"Well, certainly."
Blankly, the young chap passed the book to Clayton.
Although he considered it a good thing that someone shared his interest in the book, to his amazement, the most mysterious-looking guy in the room would ask for 'The Beginner's Guide to Mystery Studies'.
"Are you also a guest?"
"Yes."
Clayton gave a concise answer.
He dived into the book and tried his best to avert his eyes from the brawny man and the blonde woman, whose eccentric behaviors were apt to stir up his lust for meat.
He should deal with these bizarre people from now on?
"May I have your name?" The young man reached a hand out.
Jolting out of his concentration, Clayton extended a hand for a handshake.
"Clayton Bello."
Only by then did Clayton notice that the lad shared his black hair and emerald-green eyes. And he was fluent in Dornish.
That spoke for the young fellow's probable Mansis descent and immigrant family background identical to Clayton's.
This was uncommon, for Mansis put strict restrictions on emigration issues and seldom did ordinary folks manage to escape from the country.
"Aurely Blanco."
"I'm Simon." The tramp saw an opening and introduced himself.
After seeing the chain-smoking worker and the hysterical housewife, a tinge of self-confidence was added to his face.
"Well, Simon."
Both Clayton and Aurely had to give him a handshake, but from deep down, they dismissed the need to befriend him. An able-bodied man, yet he ended up in such a bleak situation. Undoubtedly, he must be a lazybones.
"Mr. Bello, do you know what they are about to tell us a while later?"
"I'm also new here."
The lad was still attending college, not at the prestigious coeducational Sion University but the male-only Sasha University.
Clayton had a similar educational background, but had never finished college owing to his enlistment.
After some more chit-chat, Simon's face twisted into puzzlement before he had little choice but to join the other two.
Aurely decided to gift Clayton the book and also offered the position as a consultant for his Folklore and Mythology Research Club to Clayton, who would use his means to supply primary sources of the colonies' mythology and some ritual utensils; if he could obtain the manuscript of myths and incantations, it couldn't be better.
Certainly, Clayton would repay. Going forward, he would offer the Club's members discounts on handcrafted items from the colonies.
Both considered this exchange so productive that they began conversing in booming voices as if there were no one else around.
It was not until a servant informed them that it was time to go to the main hall that the other three released a breath of relief.
The Mansion had more than one waiting room. As they followed the servant down the corridor, they spotted another group coming from the opposite direction.
By the time they took their seats in the hall, people were still thronging in.
Clayton didn't mean it to sound so rude, but a few among them looked more terrible even than Simon. More than untidy and somewhat weird, their skin was a patchwork of deep and pale colors, and there were some withered, superfluous limbs on them.
Perhaps even a random sea urchin from a seafood market would look more presentable than they did.
These strange-looking people seemed impaired in every way.
Cross-eyed, they drooled, their bodies limp as though boneless, needing a servant's help with every step.
Simply unfathomable what the Council wanted to do with them.
Clayton noted four long tables in the hall. Servants would usher a guest to one of them according to a certain pattern.
Those sharing a table with Clayton showed little sign of a physical transformation, though a few did exhibit some abnormalities, such as being neurotic.
Those ugly, mentally disordered people were led to another table.
The third table was unoccupied, with no dishes. The last table had only three guests.
All three of them donned a pure white mask, exposing only their lips. One was a man nearly three meters tall. The other two were of normal stature, and one was female.
They wore formal attire of the same style. Though seated, their hats and gloves hadn't been removed; each inch of their skin was covered. Fixating their absentminded stare at the tabletop, they kept demure, each of their movements seemingly spurred by a conditioned reflex instead of their own will.
But Clayton could sense an air of menace emanating from none but them.
During this break, he took out the green handkerchief given by the maidservant and sniffed it, catching a whiff of the textile scent identical to that from the eagle-bodied demoness.
Imperial Green.
It was a dye with a classical, elegant hue that had lately caught on.
But there had been a few cases where people wearing clothes containing the dye had fainted, suggesting it was a toxic substance.
Nonetheless, to the monsters in attendance, the dye would presumably cause little harm.
When everyone had sat down, Clayton did a count. Excluding himself, there were a total of 26 attendees here. It was a staggering number.
Clayton didn't believe that every one of them had happened to be discovered by a constable at night. Some might have intentionally hidden their abnormalities after recognizing them.
The number of people present indicated that the Council had pulled strings within hospitals, at least.
About another ten minutes later, a man emerged from a passage beside the host's seat.
He grew a mustache with its wings curling upward and dressed himself in a scarlet tailcoat, looking very energetic.
From the doorway, he scanned the attendees, seemingly counting them.
With the job finished, he immediately raised his voice. "It seems that everyone is willing to join the Council. Good. But Mr. Pulitzer is now busy with important work and not free to entertain guests. You may as well grab some food and enjoy it as you wait."
With this, the moustached man leaned to his side, whispering to someone in shadow.
Soon, attendants began serving hot food on the tables.
Samira sausages, roasted geese, grilled suckling pigs, baked chickens, cream of mushroom soup, tomato cheese soup...
On the table, beside the bountiful assortment of cuisines, were small pyramids of fresh fruits like apples and grapes, and cold dishes like dragon fruit cake and pork terrine.
So lavish was the food, and Clayton did feel somewhat hungry. He laid the napkin on his lap before expertly putting the fork and knife to use.
Socially speaking, before the host arrived, the guest was not to start dining.
But the antique dealer bet that the mustached man disdained them. His gaze was not unlike a man's watching as animals crowded before troughs.
The way the host side let them dine first said little about their thoughtfulness but tons about their belief that they deserved little ceremony.
But Clayton didn't care; all his concern was the food in his mouth.
Only those never in the grip of hunger would prioritize table manners.
...
The catered food would have been sufficient for one hundred fifty, but eventually vanished into the twenty-seven guests' stomachs.
Such a feat left Clayton flabbergasted.
He was not the champion eater. Neither was the middle-aged worker, who had revealed his pig head as he ate away, nor the gloved Aurely Blanco, who had discreetly dispatched three plates of fried rice in one go.
Instead, those hideous attendees merited the credit.
In light of their immobility, servants had treated them to the food in a cruel manner, funneling a continuous stream of food into their mouths as though they were foie gras geese. Such a method could definitely not be considered hospitable.
In the beginning, the surrounding people had given signs of disgust. But given how dislikeable these poor souls looked, the onlookers soon grew accustomed to this.
The monsters who had lately become monsters saw those more monstrous-looking monsters as monsters.
At the sight of all this, Clayton's appetite soared to a new height. And the noises the others made as they wolfed down amplified his food capacity as well.
Abruptly, he detected a completely strange scent.
He stopped wielding the fork and knife and swung toward the host's seat on a dais, into which a man had already settled.
It was a man sporting a black-green pigtail, his face clean-shaven, his age indistinguishable. He donned a Khaki coat with twelve square exterior pockets that ballooned over loose black trousers; the pant legs were tucked into his pale-brown boots. Leisurely, he extended his legs straight beneath the table.
After catching his gaze, the man nodded to Clayton with a stern expression, which diverged from his relaxed manner.
Not only Clayton but the three masked people were also staring at him.
As time passed, the feasting noises sank ever lower in the hall.
More and more diners spotted the man in the host's seat. Despite their undiminished appetite, they stopped eating and turned their gazes upon the host.
Finally, after all of them ceased, the man started, "I have seen your unquenchable appetite, everyone. For me, that's a source of gratification and pride."
"I'm Julius, one of the four Elders of the Council. Now, to further our relationship, all of you, please turn into your true form on the spot."