Chapter 308: Chapter 11: The Beast Hunting Team_2
“What’s so special about that?”
Father Caman answered indifferently, “The special part lies in the ‘introducer’. Over thirty years ago, when Rhodes Island was conquered by the Saracens, the head of the Knight Order’s Monastery, Philip, was martyred and later canonized. Brother Reed was originally a monk of the Bodhi Religion, converted to the Catholic faith under the inspiration of Saint Philip, and was personally consecrated by the saint as a clergyman.”
“So even saints have connections.”
“It is said that the recognition of Brother Reed’s holy orders was intended to send him to preach in the Far East, but unexpectedly, he chose to stay here and not leave, which greatly angered the former Pope.” Caman said with a smile, “Brother Reed has traveled the world and is widely knowledgeable, drawing from a vast reference in debates. Although his theological views are very dangerous, no one could refute him, and many famous debaters were beaten into a sorry state by him.”
“With such a dangerous person, your church doesn’t confine him and instead allows him to roam around?”
“Who would do that to a powerless mendicant friar? And how many clerics can truly abide by the vows of chastity and poverty within the church? With Brother Reed’s noble conduct, it wouldn’t be excessive for him to be canonized after death.”
Winters was unimpressed, “That old man has such skills? Then I should indeed invite him to Nanxin village and Beixin village to see if he can settle the farmers there.”
“Haha, if you were to send Brother Reed there, perhaps indeed he could relieve the Bishop’s Council of a worry.”
“A worry.” Father Caman stretched out lazily, and said languidly, “You can’t argue him down, nor can you kill him; if that’s not a worry, what is?”
“Mr. Caman, your current demeanor would probably upset your parishioners if they saw it.”
“But you don’t believe.” Father Caman yawned, “So there’s no need for such formalities between us, it’s pointless.”
As he spoke, Father Caman took a tobacco-filled pipe out of his pocket and handed it to Winters.
Winters was taken aback, “I don’t smoke.”
“I’m not offering you a smoke,” Caman said with a grin, “I’m asking you to light it for me.”
“What do you mean?” Winters became wary.
“Don’t pretend, Lieutenant Montaigne,” Caman asked with a smile, “You’re a spellcaster, aren’t you?”
Winters snorted coldly without confirming nor denying.
Without waiting for a response, Father Caman continued, “In the south, there are only two kinds of people who are not believers: one is a spellcaster, and the other is a devil worshiper. Are you a devil worshiper, Lieutenant Montaigne?” Googlᴇ search ɴovelfire.net
Winters didn’t respond to him.
“Since you’re not a devil worshiper, then you can only be a spellcaster.” Father Caman jiggled the pipe in his hand, “Lieutenant, I mean no harm.”
Winters took the pipe, silently cast a fire-sparking spell and lit the tobacco.
Magic and evil wizards are always spoken of interchangeably among the folks, which is why Winters had never revealed his identity as a spellcaster since coming to Wolf Town. This was his first time showing his magical ability in front of someone else.
“Those who claim to have no ill will often have the most,” Winters said as he passed the pipe back.
Receiving the pipe, Father Caman held it in his hand but did not indulge, “I was just curious.”
“Curious about what?”
“I understand your concern,” Father Caman sighed, speaking earnestly, “but rest assured, as long as you don’t harm the parishioners of this diocese, I will not reveal your identity as a spellcaster to anyone, nor will I use this fact to do anything detrimental to you.”
Winters scoffed, “It seems spellcasters are no different from devil’s worshippers in your eyes.”
Laughing heartily, Father Caman retorted, “Aren’t clerics all the same in your eyes?”
Suddenly, Winters looked into the distance, faintly hearing the sound of hoofbeats. They grew closer and clearer, and soon Father Caman also heard them. Yes, a rider was galloping toward Mitchell’s estate.
Winters and Caman exchanged glances and swiftly went towards the front gate.
The rider brought another piece of bad news, the beast had appeared again.
Upon receiving the news, Winters and Gerard immediately led out the warhorses, fully armed, and rushed to the scene.
It was already dark, too late to gather the militiamen, but Father Caman volunteered to join them.
This time, the place where the beast committed its violence was not within the five villages under Wolf Town’s jurisdiction, but a logging camp.
A lumberjack stepped out of his shack to relieve himself, only to encounter the beast. Hearing the wails and cries for help from outside, the other lumberjacks banged on iron tools to save the unfortunate lumberjack.
When Winters and company arrived at the logging site, they saw an almost unrecognizable, barely breathing victim lying on a wooden bed. Everything below the victim’s left ankle had vanished, leaving only a gruesome, bloody stump.
An old logger with some medical knowledge had tied the victim’s calf with hemp rope in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but dark red liquid was still seeping out from the wound, the bed sheet by the victim’s feet already soaked in blood.
For the poor lumberjack, death was merely a matter of time, and Father Caman was already offering his last prayers.
“Did he see what it was?” Winters asked the foreman, “Did any of you see what it was?”
“It was a bear!” The foreman’s body still shook uncontrollably, “A bear as big as a house!”
The unfortunate lumberjack died during the night.
The foreman assigned two workers to dig a shallow pit and bury the body, the other divided up the dead man’s shabby belongings, and that was considered the funeral. The whole process was shockingly haphazard.