The Laws of Werewolf Hunting

Chapter 77 Tripartite Trial
Clayton didn't work long during the day, however.

At eleven o'clock, the army came.

"Sir, please come with me."

The small orderly stood slack outside the door, and he subconsciously stood up straight after Clayton opened the door, otherwise he would appear even shorter.

Clayton asked the orderly a few questions before he knew the reason for this.

Although he asked Marie Aita to conceal the fact that they were chasing Faslag, Faslag was dead after all, and his headless body was found that evening, and he notified the nearest Becky Hospital. The epaulettes and belongings on his shoulders, others recognized his identity.

The strange behavior of Clayton and Mary in the military hospital that day is still remembered by many people.

The autopsy results in the death of Lieutenant Charles are confusing, and the role of the General Sheriff's Department in it is suspected to be unfair.

Therefore, everyone who left the notary office that day had to be summoned for interrogation.

Clayton was not afraid, he was familiar with the affairs of the army, and he was sure enough to get out.

Soon, he was led by the messenger to a room in the Santa Los parish barracks. Before entering, he saw the old coroner Achill coming out with his guard Green, and was led to another room by a soldier. A room to go.

The expressions on their faces were very calm, as if they were being questioned.

Marietta, on the other hand, was sitting on a bench in the corridor outside, with her feet up.Two soldiers stood guard next to her, one on the left and the other on the right, casting their eyes on her from time to time, with a resolute and vigilant look on their faces.

But apart from them, Clayton didn't see Barbara, Julius, and Florentine.

"Next," the room called.

Marietta got up and went in, Clayton took her place, and the soldiers were no longer watching warily.

After the door of the room was closed, Clayton began to pay attention to the sound in the room, but because of the good sound insulation here, he couldn't hear anything.

The door opened again quickly, and Mary stepped out.

"Next." Another call came from inside the room.

Clayton saw no one around who might be willing to go in, so he went in himself.

The situation inside made him a little relaxed.

An officer with a higher rank than Faslag, a bishop-level clergyman, and one who may be a government official exist.

No one can be alone.

But he also noticed that the curtains in the room were drawn and there was a strange lamp on the table.

The lampshade of that lamp was made of ivory, and many fine engravings were made on it. The light from the electric lamp passed through the lampshade, showing a warm pink light, making the atmosphere in the room slightly ambiguous.

The light made Clayton's exposed parts itch -- including his eyeballs.

He raised his hand to cover his eyes, but he saw that his palm looked very dark under the light, instead of the thinner flesh and blood that could still see light under normal light.

Clayton saw black flocs in his own flesh, something like twisted bones, evidence of a werewolf.

He could feel them before, but he never knew what they looked like. This lamp gave him a better understanding.

This lamp seems to be a strange thing, but since these three companies can come up with such a magical object, it is not surprising.

Clayton tensed a little, but then settled down.

The benefits provided by the Presbyterian Church can only be achieved by connecting with the government. His identity as a werewolf may not be a secret in the eyes of these people.

"Are you a member of the Presbyterian Church? They seem to have mentioned you, but that was last month." The person who looked like a government official asked. "We are currently investigating the matter of Charles. Yesterday's incident was too sudden. We haven't had time to transfer your files, but we will still search after the conversation. You must answer carefully."

On the word "member", he accentuated, obviously not referring to ordinary members of the organization.

"I'm."

Clayton paid attention to their expressions, and the priest he was most worried about didn't respond.

But it is also true that devout believers may be transformed into dark descendants when the dark moon returns, and most of the church's clergy are not ruthless religious fanatics.

If it weren't for some thoughts and experiences in the past, Clayton even had plans to join them.

"Of course he is."

The officer put one hand on the armrest, turned to the officer and said coldly: "Everyone knows that the Presbyterian Church is expanding, and this has nothing to do with your lazy politics. If these freaks make an appointment to go together someday I wouldn’t be surprised if I turned into a child on the street, who can you count on then?”

He didn't even mean to shy away from Creighton when he said these words.

"Their behavior is reasonable and purely commercial. We cannot reject legal business practices. We also support the parish council's limited autonomy. It is their own idea to choose who will be responsible for public safety." The official said lightly: "If any of this makes you uncomfortable, please write to Her Majesty the Queen and I am sure she will give a fair verdict."

"You can say it, but the Queen will know that no matter how many people like you are good at writing official documents, they can't compare with the weight of a bullet."

Clayton doesn't know how much the officers worry about the country and the people, but his attitude does represent a large part of the army.

It can be seen that Clayton is the first darkin they met today, otherwise such a simple topic should have been quarreled before he entered the door.

"Gentlemen, don't forget that you are at work."

The bishop of Santalos reminded them that he had the scepter in his hand, so Creighton could guess who he was.

The other two restrained themselves a little.

The clergy are more respectable, and under their mediation, most people are willing to temporarily settle down.

"Name?" asked the officer.

"Clayton Bello."

"Occupation?" asked the official, turning out a new page to record, while the other two remained motionless and had no intention of writing.

"I make a living selling corny stuff," Clayton said.

"That's the scrap dealer."

The official said that he was about to write, and the werewolf had no choice but to give up his simple sense of humor, and remedied: "They are very similar, but those old-fashioned things still have a lot of value, and they are all luxury goods."

The official understood this time: "That's the antique dealer."

The officer sneered, the official's face was as normal as usual, and the calligraphy was still beautifully cursive.

"In the case of the victimization of Lieutenant Charles, what is the task the elders will give you?"

"Escorted body to Becky Hospital."

Clayton told the truth, but the officer obviously didn't believe it, and his tone was bad, befitting his rank.

"Only this one thing? If you don't remember clearly, I can help you again."

Clayton has long been familiar with threats of this level. He didn't even feel angry, but rather nostalgic. There are also many officers in the colony who are so stupid.

There is no direct relationship between military rank and intelligence.

"You can check again and you will know that I belong to St. Alvin Parish on the roster of the Public Security Department. If I hadn't happened to be familiar with the work in the General Public Security Department that day and was seen by the clerk responsible for arranging tasks, I might not even have this task. , this has nothing to do with my identity."

"Then did you encounter anything special?" the bishop asked him, and then added: "Achille has already told us that Faslag and the military doctor are suspected of hiding the flesh and blood of Lieutenant Charles's body , He instructed you and Miss Mary to chase Fasslag, so you don’t have to worry about taking responsibility.”

"We didn't overtake them. How can a man's two legs overtake a horse?"

Clayton insisted.

This is absolutely unacceptable. Although the bishop's attitude is very sincere, he actually has no right to decide how Clayton is treated.

The two people next to him are the ones who can really decide the direction of Creighton's future life.

Now that he has admitted that he has caught up with Fasslag, he will probably have to bear many undeserved responsibilities for his death, receive unjust grievances and hatred, and deal with all the red tape with his own strength.

Clayton didn't need rational thinking to think this way, which was the experience he had gained during his service in the army.

"A man has two legs, but you should have more." The officer sneered.

His malice towards the darkin seemed a little too strong, and the latter wondered if his life had been rough lately.

"I'm not crazy enough to reveal my identity in public."

The officer glanced at the bishop, and then continued to ask: "This does not prove anything. We lost four horses, and a groom was attacked. You better really know nothing."

"I really don't know anything."

(End of this chapter)