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 between a beast and a human.
They possessed immense strength and recovered swiftly from injuries. Sharing a constant weakness for raw meat and an unwavering itch for battles, every so often, they would marshal a pack of wild wolves and assault a ranch in their bestial form at nighttime.
During the day, a werewolf would return to their human form 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, which his earlier abnormalities had portended: an unquenchable appetite, the growth of his stature in adulthood, tirelessness after staying up a whole night...
Becoming a werewolf hardly facilitated his social life and the mere thought of his exposure troubled him.
Fortunately, Dark Races had faded away since those distant times. People now treated them as the stuff of legends and wouldn't dwell on a slight suggestion of abnormality that Clayton might betray.
For instance, his doctor had diagnosed him with pica and delusional disorder...
After recognizing himself as a werewolf, he had been searching for the legendary Extraordinary world, but till now his efforts had yet to yield fruit. But he had never anticipated that his comrade, Joe Mani, would present him with a clue.
As Clayton pulled the ring off, he felt both worried and elated.
Did his comrade know the ring's peculiarity?
After all, Joe Mani was someone who often hopped abroad and was presumably better-informed, which, though, was not necessarily something that would work for Clayton.
He decided to ask about this when they met tomorrow.
......
Tree House was a famous public house in Sasha.
Its owner Jason offered services to ex-servicemen at half price.
The familiar sight of polished mahogany furniture and bright gas lamps installed on the walls made Clayton feel at home. It was the place where he and Joe Mani had bid farewell to each other last time.
Nonetheless, his sense of smell was now countless times keener. The alcohol evaporating into the air irritated his nasal mucosa and made him wince.
Clayton had prepared several questions beforehand, all of which proved hard to ask now.
Joe Mani had been his comrade, but a brief one.
At the last stage of the Lauren War, the cavalry underwent an overhaul, where Joe found his way in.
Only the White River Battle had they fought together. By then, Clayton was already Joe's superior. After their discharge, they parted to go their own ways. Their relationship had never been anywhere close to that of confidants. Furthermore, it had been four years since their last meeting.
Clayton brought up a random topic, but in anticipation that he could coax much-needed information from Joe.
"It's been four years, but you look even younger. Just unimaginable that trips can keep one well-groomed."
Joe was seated across a square table from Clayton. Sporting waxed hair and a tight-fitting outfit that accentuated his swelling muscles, he looked quite the playboy. Apparently, apart from Clayton, he had arranged to meet with someone else tonight.
"No, instead of trips, fine liquor and girls work their magic."
After an attendant filled their wooden mugs with beer, Clayton thrust out and clinked his 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. A mere border town in Taunton has nearly stranded me forever. The marvels this world has to offer are more than abundant."
"So you have had the guts to go to Taunton? Weren't you afraid of a throat-slitting when you slept?" Clayton raised his eyebrows.
The Lauren War was a struggle for a certain colony where the Kingdom of Dorne had fought against and defeated Taunton, forging a vendetta between the two countries.
Joe swirled his mug."I wasn't so much of a fool as to reveal that I had been a soldier."
Holding his nose, Clayton took a sip. When he put the mug back down, his mustache was adorned with white foam. "Actually, it's fine even if you had told it. You have never had your hands tainted with blood, after all."
Joe Mani coughed hard before bursting into raucous laughter.
Upon his enlistment, the cavalry was manned inadequately. Despite knowing only how to ride a mule, he still stood out among the new recruits, prompting his assignment to the cavalry.
Someone inexperienced with a horse was certainly not supposed to go to war as a horseman, so Clayton transferred Joe to the Supply Department, keeping him from crossing swords with enemies.
"You're exactly right. But I still suffered a lot from your assignment. Samuel and Ken were so envious of me. During the time before the White River Battle, I nearly fought them twice every day. That's no easier than charging on the battlefield."
"But you managed to settle it with your own method."
Clayton lifted his mug."To Joe Mani and his conquering 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 about the Signet Ring but never saw an opening.
"Look at this and tell me what it is?"
Putting on a mystical air, Joe produced, from his chest, two tickets, which seemed hand-drawn thanks to their humble look, reminiscent of the tickets for 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 screams of young men and women reverberated, in a constant stream, within the confined space.
Scarlet red rows of chairs excited people with their color.
A bottle in hand, Joe Mani walked Clayton toward the seats that he had reserved.
As the imposing-built Clayton squeezed through the schlocky fragrance and body odor-tainted crowd, his face darkened.
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, where the air was ill-smelling, the ceiling and floor worn-out, and even the seats' red cover frayed.
Oddly enough, wretched as the place looked, people flooded in to the brim.
"What's wrong, Lieutenant? You don't look very well."
Joe tapped the chair on the arm. Clayton sat down beside him.
"Nothing, just the place is a little smelly."
Enlightened, Joe put down the green bottle. "Oh, it's very normal. If you mind this, take care not to touch the chair arms and the back of the chair in front of you."
Furrowing his brows, Clayton was sure that Joe was talking about something else altogether.
"No more talk. The performance is starting." Crossing his legs, Joe burst 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 beam of light struck the empty stage.
Clayton looked up at the lighting grid above the stage, where a person was maneuvering a mirror-like device. As he spun it around, in synchronization the light beam moved. A single oil lamp was all it took to illuminate a large spot.
To exotic string music, a coquettish dancer, cloaked in pink gossamer fabric, rhythmically ambled onto the stage.
She had a cascade of black curls and snowy white skin. Band upon band of white cloth served as her clothes. Bare-footed and bathed in the spotlight, she twisted her plump body like a snake, a sight especially eye-popping.
At some ill-lit spots, a few similarly dressed backup dancers, whose countenances were indiscernible, danced the same choreography.
The lead dancer's veil kept Clayton from discerning her visage. But the deafening cheers all around gave him a glimpse of her popularity.
"Rosa! Rosa!"
"Rosa! The Queen of the Night!"
"...."
Honestly, if Joe hadn't brought him along here, he would never have known there existed such a place in Sasha.
Clayton hardly found this strange. Even though Clayton had lived in Sasha for four years, Joe surely knew the city better, since it was his hometown. Furthermore, Clayton had never intentionally sought out such a place, one of little interest to him.
But one thing puzzled him.
Scanning the surroundings with a sidelong glance, he was now sure that he was not mistaken.
Among the audience were some females disguised as a male, which astounded him.
Was it possible that the strip club attracted customers with its outstanding artistry that transcended gender boundaries?
Nonetheless, was there any real artistic merit to a strip show?
"How did you discover this place?" he asked.
The traveler was in no mood to respond, for the dancer was taking off her gossamer coat and flinging it towards the audience.
Almost instantly, Joe rose to his feet and held up his hands as though signaling an airship that he was a friendly.
His gesture couldn't be considered strange as the rows of people fore and aft did the same, their hands forming a billowing wave. Instead, someone like Clayton, who remained seated motionlessly, appeared singular. His line of vision blocked, he couldn't see what was happening on the stage.
Clayton had no idea what they were doing, which he saw as sort of crazy.
He pressed down on the brim of his hat, fearing the outstretched hands from behind might knock it off.
"Yes, I've got it, it's me who's got it!"
Joe Mani's efforts had got rewarded. He was the one who had claimed the 'laurel wreath' among a host of competitors. He draped the pink gossamer coat around himself and showed it off to the people around or further away.
Clayton caught their jealous or envious gazes, but none took the emotions a step further.
The fanatic struggle for it moments ago seemed to have never occurred.
These people reveled unbridled here but also acted strictly to the strip club's unwritten rules.
Adjusting their clothes, they sat back down to resume watching the performance.
Clayton was awestruck by their uniform actions. Glancing at the 'culprit' draped around Joe, he questioned, "What's the point of getting it?"
A triumphant Joe pinched up a corner of the gossamer fabric. "It means that I can share a night with Ms. Rosa."
Clayton crinkled his nose before sneezing.
The scent of perfume aside, he caught a whiff of a weird yet half-familiar odor.
On his way into the theatre, he had smelled this odor, one so strong on the gossamer coat now.
Joe brought it to his nose and drank in its fragrance. 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 place was way too odd.