The Laws of Werewolf Hunting

Chapter 370 Misidentification
The morgue is not in the police station, it is an independent building. On the way to the morgue, Sheriff Albert noticed that Clayton's pace was different from that of ordinary people.

"You were a soldier too?"

"Eleven years, two-thirds of which were spent in the colonies, and I retired with the rank of lieutenant," Clayton answered him with emotion.

A smile appeared on Albert's face: "I didn't expect that your military rank is one level higher than mine. Then some things will be easier to talk about."

His attitude was less arrogant than that of George Silver, and he showed more cordial affection when he saw the veterans, which made him very talkative.

"Since you've been to sea, you should know that there are some strange and supernatural things in this world. For example, fishermen along the coast still worship the ancient pagan sea god Selem, construction workers must kill a chicken before building a church, and you Fomorians wrap your bodies with a horsehide when you bury them."

"I'm of Mansis descent," Clayton corrected him.

Cuitis has the blood of the Fomorians. Although they both have black hair, the difference between them is obvious at a glance - the nose of the Fomorians is slightly rounder, while the nose of the Mensis people is more pointed.

"Well, anyway, as long as you understand what I mean." Albert did not dwell on this question: "In short, these customs have some reasons, and they are not rules that appear out of thin air. Ordinary people generally have no chance to see what is behind them, but if they see it, it is not surprising that it disappears."

Clayton frowned. "Are you saying these disappearances might involve the occult?"

"That's a coincidence," Julius interjected. "I'm well versed in the occult."

"I'm afraid this is not something that an ordinary occultist can solve." Albert said regretfully. He suddenly stopped and looked at the side of the street. In the distance behind the four-story apartment building, there was a seven-story building sticking out. It stood there like a giant spying on the livestock in the pen under the dark sky. The shorter houses were like the fence, covered by its shadow.

"Do you see that tall building?" He pointed there and said, "That's the city government office building in Viodi. Because it has seven floors and the people inside are a bunch of bastards, I call it the Hell Building."

Clayton squinted his eyes and looked out the window of the building: "Is it that bad?"

"It's that bad." Albert said firmly: "This city has almost no faith. This is the impact of the people in it."

"I think this is a tradition," Julius said. "In the past, Dorne has always been like this. The White Church was the later guest."

Albert shook his head and started walking again: "I'm not talking about religious beliefs, but something older is preserved here. It's a culture, an atmosphere, and something that can certainly take lives."

"Do you want to talk philosophy to us?" the wizard sneered behind him.

This time it was Clayton who refuted him: "I think I may understand what Mr. Albert meant. He probably meant that the family power here is too strong, so that its influence overshadows the government."

"No, they are the government now." Albert said in a muffled voice.

After that, he didn't speak again.

When they arrived at the morgue, someone was already there.

Two shirtless men covered in scars were standing next to a corpse, with a police officer looking at them with awe.

The wounds on the two men were of various kinds. Just by approaching them, Clayton could smell the stench of blood and festering wounds. One of them bent down slightly and compared his left arm, which was covered with horrible scars, to the corpse. There was a mark on his arm that was exactly the same as the fatal wound on the corpse.

"These are burns caused by electric current. He died of electric shock." He said confidently, pressing his own scars.

So the companion next to him immediately picked up a pen and wrote down the cause of death of the deceased in a notebook.

"Reverend Nottigo, Reverend Nate," Sheriff Albert greeted them.

Both walking encyclopedias of wounds stood up and responded to his greeting.

When Clayton heard the sheriff's greeting, he stopped taking off his sunglasses. Perhaps it was necessary to lose some vision here.

"Someone's missing again," said Albert. "These two gentlemen are here to look for someone."

The two priests nodded, stepped aside, and went outside to wait.

But before they walked out, they all glanced at Clayton for a few seconds.

"They are from the Brotherhood of Sincerity." Julius reminded Clayton in a low voice.

The Brotherhood of the Most Sincerity is the most famous ascetic sect of the White Church, because the rigor of their practice is extreme even among ascetics, and their contemporary leader has also been conferred the title of living saint in the Papal States.

Cuitis and Clayton talked about these things, but she also told him that the Brotherhood of the Most Sincere was originally a semi-public heresy within the church, and was retained only because they remained loyal to the church. Now the situation seems to have changed again, and they are once again regarded as a branch of the Holy Law Sect within the church. This development itself is incredible.

But this has nothing to do with Darkin like Clayton. Right now the church is not keen on going to war with the Darkin, so he doesn't need to care about how powerful the other side is.

Without further ado, they began to check the identities of the bodies here.

Although some of the bodies had begun to rot, Clayton was still able to quickly identify by their hair color that they were not the people he was looking for.

The only difficulty was a pair of feet. There was no torso on the bed where the body was placed, just a pair of severed feet that looked like they had been chopped off from a man.

Clayton pointed at them. "Can I know when they were found?"

"Wait a minute, let me see the information." Sheriff Albert said, and took the files from the police officer in charge of guarding the morgue nearby. He searched for the records in the files according to the number of the piece of paper sandwiched between the toes of the severed foot, and quickly gave them a reply.

"These feet were found after a factory riot. Perhaps they were misplaced, and their owner may not be dead."

Of course a person can survive if his feet are cut off.

"How many factory riots have you had this month?" Clayton asked. The police station they visited before also handled a riot, but that was in the South District.

"I haven't counted them." Albert returned the file to the police officer and leaned against the wall with his arms folded. "But there is one every five or six days. Maybe there are workers rioting now."

“Are the prisons adequate?”

"Thanks to God's grace, we often only have to clean up when we arrive at the scene, so it's enough for now." Albert glanced at the many corpses in the room: "This branch has just been established, and we haven't even gathered the required number of police officers. I'm a police chief, but I only have one person to command. The same is true for other departments. You have also seen Father Notigo and Father Nate, they are not our people. We originally wanted to recruit some medical school graduates to serve as coroners, but after a month of posting the notice and writing letters to the university, no one has applied so far. We can only ask priests who know medicine to help."

At this point, Officer Albert mentioned something worthy of praise: "But their work efficiency is much higher than any coroner I've seen before."

Neither Clayton nor his advisors could comment on the way the Ascetics of the Brotherhood of the Truest worked.

That doesn't seem to have anything to do with medical skills.

However, it is a miracle that they can come to work in the police station. This kind of large ascetic order usually does not participate in secular work. Asceticism is their everything. They only accept offerings from believers and farm themselves. The church also regularly allocates funds to support their asceticism.

Although the Brotherhood of Sincerity has a large number of extraordinary people, their lifestyle is actually not much different from that of ordinary ascetics.

"How did you convince them to come to work?" Clayton asked Albert.

Albert looked at him puzzledly: "We wrote a letter to ask, and then they came."

Clayton thought.

"Well, did you find the man you were looking for?" asked the sheriff.

"I'm afraid there's none here. As for the feet, I don't think I'm capable of identifying people just by looking at them. Besides, we're missing two people, so they should have two pairs of feet." Clayton glanced around through his sunglasses again, then turned back to look at Albert: "We still have to go to Berdalabik to look for someone next. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Berdalabik." Albert chewed on the name and finally shook his head: "I haven't been there, but I heard that there is still no normal administrative agency there. Instead, the nobles are managing the territory themselves. It seems that they are out of touch with the times."

Clayton thanked him and then offered to visit the nearby prison, so they left the morgue and returned to the corridor.

Before they returned to the exit, they saw the two priests whispering in the corridor.

When the priests noticed Clayton approaching, they stopped communicating, adjusted their positions, blocked the corridor, and stared at him with vigilance and confusion.

"Priest?" Albert asked doubtfully.

The ascetics ignored him and only looked at Clayton.

Father Nate opened his mouth with all his teeth intact, and his tongue, covered with blisters, bounced in his mouth, which was blackened by the asceticism of swallowing charcoal, and uttered obscure syllables.

"Conrionay?"

Priest Notigo stretched out his nailless fingers and inserted them into the almost healed wound on his chest, ready to tear open the flesh at any time.

The ascetics of the Brotherhood of Sincerity used their wounds to draw strength, so this was almost a signal to prepare for battle. But Cuitis had told Creighton that the ascetics of the Brotherhood of Sincerity could not take the initiative to attack, they only obeyed the orders of the saints, and at the very least, they had to get an order from the bishop of the diocese, and taking action privately was equivalent to apostasy.

Clayton frowned at the sudden hostility and looked at Albert, hoping for an explanation.

However, Albert also looked at him doubtfully, with a slightly distant attitude: "Are you from the Conrionai family?"

"No, this is the first time I've heard this name." Clayton said, "Am I very similar to them?"

"As I said before, Berdalabik is still ruled by the nobility, and the Conlionai family is its owner." Albert stared at his sunglasses: "As for their appearance, I heard that they have black hair and green eyes."

The two ascetics also stared at his face.

Clayton thought about it and took off his sunglasses.

(End of this chapter)