to seek jobs, the breadth of the roads appeared unsatisfactory once more.
The densely packed people out of the horse-drawn carriage attested to it.
......
Joe Mani never told Clayton where he would hole up, but Clayton, with respect to this, had a big picture in mind.
The first choice was the area around the infantry battalion in the Santa Los Parish.
The second was near the Cathedral of White Curtain in the city center.
The third was neighboring the Chief Constabulary in St. Melon Parish.
All three places had something uniquely special about them, but they shared a common point: nobody would dare to go into a conflict in the area adjacent to them.
Clayton was lucky enough to catch a whiff of Joe's scent before the horse-drawn carriage took a long journey.
The coach held up the reins, slowing down the horse before the hackney carriage pulled over.
The vehicle came to rest in front of a chapel with white walls and a red roof.
Getting out of it, Clayton paid for the trip and looked up at the cross-topped spire with a frown.
Legends stated that after creating the world, the God of Light, Carola, bestowed holy swords upon the angels, ordering them to guard the world. The worshippers of Carola had taken the Holy Sword Cross as their token since then.
Joe Mani's smell was issued from this very chapel.
But Clayton was unsure whether he, as a werewolf, would turn out to be repulsive to the chapel. Now, he paused in his steps at the gateway.
A chapel was considered the realm of the God. If it was protected by divine power and would forcibly reveal Clayton's true form the way the Bishop's Signet Ring did, he would lose his current social standing.
After he stood at the gateway for a while, a hospitable priest clad in a black cassock walked out.
"My son, do you need any help?"
To match his trade and social circle, Clayton's dressing style was deliberately sophisticated. Moreover, his facial features looked well-defined. All these provided for a polished appearance, causing less skepticism.
"Hello, Father. I want to look for a man here, who has newly arrived. I am dispatched here to convey a message to him."
The priest mildly nodded his head, "I guess that you're looking for the new volunteer worker, Martin. "
Clayton took off his broad-brim felt hat. "It must be him, I guess."
The priest signaled for him to wait for a while and then walked in. Soon enough, a middle-aged man made his way out.
The man was bald, sporting a huge beard with deep wrinkles carved beside the wings of his nose. But he was light-footed as a young man and revealed a strange look on his face while setting eyes on Clayton.
He was Joe Mani. Clayton almost instantly recognized him.
No matter how his appearance changed, his smell persisted.
Pretentiously failing to recognize him, Clayton nodded to him. "I'm Clayton Bello. I have something to ask you about Joe Mani. Would you mind if I take up a little of your time?"
Before Joe could respond, Clayton gestured to the coachman behind, who immediately caught his meaning and pulled open the carriage's door on its flank.
Joe let out a sigh and walked into the carriage.
Clayton, at his heels, got into it as well. "Go on, do as I said before, circle around the Parish."
"No problem, Sir."
The vehicle started rumbling once again while Joe stayed solemnly stone-faced, calling to mind a Saint Amsterdam debt collector.
But all this was thanks to the thickness of the mask he had put on. By then, he began talking excitably.
"What the hell, how are you able to discover where I am? Hiding here is my improvisational idea, after all. The Holy Grail Society should have had no idea about this, because I have thrown them far behind me this time, of that I am sure. Lieutenant, why are you looking so grim? Is it possible that..."
"I have my own method." Clayton interrupted.
Apparently, the stern atmosphere at the chapel had Joe's desire to speak pent-up.
"Alright, Lieutenant, you have your own secrets. What do you want with me now?"
Clayton curtly explained to him, "A watcher from the Holy Grail Society barged into and turned my home inside out. Accidentally, I have killed him. I guess that there is no room for a turnaround. But I don't want to abandon my property here and leave for another city..."
"So you want to eliminate all of them?" Joe got excited. He knew that his Lieutenant had quite some tricks up his sleeve.