Clayton had obtained the efficacious medicine.
Groner had passed it to Clayton along with a silver-star badge for a constable.
The Council was about to purchase a building in St. Alvin Parish to function as a Constabulary branch. Once the purchase was finalized, Clayton could take his office, no later than two weeks from now.
As they wrapped up the conversation, Groner offered part of the intel to Clayton as a deposit.
The Holy Grail Society had sent three envoys to Sasha, two females and one male. One had already been killed by Clayton ---- the harpy.
A second was a Darkin cleric, the very one who had mastered the Blood of Desires, also a female.
Her special ability had earned her the title----Faceless Arachnid Cleric; she had been acquainted with Groner even before the Council had been founded.
In the past, Beyonders used strength to seize power, and in turn, one's strength was gauged by one's power.
Squire, Knight, Grand Knight, Legion Commander, Champion, Scepter, Crown.....
Such a method had been so widely accepted that Darkins had also begun borrowing it.
Groner graded Clayton at the rank of Knight, the same as the Arachnid Cleric.
But such a crude, shallow approach only quantified one's physical destructive power instead of reflecting where he was at as a Beyonder.
Some entities were physically average yet proved able to lay a city in ruins under certain circumstances.
The Accursed and wizards matched such a description.
Take the Pied Piper in a legend, for example. He played wondrous music, expelling the disease-spreading rat horde in service of the Hamelin townsfolk, who, nonetheless, betrayed their short-sightedness by denying his due and chasing him away with pitchforks and fire tongs. On that very evening, the angered flautist sounded another tune, charming the town's children into following him into the depths of the forest.
A Darkin could also be a wizard.
The Arachnid Cleric happened to be a natural-born wizard as well as a psychic.
Endowed with a sharp mind, she not only excelled in black magic but could also communicate with devils in hell. Groner advised that Clayton snipe at her after locating her true body.
Should she note that a fellow Beyonder was targeting her, the Arachnid Cleric would unleash her special power in an unrestrained manner and transform her believers with the Blood of Desires. By then, Clayton would face off against a regiment of over a hundred.
In light of her disguise ability, the Council was unsure whether, at the moment, she was herself or had replaced someone else.
But when she had just arrived in Sasha, her identity was certain----- Rosa, a dancer at the strip club.
Clayton certainly felt regret. Had he known that Rosa was the Cleric, when she had come to Rusty Silver Coin, he would have... Well, that knowledge would have been useless at that point. Back then, he figured that the Holy Grail Society was a gang wielding supernatural powers Joe had pissed off and that he could steer clear of them by lying low.
As for the last male, Clayton scarcely cared.
For he had never met him. By far, what filled him with outrage was the monster-manufacturing Blood of Desires.
The sacrilegious, distorted means had deeply offended him, and he also felt guilty for killing its creations.
These very emotions spurred his soul toward hunting down the Holy Grail Society's members, if Joe was hardly his concern at all.
Since Groner said that only the Arachnid Cleric knew how to conduct the Blood of Desires ritual, it didn't matter if he killed the others.
Having identified his target, Clayton heaved a breath of relief and strolled home.
His appetite was already beckoning him to feast tonight.
...
Back home, Clayton first dispatched his correspondence, then began weaving feather fans, which were popular across the Hanaiwai Islands, at the request of his regular patron. His hands were dripping with natural adhesives, and from a few inexpensive accessories, jewels were plucked to adorn the fans. Little time was left to complete it tonight, so he planned to continue tomorrow.
When the clock struck ten, he started reading to absorb occult knowledge, then exercised his shape-shifter power, and finally gobbled up raw meat to regain strength while simultaneously feeding Clara.
Tonight was as packed as ever.
Clara was chewing minced meat at ease in the aquarium. In her eyes, meat shreds had already taken hatred's place.
The sight of her obvious contentment nearly moved Clayton to the depths of his heart.
He couldn't resist the notion that, had he been as dumb, a sense of bliss would also be his for the asking.
A person with sympathy stirred inside would act no different from a lunatic until inviting grave trouble for themself.
A case was his, who had initially had little to do with the Holy Grail Society, yet now felt obliged to send them into the arms of their maker.
For the Holy Grail Society had led him to kill a poor soul, putting him in a bad mood.
Clayton carried the aquarium onto the table, intending to have another word with Clara.
He had lived here alone for four years. It was his first time ever chatting with a roommate.
Despite once almost taking his life, the other party could now offer some spiritual consolation to ease his loneliness.
He lifted the head out and greeted her, "Good evening, Clara."
"Quack-----" Clara replied, "Clara, Good evening."
Clayton had to correct her. "You, Clara. I, Clayton."
His jabbing finger shifted to and fro between himself and Clara, in the hope that she could grasp the use of personal pronouns. Should she stay this way, their conversation could go nowhere.
"You, Clayton. There is no I, but Clara."
"You know how to use you and me, don't you?!"
Clayton suddenly tensed up. Clara's wits exceeded his imagination, evoking in Clayton an image of a fish in a fishbowl observing its owner.
"Everybody doesn't want me but Clara."
Clara's explanation was devoid of emotion.
Clayton failed to understand her words. Coughing hard twice, he asked,
"I'm not Joe Mani, and I would give you meat. So, do you still want to kill me?"
"No, Clara doesn't.."
Clara's expression was resolute. Had her neck remained in place, she would have given a vigorous shake of the head.
"How about Joe Mani? Are you still going to kill him?"
"Clara has to fulfill her mission."
"Since you don't know Joe Mani, how can you be sure if you've found him?"
"Blood, 'Yaaawn'. Clara can be sure when I get a taste of his blood."
Clara yawned twice in a row. The meal had made her sleepy.
Clayton was struck by how backward her judging method was. "So you have to bite people one by one until you find the right person?"
"Clara has seen Joe Mani and knows what he looks like. He's a rare type. Clara knows how to find him."
"He is as large as your head, ugly and red, and wrinkled to boot. Clara doesn't like him."
Upon hearing this, Clayton would have leapt at the chance to bet anyone that Clara could not find Joe all her life.
But it surprised him that Clara had seen Joe as a baby. After all, she looked so young, yet was unexpectedly around his age, if not older.
"Then why did you mistake me for him?"
The lass pursed her lips in grievance. "Clara was too hungry, and Mama said I could eat anyone entering the room, though I can only free myself by eating Joe Mani."
After some thought, Clayton decided that something was wrong. The Holy Grail Society left the city over three decades ago, at which point Joe Mani hadn't been born. So what kind of agreement would involve an unborn baby?
Besides, during Clara's stay in that house, who had fed her all along?
"Did anyone ever feed you at the Mani's home?"
"No, never. So Clara was starved the whole time."
As she said this, her eyes locked on the leftover meat in Clayton's hand while gluttonously licking her lips, so Clayton could only tear off another shred for her.
"Have you really eaten nothing all these years?"
As the young girl chomped away, her eyes sparkled with sincerity. "Yes. Clara doesn't lie."
Clayton was still unhappy about being tricked by the silly goose last time. "But you lied to me last time! I gave chase after you only because you said you wanted to flee."
"For Clayton is dumb."
So annoyed, Clayton thumped back against the backrest, but soon reacted, deftly stuffed Clara back into the fishbowl full of development solution, returned it to the hanging cabinet, then shrouded it in a piece of cloth.
Should she not be silenced, God only knew what horrible words she would say next.
Later on, he read distractedly for a while. Before long, the church's clock in Saint Modred Parish chimed.
The melodious peal signified the arrival of the day.
The werewolf's fur receded as he shrank back to human size.
He dressed himself and freshened up before leaving for the Chief Constabulary.