The door creaked, gaping a crack, through which half of Joe's face was revealed.
Upon making sure that it was Clayton, Joe immediately pulled the door wide open and then spun around, seemingly on alert for something.
Clayton felt relieved to see that Joe stayed well and sound.
The earlier shot stood a chance of killing Joe, who, nevertheless, seemed lucky all the time.
He extended his hand and lifted the harpy, now spread out on the ground, up before walking in and slamming the door shut.
"Lieutenant, have you ever seen some weird thing like this?"
With his back to Clayton, Joe asked as he vigilantly aimed his pistol at the moving body part on the floor.
The small hand at the tip of the wing was trying to crawl there.
Clayton held up the unconscious harpy and examined it. To his disappointment, he found the harpy itself no more active than its limb.
"Yes, I guess I have."
Joe had yet to notice the bird in Clayton's hand, but he caught a whiff of an increasingly strong stench.
"Damn it, why it's getting so stinking?"
"Perhaps because of this."
Clayton tossed the harpy on the ground, where the hand on the limb fragment came into contact, but didn't recognize it. Instead, the hand continued to fiercely grab, plucking clumps of feathers from its original self.
Clayton winced at its ferocious nature.
This called to mind the scene of cremating a recently deceased person, where the corpse would twitch in the midst of the blazing fire.
Joe hit the ground hard on his butt. Only now did he come to realize that Clayton brought in the monster.
For sure, Joe was a former soldier, but one who had never faced off against an enemy, let alone such a monster.
His intimidated look made Clayton impatient.
Given Joe's cowardice, if he had seen Clayton's werewolf form, he would find it.... well, perhaps find it more acceptable.
A monster with human body parts felt more disgusting than a monster from head to tail.
It would give a blasphemous sensation to just about anyone.
Its head belonged to a beautiful young girl whose aesthetic appeal was reduced to nothing by its reeking bird body and some remaining deformed human organs.
If he himself were to become a werewolf with a human head, Clayton could not have accepted it, either.
With this in mind, Clayton grew tolerant. "Joe, didn't you used to be a guard of prisoner-of-war camp? Try your hand at interrogating something out of it."
"Interrogating it?" Joe was flabbergasted, pointing his revolver at the harpy, "Can I?"
"Anyway, it has a human head. Bring it along. We are leaving for another place."
Clayton was currently dubious about the security here. Even though no one detected the gunshot, the fleeing coach might bring a sheriff over here to conduct an investigation.
Joe glanced at Clayton's rifle, the broken window behind him, then the bullet hole in the wall.
He didn't own the house. Here's his rented place.
"Alright."
Soon enough, they took the harpy along to a nearby abandoned building.
In the dark, dusty space, they could hear the raging waves of the river from outside, which accentuated the profound quietude here and made the air around them feel moist and heavy.
This was the port area on the periphery of Sasha City.
Because of landslides from both the banks, the waterway could no longer provide for the passage of a large ship. As time dragged on, the neighboring warehouses and factories were forlorn and became hideouts for the homeless and criminals.
While Clayton stood guard by the door, Joe Mani was following his order to interrogate the monster.
With a candlestick in one hand and the revolver in the other, Joe, based on his experience, started the interrogation.
"Tell me your name."
His words fell on deaf ears; the falcon with a woman's head stared at him, speechless.
Thinking for a while, Joe asked again in Tauntonese（the language of Taunton）,
"Tell me your name."
The eagle-bodied demoness opened her eyes wide, and two streams of tears slid down its cheeks.
Joe was stunned, his face frozen. The vivid emotions displayed on its face humanized it, making it seem less monstrous.
He turned around to shout, "Lieutenant, perhaps something is wrong?"
Clayton, the weighty rifle on his shoulder, turned in through the door, "What do you mean?"
"It looks like a human."
Clayton leaned against the wall by the door, the Conqueror in his arms, his fingers caressing the barrel as though plucking a harp's strings. The sight of the tearful, young visage of the eagle-bodied demoness, in stark contrast to its nauseating body, agitated him.
He was a werewolf but also a human. So what did this demoness count for?
It didn't even have a human body.
"Haven't you once read the Poem of Liaexus? They are prone to lies."
"But it is weeping." Joe's voice betrayed his panic.
"Wouldn't it be better that it looks like a human? That speaks for its fear. Ask it where its master is."
Joe Mani turned around and restated Clayton's question in Tauntonese.
The demoness opened her mouth but didn't utter any sound. It even forced a smile on her face while shedding tears.
Before Joe could say anything, Clayton held the gun up and aimed at it. He decided to settle the matter as soon as possible.
"Speak, or die."
During his stint in the military, he also learned Tauntonese, though his fluency fell short of Joe's.
Tears welled up in its eyes once more and dripped down its chin.
It parted its jaws wide open. Its woman face became distorted as it struggled to lean its head forward.
"What the hell!" Clayton abruptly lowered the rifle's muzzle.
Earlier on, thanks to the distance in between that made its face indiscernible, he wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. Yet, at the time, an unknown emotion in his heart held him back from firing a shot.
It took him a few seconds to calm down. He squatted down before the eagle-bodied demoness and squeezed its cheeks with one hand, saying,
"You'd better say something, or else..."
Suddenly, he pulled back his hand as though being electrocuted.
In its agape mouth, merely a lump of flesh occupied the spot where a tongue was supposed to be. And it had a few missing teeth.
She couldn't speak anymore.
"You're a human?" Clayton parted the feathers at its neck and found a purplish-dark welt there, pus seeping out from its periphery.
The eagle-bodied demoness nodded its head, then turned to gaze at the pistol in Joe's hand longingly.
Clayton rose to his feet and turned on his heel. His look sent Joe taking a step backward.
"Kill her."
Joe thought he must have misheard Clayton. "What?"
Clayton was in no mood to explain any further, grabbed the revolver from Joe and fired a shot backward, without looking over his shoulder.
The demoness threw back its head, which thumped into the rusty iron frame behind it before the gunshot died out.
"Let's go. Our efforts are to no avail."
Tossing the revolver away, Clayton adjusted his collar, then picked the rifle up off the ground and slung it over his back, walking out.
Joe cast a glance at him but didn't fall in behind him.
Outside the deserted warehouse, the night appeared serene, the moonlight sprinkling down.
Clayton's brownish eyes were glinting.
He took the same route he came. After an unknown amount of time down the streets, he saw more pedestrians.
"Good night, Sir, do you need a helping hand?"
At the corner of the street, a man stood in Clayton's way.
Leaning on a staff, he wore a black overcoat and a beret, holding in one hand the leash of a very excitable dog.
The badge on his chest gave proof of his status as a sheriff.
Clayton brought his own hand to his nose and sniffed hard.
Indeed, the scent was quite strong.
"No, thanks. I have just finished fishing, now on my way home."
To prevent the shiny barrel from giving away his location, Clayton had covered the Conqueror with thick black cloth. He wasn't worried that the sheriff would recognize it.
"Night fishing? What an enjoyable privilege!"
The sheriff nodded. "But it's already late into the night. Even St. Melon Parish couldn't be considered as a safe place. There seemed to be a shooting down the road not long ago. For the sake of your safety, let me accompany you for a walk. "
If Clayton were to turn down his offer once more, he would appear to be too suspicious.
"Alright, thank you for your service." Clayton said. He could catch a whiff of the coachman's smell from the sheriff. It seemed rather logical that the sheriff had tracked him down based on the same smell.
As Clayton walked up, the man's dog edged up to his shoes and sniffed but restrained itself from barking.
Dogs were almost the same species as wolves, so Clayton exerted authority over them, too.
The sheriff chortled.
"No need to thank me. As Darkins, helping each other is just what we should do."
Clayton's gaze turned somber.
He was now more irritable than usual because he had done an awful thing earlier on.
"Darkins? Is this some new term?"
"Nothing new. It's a term used in theology."
The sheriff strolled leisurely while holding the leash of the dog, seemingly unworried about Clayton's possible sneak attack.
"So you don't know about it?"
"No, not at all." Clayton was speculating on the sheriff's relationship with the Holy Grail Society.
Holding tight the strap of the gun, he was ready for a battle at any moment.
"Don't be nervous. My name is Gilead. I have been a sheriff of this city since four years ago. My duty is not only to enforce the kingdom's laws but also at times to help Darkins, the likes of you, shield their identities."
Gilead cast a two-second sidelong glance at Clayton and then turned away.
"Especially during this period of time, a stream of newborns like you have cropped up, ignorant about everything and causing me many troubles."
Clayton felt as though his heart were hit by a heavy hammer.
It seemed that monsters had blended into even the Sheriff's Department, a doubtlessly authoritative institution, since a long time ago.
If what this man said was true, what kind of city on earth he was living in?
He looked back and felt relieved that Joe didn't follow him there.
"This is inconceivable. Could you confirm your identity to me?"
Upon hearing the question, Gilead didn't give a direct answer.
"We're still unfamiliar with each other, so I would keep this a secret. Nonetheless, if you are interested, come to the Chief Constabulary to look for me tomorrow. I don't mind answering you some questions."
Just as they approached 214 Mercy Street, Gilead's footsteps came to a stop.
The ground beneath the window was scattered with a large number of glass shards.
"Unleashing our power is our nature, but don't go over the top."
Gilead gave Clayton a serious look. "This city's Elders hope that the peace will not be broken once more. The ensuing chaos will have put our business in a state of distress by then."
"It's no longer the Old Era."