When Clayton was still a student, a major news story broke out in Gorivar County. Four robbers attired in self-made ironclad armor, each weighing in at thirty kilos, had assaulted a bank. The bullets from a rifle would be deflected off the armor. A group of sheriffs confronted them at the bank for twenty-two hours yet failed to subdue them, prompting them to set the bank on fire so that those four robbers were toasted to death.
The armor these robbers wore was the equivalent of the Taunton knights', which seemed to have warranted the carrying capacity of the knights.
But now, when he turned it over in his mind, he found the knights far more nimble than those robbers, who ended up unable to escape from the crime scene due to the weight of the armor.
When a person saw something happen every so often, he would classify it as ordinary as himself.
Clayton had been pursuing the shadow of the Extraordinary world but never expected its presence in his vicinity.
After all, 'Extraordinary' was not confined to only an Extraordinary appearance.
After considering his own personal experience, it immediately occurred to him that many people he had seen appeared to be Extraordinary.
Take the 'Hunters' for example. They could aim at a target from across three hundred yards with their naked eyes, a feat Clayton could never accomplish.
It's said that in the navy of Dorne, some mariners could dive one-hundred-twenty yards deep into the sea; the grenadiers of the Northern Mirendi Republic are each at least two and a half meters tall; in the colony of Lauren, someone could bury himself underground for three days, with a scarf wrapped around his head, without food and water...
There was bound to be some Beyonders in the military.
But Clayton was unsure whether those unusual phenomenons should be attributed to some Extraordinary power or racist disparity.
In short, the limits of ordinary folks were not a definite value.
The dwarves on the Eastern Plateau possessed strength greater than average human beings'; the pointed-eared tribesmen in the Mithril Forest boasted the most exceptional stamina among all the races. In a word, the strong points of different races varied.
Thereby, he couldn't distinguish those with naturally endowed prowess from the shape-shifters like him.
He stroked his bearded chin and mumbled to himself, "If there is an international competition where the long-trained, similarly sized sportsmen from the same race were pitted against one another, then I might be able to determine the limits of ordinary folks."
But this sounded not to be pragmatic.
Every few years in this world, conflicts between countries would be seen here and there, which didn't allow for such an international competition.
Clayton left his fantasies behind him and continued reading Cuitisi's letter.
"Considering that you are prone to ignorance, I am mailing to you, along with the letter, a reference book, which would answer most of your questions. If you have other questions or it fails to do it, I suggest that you go look for a priest..."
Her attitude was really unpleasant. What's more, a priest was the last person that Clayton wanted to see for now... Clayton sighed.
He cast a glance at the cover of the tome, where the title was golden-embossed on the aged, dusty black cardboard.
"Two Thousand Common Knowledge Facts for Enthusiasts of the Occult."
It sounded quite non-serious. Clayton was already suspecting whether Cuitisi had given him this book because it was useless to her and occupied too large a space in her room. By doing this, she had done Clayton a favor more than conveniently.
Cuitisi's suggestions ended here.
But Clayton spotted strange protruding marks underneath, so he turned the letter around.
There was a short segment of words written in a small, twisted script and in ink whose color differed from the front page's.
Beside the words were numerous strange water stains, making the paper roll upward, dry, and crisp.
Dried-up teardrops?
Clayton furrowed his eyebrows; he could hardly picture how and why Cuitisi would cry.
That woman must have given a sneeze at the scent of chemicals while writing the letter.
He shifted his gaze to the segment of words:
"By the way, Donna was about to change school, but we don't have good alternatives here.. how about Sasha City?"
Clayton's hand holding the letter turned stiff while a bolt of light shot out from his soul.
His mind went blank for a moment with only one lingering thought:
'Cuitisi has gone crazy!'
That damn control freak, egotistical narcissist... he could instantly dredge up numerous derogatory terms from his mind and brand them with her, but he had to admit that she was a strong-willed woman who would never change her mind lightly.
Clayton knew that Cuitiis had always thought that the Bello family owed a lot to her, even though she never said so.
Uren Bello didn't fulfill his responsibility as a husband after marrying her; he took the initiative to join the military and eventually died on the battlefield, leaving Cuitisi and Donna behind.
Perhaps the grudge she felt toward Clayton stemmed from Uren; after all, they shared the surname 'Bello'.
If there was any possibility, Cuitisi would have changed her daughter's surname and cut off all ties with Clayton.
That's 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 reconcile with him and move to Sasha, allowing the last two blood relatives of the Bello family to meet?
He got up and paced the study, trying to cool himself down. Then, he opened the window to enjoy the night breeze.
At the thought of his niece, Donna Bello, Clayton's' spirits soared with a deep love for her, both nimble and heavy as a military airship equipped with grenade launchers.
She was the last normal person of the Bello family and should receive the utmost care.
"Let me write another letter to ask her further."
Even though Cuitisi only brought up a simple question, he was already having a headache.
He had never seen Donna, but he could figure that she was now a high school student. He decided to inquire about this of his female assistant, Charlotte, who graduated from Sion University.
Despite the progress of the times, many schools remained no less conservative than two centuries ago.
The schools open to female students were on the lean side. As a relatively rich metropolis, Sasha City did hold several public high schools that put no restrictions on gender. But he found it hard to pick one out of them for Donna.
As for the Holy Grail Society... Clayton promised that he would send to the Heavenly Father within a month!
He definitely would not allow them to endanger the public safety in 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 keep its business running for today.
He was about to deal with the watcher surrounding Joe Mani. He would ask Charlotte about the schools tomorrow.
The Holy Grail Society must have already realized that the watcher was knocked off and would grow more discreet going forward. He had to finish this task before the Holy Grail Society put him under surveillance once more.
When Clayton dropped by Joe last time, Joe's watcher must have been in place.
But Clayton was unable to detect the unknown smell from the assorted ones wafting around him. However, if the watcher was observing them through binoculars from somewhere up high, it was hardly surprising that he smelled nothing fishy.
He needed a vantage point to settle into to spot the watcher.
It was troublesome for him to take the Conqueror out on the streets, so he decided to carry out his sniping at nighttime.
But this didn't mean he had no job to do during the day.
He headed to a covert detective agency in the west of the city.
Its owner, Bruno, became acquainted with Clayton after meeting each other at the Retired Officers' Club and going for a drink at Tree House on several occasions. Both his capabilities and intelligence were reliable.
The only flaw in an otherwise perfect lackey was that he had struggled with alcoholism since the war ended and had to take pills to stabilize his mental state.
The detective agency's premise was actually Bruno's home.
Pressing on the doorbell, Clayton waited for a few seconds before the door was opened.
The receptionist was an unfamiliar woman.
With a shoulder-length, brown mane of hair under a black wide-brimmed hat, she sported a tall figure clad in tight-fitting black cotton shirts and trousers, stepping in high-heeled boots. Eyecatching, she was equipped with a rapier and a short musket at her hip.
Upon seeing such an androgynous outfit, evoking the memory of his days back in the cavalry in him, Clayton was dazed for a moment.
Outside of the difference in color, it looked almost the same as the standard military attire.
"I'm here for Bruno."
The manly-dressed girl tilted her head, "He's inside the room, but very tipsy."
Clayton was unsure what's the relationship between her and Bruno, and his gaze was drawn by her wide-brimmed hat.
"May I have your name?"
"Mary Eata, Bruno's customer." she looked Clayton straight in the eyes and showed no traces of timidness on her face, "Sir, have we once met somewhere?"
Clayton was unable to dredge up any memory of encountering her anywhere; if they did, he must have instantly remembered it since the way she dressed was so eye-popping.
"I'm afraid we haven't, Miss."
"Never mind."
Mary Eata turned around and walked in, followed by Clayton, who conveniently shut the door.
This wasn't the first time Clayton had been here, but after he awakened as a werewolf, it was.
The smells of alcohol and cigarettes were stronger here than those at a strip show club, and sweat-stained clothes and empty bottles were scattered all over the floor.
In the living room, Bruno was lying flat face-up on the deep-colored sofa whose fabric was tattered, revealing the horsehair stuffing inside. One of his feet was bare, another one well-shod and socked. And his sleeves were rolled up, in no deference to the season.
His right hand hung limply down from the sofa, gripping an apple core softly as though he were clasping a bouquet of flowers.
The detective's face had a complexion darker than that of a dead man. He showed no responses to his two customers while slobbering, "My love, Katarina, why are you leaving my side, the priest has presided over our wedding, our sweet marriage should last forever..."
"That's how he has looked like since I entered here." Mary briefed Clayton.
While glancing at Bruno, her face was full of contempt while her finger circled around her musket.
Her patience was already worn out.
To save time for both Mary Eata and himself, Clayton picked an empty cup off a table and walked to the bathroom, filling it up with water. Then, he returned to the living room and poured it onto 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.