Chapter 104 104

Chapter 104 105

Major Dolon possessed a level of self-confidence that bordered on arrogance. In this vast world, ancient saints had left behind eight different paths of transcendence, and he prided himself on having mastered two: the "Blade Path," which granted him superior combat prowess, and the "Blood Path," which bolstered his vitality and pain tolerance beyond that of any ordinary man. Even with the relatively short time he had spent training in the Blade Path at the military academy, he firmly believed he possessed enough skill and discipline to stand as a formidable match against any of the Queen’s knights who had earned their titles through grit.

However, after only three minutes of confrontation, that fortress of confidence had collapsed and vanished as if it had never existed.

"Two paths of ancient heritage in one man?"

"A noble warrior possessing such ferocity?"

"A commissioned officer whose abilities transcend human limits?"

Clayton struck with a tone of astonishment laced with bitter sarcasm, following up with heavy, relentless punches against the Major’s upper body. Clayton was not using weapons; his fists were enough to turn the Major’s bones into something resembling fragile glass. Dolon stumbled backward, his body swaying under the weight of the blows. Clayton said, his voice terrifyingly calm, "Thank you, Major. It is the first time I have learned such precise details about the paths of ascension. You have filled a bit of the void of my ignorance regarding these matters, thanks to your shouting and confessions."

The Major was pale, hunched, and completely unable to parry the strikes or maneuver to avoid them. Every punch from Clayton forced him another step back and stripped away the last remnants of his military and class-based pride. The Major thought with indescribable bitterness: Damn this monster! The intelligence the Elder Council provided to the government was wrong from the start. How can this creature, whom they believe to be a mere newborn Darkborn who hasn't completed his transformation, possess such terrifying strength and speed?

Only three minutes had passed, yet the Major felt a crushing defeat. Clayton had surpassed him in raw physical strength, speed, and even weight. And what was even more terrifying to Dolon was that Clayton hadn't even assumed his true wolf form yet! His yellow lupine eyes shimmered in the dark, but he restrained his bestiality, keeping his human form for some unknown reason. His skin was as pale as the dead, resembling a medical mannequin wrapped in human skin, yet in the depths of those monstrous eyes, the Major saw a strange sincerity—a genuine desire to teach him a moral and painful lesson he would never forget.

The Major felt a pain he had never experienced in his military life. He had believed the Blade Path had dulled his capacity for pain and that the Blood Path would make him like solid, unyielding rock. So why was he feeling the agony of an ordinary mortal man now? This type of pain was not something he wanted to retrieve from the memories of his distant past. Suddenly, another punch landed on the pit of his stomach; the Major could no longer endure it, and his throat opened like a fountain of pain, purging everything in his stomach onto the ground.

He wiped his mouth with bitterness, muttering in a daze, "Damn it… you ruined the 'Shotton' red tea and the chicken sandwich I was looking forward to!"

Clayton stepped back, appearing as calm as if nothing had happened. "And now, after you have emptied your stomach and the pride you carried, can we speak of formal matters that concern the fate of this place?"

Clayton knew this duel was merely a test of his physical abilities. As time passed and his transformation continued, his senses were evolving terrifyingly, and he realized that Major Dolon was a suitable opponent to measure his strength in his human form. However, the Major entirely lacked the experience of close-quarters combat and physical grappling, which was expected for a man raised in the comfort of the nobility, where the children of the elite skipped the soldier’s training in the trenches to become office officers, protected by their privileges and class.

The Major recovered from the dizziness of nausea and raised his head, trying to suppress his anger, which had begun to fade, replaced by a deep-seated fear. He said in a broken voice, "How did you obtain this strength? You… you are not human, and you do not belong to any path I know."

Clayton paused for a moment. Grone had explained to him the meaning of "Authority," the ability to communicate with the essence of all things and the supernatural. The Major thought Clayton possessed it, but the truth was far more complex. Clayton said indifferently, "You are entirely wrong in your conclusions, and I am not about to waste precious time explaining what you cannot understand. Now, it is your turn to answer my questions honestly."

The Major spat blood onto the ground and said, "Are you kidding? You beat me and expect me to be at your beck and call? What kind of stupidity is this?"

Clayton replied firmly, "I thought you were a man, and even if you are a bastard, bastards usually respect deals when their swords are at their throats."

"Fine, I have a condition: I get to ask questions too."

"Do whatever you want. It doesn't matter to me."

The Major asked, trying to adjust his painful posture, "Will you return to serve in the army? In this city specifically?"

Clayton replied sharply, "Impossible. I left the army precisely to get away from people like you, and from these dirty games you play."

The Major sighed deeply, sat on the ground, and lit a cigarette with a trembling hand, but he began to cough violently and crushed it out on the ground in bitterness. He said, "Ask whatever you want; the pain has made me more honest."

Clayton asked point-blank, "Who gave you the order to kill everyone in the mine? Was it an individual initiative or the execution of a broader agenda?"

"I don't need orders to do my job. I perform the purge when I see it necessary."

"Let me rephrase my question, Major: Was this decision born of your cruel nature, or was it suggested to you from the outside? I don't mean a direct order to kill, but a hint or negative inspiration. Pay attention; I am talking about your hidden motives."

The Major waved his hand tiredly, "I always do this. It is my nature; that is how I was raised in the army, and that is how I see the world."

Clayton asked, "Before Faslag died, did you ever leave the camp with him? Were there ties that bound you two away from the eyes of the command?"

"I do not associate with idiots, nor do I share my secrets with those who do not deserve them."

At that moment, Clayton got what he wanted. He left without another word. He was certain that Major Dolon was not driven by the "Spider Priests" or any direct external orders. This meant that what Clayton and his team had done in the mine was not a waste of effort, and that there was still hope to save what could be saved. Everything was still under control, and everything was still right on time.

In the adjacent room, tension gripped Diesel, the team leader for the Hook investigators. "Eleven hours have passed… Cicero has gotten into real trouble."

In the adjoining room, the drunken Faslag was singing loudly in mangled melodies, unaware of the storm looming over them.

"Perhaps it was just a coincidence or an accidental incident," said one investigator, but his tone did not convey confidence. He added, "I just hope he didn't encounter that rural demon hunter, the one who always aspired to finish the contract and rebel against the employer. His mental state is worrying, and if he finds out about Cooper’s death, he might completely lose his mind. Maybe Cicero is entangled with him."

Another investigator replied, showing the seal ring on his finger, "Don't worry, we arranged everything. The office seal is with me, Nien gave it to me, and the leader has another ring. We made sure none of the men in the hotel had the seal so that no one could use it in case of insanity. Without the seal, they cannot submit official reports, and any action is just a personal act that does not involve the office."

Diesel looked at them, his eyes reflecting a stern resolve, "No, it's not like that. I feel Cicero has been killed."

Silence fell over the room. There were six men, but their breaths were held as if they were at a funeral.

"Damn it," one muttered in a low voice. Another investigator sighed, "This city of 'Sasha'… I thought it was just a place for a quiet vacation."

On one of the ancient pillars at the station, it was written: "Sasha City: A City of Knowledge and Books." The slogan gave its visitors a sense of peace and tranquility. These investigators had become accustomed to seeing death everywhere, but for death to come to them in a city raising the slogan of "peace and books" was something they hadn't anticipated. Usually, cities that choose such slogans lack violent conflicts of interest and do not house criminal gangs capable of threatening men of their caliber.

"We let our guard down, and we cannot blame the enemy for seizing the opportunity," Diesel said, looking at his men one by one. "The problem here might be much larger than we expected. These monsters are not just parasites; they are embedded within the government and regional institutions in a terrifying way. I was waiting for Cicero’s return to set a new action plan, but it seems that won't happen."

Regardless of Cicero’s fate, everyone was certain he would not return.

"This afternoon, while we were transporting Cooper’s body to the cemetery, I saw that werewolf whom Mrs. Balogue asked us to monitor. I saw him enter the 'Holy Ground' of the church upon the invitation of one of the servants."

The investigators felt resentment. The church was humanity’s last sanctuary; how could such a creature be allowed to enter? One wondered, "Does he have a personal relationship with the servant, or did the Bishop himself allow him in?"

They hoped there was a human explanation; perhaps this monster was a former human with old relationships. But the thought was terrifying: if darkness had entered the church, where were the believers to go?

Diesel shook his head in distress, "I don't know. But when I tried to follow them, the priest informed me that the area was closed. It was then that I realized that the intelligence provided by Mrs. Balogue was no longer reliable, and that the church itself was no longer a safe fortress."

One asked fearfully, "Are we still continuing the mission then?"

They all looked at Diesel, searching for a glimmer of hope or an excuse to stop.

"Of course we will continue. We are here only to investigate; we will stay away from direct hotbeds of conflict to preserve our lives."

If necessary, Diesel was prepared to change his entire plan; perhaps they would leak information about "housebreaking" to force the authorities to intervene publicly, which would make the opponent think twice before performing any rash act under the eyes of the people.

"Winter is coming, and we cannot return empty-handed. Is sleeping in comfort better than returning with no money? After the month of fasting comes the Feast of Consecration, and if you don't intend to make a big stir during the feast, it would be wise to finish our work quietly."

The investigators laughed faintly, but those laughs restored some of their cohesion. Yes, they would continue. Not for the contract, but for their own survival, and because this city was no longer just a mission, but a struggle for the truth.