The Werewolf Hunting Law

Nonetheless, Clayton was not as composed as Joe believed.

Nobody knew how many members the Holy Grail Society had sent to Sasha. Furthermore, he wasn't supported by an intelligence system as he had been in the military.

"But some tasks stretch beyond my ability. Maybe you can help."

Joe said a 'huh?'. "Come on, Lieutenant, the Holy Grail Society is searching for me, how can you put me on any task? Why not employ a private investigator? They will do anything as long as they get paid."

Being a detective was an emerging profession. Their public image was "providing whatever service". Many of them were retired soldiers, whose very expertise included staying unseen and investigating.

"I will hire a private investigator to spy on their base, the 'Broken-Winged Angel', but you also have a task." Clayton passed his revolver to Joe. "Tell me about the Holy Grail Society."

Joe took it and curiously fiddled with it. Even though he was an ex-soldier, rarely had he laid hands on a gun. Before long, he started talking.

"Um, they....they are no better than an evil cult. The first time I bumped into them was in Oak Town in the east of Taunton. They were preaching to the townsmen back then. They also worship the Heavenly Father Carola. But what they publicized was all nonsense."

"For example?" Clayton asked, interested.

Joe shrugged. "They argued that night is nobler than day."

He didn't feel like explaining since even unbelievers knew which of night and day was more important --- without the sun, even crops couldn't grow.

"It sounds like they should call themselves the 'Black Church'."

"Exactly. But they seem to prefer the name 'the Holy Grail Society'." Thinking back to his unpleasant experience in Oak Town, Joe playfully answered.

"By the way, Lieutenant, have you ever heard of the Holy Grail?"

"Yes, I do."

Even though the Bellos were immigrants from Mansis several generations ago and Clayton was no believer in the White Church, he had his share of knowledge about its doctrines thanks to his extensive exposure to it.

In the mythology of the White Church, the Heavenly Father, Carola, had created all the animals and plants amid a white cloud of light, but these creatures were mindless and couldn't grow. Hence, the Heavenly Father handed out his blood and had them drink their fill before the animals gained consciousness and the plants started growing, by nature, toward the sun, remembering the Heavenly Father's benevolence despite their inability to think.

In this story, the container holding the Heavenly Father's blood was the Holy Grail. Thus, it was interpreted as the source of wisdom.

Clayton rehearsed what a devotee had once told him, "The Holy Grail is the source of humanity. Wisdom passed from the God's blood into all sentient beings, adding spirituality to us."

"Precisely." Joe's excitement was mounting. "However, the Holy Grail Society asserted a heresy that the Heavenly Father had not only bestowed spirits upon us, but had also instilled hideous desires in us. They even claimed those desires that make us prone to crimes are the real blessing from the Heavenly Father. Everyone should pay reverence to strength. The reverence differentiates us from one another, or we're all wild beasts that couldn't restrain our desires."

The earlier Joe had been no believer either. But probably having read a lot of the Sacred Texts these days in order to muddle his way into the chapel, he now made a fuss about these things that had been none of his interest.

Upon hearing this, a famous philosophical debate from the last century crossed Clayton's mind, prompting him to comment,

"This sounds like something from Extreme Libertarians and Progressives. They always talk like this. If they could benefit from vicious struggles, they could embrace all about them, the disgusting part no exceptions, with a clear conscience. "

Joe had completed only his lower secondary education, thereby less knowledgeable about this, but at least he was fact-based. "I don't understand this. But their outrageous deeds were unquestionable. They killed the devotees and constables who had been about to expel them, and even attempted to blockade the town. Had the town not been near the national border where our valiant defenders were garrisoned, I might have long since died there."

In lingering fear, he added, "Unfortunately, I couldn't take the others along across the border. The soldiers couldn't cross the border, either. But those kind-hearted soldiers promised they would reach out to their Taunton counterparts for the rescue of those townsfolk."

Clayton held his deeds in high regard. "You have done something awesome. While you weren't awarded a medal, your lofty spirit has been borne out."

He spared no praise, though such compliments were considered old-fashioned now. Joe rubbed his head, showing a sheepish smile.

"Anyway, during that time, did you ever see any Extraordinary power in play?"

Joe wavered, then cast a glance at Clayton and determined that he wasn't joking. "They claimed that they possessed such power, but I never saw it with my own eyes."

"Then, how did they catch up to you later?" Clayton asked.

Since the border garrison blocked the Holy Grail Society's path, Joe Mani must have slipped from their sight.

As long as he had left by train after an interval, he could not have been caught up; even Clayton's Extraordinary sense of smell would have helped little.

Joe openly admitted defeat. "Good question. I don't know either."

Instantly, a spark of inspiration hit Clayton.

"Then, anything I need to do later?" Joe queried.

"No, nothing, just act normal." Then, Clayton pointed overhead, "But look out for the sky."

"You mean they train birds to track people?" Joe tried his best to pull together a reasonable guess.

"Maybe."

Clayton glanced out the window and then turned back."By the way, where have you been living?"

"Somewhere near the chapel." Joe said, "214 Mercy Street."

............

What Joe knew was also limited. But Clayton felt certain that he had already learned how to find the traces left behind by the enemies.

He had known the 'Broken-Winged Angel' was one of their bases, but their mental control prowess shattered any notion of fighting them head-on over there. Such an ability could pull an army from thin air where necessary. Over time, one would find his feet sinking in a swallowing swamp.

The most important clue would come from the organization's means of surveillance.

As the Holy Grail Society's important target, Joe's watcher must not be a hypnotized common man, but its formal member.

As long as he could capture the watcher, Clayton was confident that he could shake the other formal members' locations out of him ---- should the watcher stay alive.

The hackney carriage took him back home. He removed a large breech-loading rifle from the snowy-white wall in the study.

It comprised a dark, sturdy barrel and a noble redwood stock, gorgeously gold-accented all over. Its butt on the ground, it rose until its muzzle was level with Clayton's eyebrows.

This was the latest firearm, named 'The Conqueror', a gift from the royalty that had come with the Lauren War Distinguished Service Medal.

Its barrel had rifling, providing for an effective range up to four hundred yards; a single shot would break anyone's limb.

At the last stage of the Lauren War, some soldiers called 'Hunters' emerged on the battlefields. With these very weapons, they performed tasks of sniping at horsemen and officers from across a long distance.

Both countries had sent such soldiers into battle, but only in modest numbers.

Dreading fiercer resistance fueled by advanced weapons from the colonies, the superpowers had reached a consensus ----- the military garrisons in the colonies would only be permitted flintlock weapons; upgraded ones would be prohibited. Clayton had been among those soldiers using old weapons. Nonetheless, after retiring, he made sure to train with the latest ones.

As a cavalryman mostly engaging in melee combat, he had never gotten his shooting anywhere close to bringing the best out of a gun as 'Hunters' did. However, he could at least hit a stationary man-shaped target within two hundred yards.

Tomorrow evening, he would hunt with this gun.

Perhaps due to his werewolf lineage, he was bursting with anticipation over the upcoming hunt.

"Knock, knock."

The door in the living room was being knocked on.

From his murderous fancy, Clayton was startled, instantly spinning around, his heart racing within his bosom.

"Mr. Bello, your parcel has arrived."

It was the landlady speaking.

Clayton released a breath of relief, placing 'The Conqueror' horizontally on the desk, before walking over and opening the door.

The post office was presently in business even at nighttime, a blessing for those awaiting letters.

The antique dealer had several partners who had been collecting antiques for him and a few long-standing patrons. Thereby, he would use mail services at a frequency higher than most people.

But this letter had nothing to do with his trade.

He took the mailing envelope from the landlady and noticed on it the sender's name------ 'Cuitisi Bello'.

At last, this woman wrote back to him. This letter might contain the information he needed.

But considering Cuitisi's nasty history, Clayton's gratitude diminished greatly.

Besides their fraught relationship, he remembered sending holiday cards to his dearest niece, Donna Bello, every year but never receiving one in return. It had been this woman keeping Donna from doing that.

She had interfered with the two blood relatives' meeting and even forbidden his niece from sending a greeting card.

This woman had been throwing her weight around as Donna's mother, simply intolerable!

Bringing the mailing envelope into the study, he cut it open with a paper cutter. From inside, he removed a letter and an old tome.

Clayton didn't check the book but unfolded the letter first.

In stark contrast to his letter brimming with words, this one was written scarcely half full. Clayton didn't have to be told that Cuitisi had not answered every question of his.

From the sheet emanated a pungent smell of chemicals. It was unknown where Cuitisi Bello had penned the letter.

Despite his protesting nose, Clayton began reading.

"To the unlikable Clayton,"

"Your questions have amused me. Still remember the Fifth Taunton Division that you crossed swords with? Among them, there were tons of Beyonders. All their 'horsemen'(crossed out)... knights shared an ancient knightly Legacy, mastering a set of Extraordinary techniques. It's unbelievable that you have been unaware of this after all those battles with them..."

A while of recollection left Clayton dumbstruck.

Dorne never boasted the mightiest cavalry, but Taunton did.

Clayton believed it to be part of their traditions when he saw, on the battlefield, those Tauntonese dressed like ancient knights swinging a sword. After all, Taunton was a rather traditional country, titled "the Country of Knights".

Cuitis's reminder enlightened him that wearing such hefty armor, impenetrable to firearms, was nothing that ordinary folks could manage even after training.

Having engaged them countless times, he had subconsciously taken them for granted and tuned their peculiarity out.