This time, the phantom slipped into a prolonged silence until Clayton called him back to reality.
"Perhaps you could write a biography recounting your own experience. It shall stand a chance of scoring a hit."
"As well as a chance of receiving a warning from the authorities. " Clayton said.
Such an efficient and smooth transaction had pleased Clayton. But what he was dying to know might be beyond the phantom's scope. Those things had occurred in the south of Dorne.
Clayton was desperate to know whether his parents and elder brother were werewolves as well.
"So you only have these questions?"
The phantom still did not have enough.
This world held plentiful advantageous secrets, but interesting ones were on the lean side.
Clayton's secret made him feel handsomely rewarded, so he wanted more.
"Still another question. I have seen many monsters created by the Holy Grail Society with the Blood of Desires. I wonder whether this city will have the power to eradicate or chase away the Holy Grail Society? Would the Council take action?" Clayton asked.
This could not be considered a secret or a valuable piece of intel.
But the phantom still felt glad to answer Clayton, for he believed in the promise of more interesting secrets from Clayton.
"I'm afraid there isn't an entity so perfectly righteous in this city. After all, neither has the Holy Grail Society violated our laws nor publicized the existence of Darkins to the general public..."
Clayton, knitting his brows, interrupted him, exasperated, "Even turning a person into that shape isn't considered lawbreaking?"
He had left home late. At the moment, the sun was easing down in the west, casting its waning rays into the house. Due to the etched stained-glass of the windows, the corridor's illumination was poor. He had difficulty making out the phantom's expression.
He heard the phantom say with a chuckle, "Dear Bello, the laws put no restrictions on mental control and physical augmentation."
"That's because... It's the laws regulating ordinary people." Clayton fumbled with his words.
Indeed, the laws did not cover this.
"Yes, Bello, that's the laws governing ordinary people. In the dictionary of Beyonders, there are no words like 'law'. Nobody would set up a snare for himself."
Clayton instantly felt ridiculous and nihilistic, "Then how do you settle a disagreement with another force?"
"Just like an individual does with another," the phantom said.
"You mean a duel?"
"Certainly."
The werewolf brought his bloodstained palm to his forehead and found himself remorseful.
Impressed by Gilead's systematic fashion of handling things, he had once envisioned a graceful and rational image of the Council.
Sensing Clayton's gloom, the phantom comforted, "Rest assured. The infighting within the Council has long since ended. It is a period of peace now."
"Could we allow the Holy Grail Society to go on like this? They have come back with hidden intentions and are already causing trouble." Clayton tried to lobby the evaluator. "Even if our only concern is the Council's best interests, they might be harmed someday if we were to leave the Holy Grail Society unchecked."
"Your point makes sense. But before they really stir things up, all the Council would do is stay off to one side."
The phantom leaked something to Clayton. "Before you met Gilead, the Holy Grail Society's envoy had had a meeting with the four heads of our Council. They alleged that Joe Mani had broken the contract, and they had made their trip back to settle an account with the Mani family. As one of the forces bearing witness to that contract, we have no reason to interfere. You can ask Clara about the details."
After glancing down at the groaning head with a dislocated jaw, he felt exasperated deep inside.
Had he stayed outside the arena in the first place, he would not feel so troubled now.
Had the Holy Grail Society not caused him to kill the man, he would have cared nothing about the Holy Grail Society.
Had he recognized the 'Zombie' as a mentally controlled ordinary man, he would have gone easy on that man....
Struggling through all these chaotic thoughts, the werewolf forced himself to admit the reality. "I have killed two of their people. If I want a reconciliation with them, what should I do?"
"Just do nothing," the phantom beamed.
Clayton, thinking he had misheard, mouthed an 'Ah?'.
The phantom kept smiling, his patience seemingly ever ample, which in turn felt creepily eerie.
"After undergoing the transformation of the Blood of Desires, a person would have at most five years to live. They are meant to be consumables. Even a post-surgical infection may cause them to die. It is not unacceptable that you've killed one or two of them. Furthermore, you've already joined the Council. Both Groner and Channing will come to your aid."
He had heard one of the names from Gilead. Perhaps one of the Elders.
'An Elder must have an adequate say.'
Even though everything seemed effortlessly resolved, Clayton's hold on Clara had subconsciously tightened.
He felt bewildered as a simultaneous tinge of fear arose from deep down.
One would not be held accountable for a homicide or an even more reprehensible crime. This very thought dropped his heart into his memories of the wartime.
Consequently, his trust in the laws hit rock bottom.
"Just forget about these matters and come to the Pulitzer Mansion in the city centre next Monday. We've prepared a fantastic banquet for this month's newcomers. You'd definitely like it. "
The phantom's figure grew more and more transparent until it vanished on the spot.
Hugging the girl's head in his arms, Clayton, in a daze, failed to remember who he had talked to.
But the other party's last words kept reverberating in his ears.
"Pulitzer... the Pulitzer Lighting Company that supplies the city's street lamps?"
He stood there stock-still as a hint of astonishment glinted in his eyes.
......
"Father Petri, please, stay for a moment."
After today's worship service ended, a believer, who had frequented the chapel, called out to Petri.
This fellow was a journalist. By snubbing him, Petri risked being named in the newspaper. Therefore, this Father, who had a presence of someone far younger than his years, could only halt in his steps.
"I heard that our Parish's Bishop, Godwin, has passed away, which has deeply saddened me. "
The believer wore casual attire, which allowed for an unbridled gallop anytime and made his mournful words dubious.
The dashing, blonde Father Petri looked around for any possible savior, yet unsuccessfully. So he could only respond amiably,
"A sagacious elder's demise would sadden everyone."
"Yes, yes." The follower nodded in quick succession, light almost oozing out of his eyes.
"His passing was so sudden, before he could have named an heir. Perhaps it's all up to the Archbishop to select one. Just unknown which Father would take over?"
The Archbishop, in charge of all Sasha City, held the authority to reorganize its numerous Parishes.
Upon hearing this, Petri noted the follower's intent for insider information. But as a dedicated, professional priest, he would not irresponsibly let slip anything.
"I share your curiosity."
The believer asked in surprise, "Father Petri, not even you have heard a word about this?"
"As I see it, every one is as competent for the position as every one else. Should you sound me out, I'd say every one stands a high chance."
"So you mean that it is good whoever succeeds as the Bishop?"
'Of course, it doesn't matter who....' Petri frowned slightly.
Actually, the successor would be elected through an internal vote, to be conducted on the heels of Godwin's funeral. As for himself, he did indeed decide to vote for a random colleague this time.
But, were the journalist to leak his understanding, which was the case, Petri would soon be branded as a fence sitter within the Church.
"Those who serve my Father are the chosen ones by the Holy Spirit." Petri quoted from Sacred Text, intent on concluding the conversation.
The believer flashed an awkward smile. Since the succeeding Bishop was the chosen one by the Holy Spirit, naturally, Father Petri's view mattered little.
"Then do you think it will be yourself? I think..."
Petri interrupted, "That depends on the Holy Spirit's view."
The follower walked away, mortified.
Petri heaved a breath in relief.
Were it ten years ago, he might have taken the initiative to compete for the position, but not now.
Becoming a Bishop would put him in the limelight; many people would seek out his vulnerabilities for leverage.
By then, the fact that he was taking in Darkins would soon come to light.
As the Day of Trial drew near, he had been intentionally gathering mutant children from Industrial Schools across Sasha City.
Thanks to his money-grubbing ecclesiastical colleagues, doing this risked little. Those schools' nurses had treated these children as patients with tumors or some similar malignant diseases. Effortlessly, all of them had been transferred to the Industrial School in Saint Suliac Parish.
Even though Petri hadn't decided what to do with these little Darkins by now, entrusting them to Joe Mani seemed a good option.
Joe, a former soldier, was aware of Darkins, in dire need of Petri's help, and also penniless.
All these key ingredients had fused in Joe.
Say Heavenly Father, Carola had endowed everyone with a unique talent; Joe Mani's must be 'being readily exploitable by Petri'.
Petri simply suspected that Joe was what Heavenly Father had sent to assist with his undertaking.
Someone encompassing all these was hard to come by. Fortunately, Joe had spontaneously found his way to Petri.
"Given his military stint, perhaps he could discipline the children and, in turn, suppress their nature. As for what to do later...I will consider it later."
Petri pondered until a nun, whom he had dispatched to St. Suliac Parish's industrial school, returned with a message.
"Joe Mani has raised a request. He said he wanted to get married."
Petri closed his eyes, which, after twenty seconds, flew open to reveal the azure pupils, deep within which purity prevailed.
Indeed, Heavenly Father would not make his servants arrogant.
"Arrogance subjects its holder to trials and tribulations."
Petri chanted an excerpt from Sacred Text to comfort himself. He hardly believed that his undertaking would go swimmingly, which bordered on something of a miracle.
"Tell him, I will arrange it for him."