Chapter 1 The Thick Clouds of a Dark Age

In this dark and oppressive age, the ideological imprisonment from the Church and the supernatural forces lurking in the shadows weighed heavily on the hearts of ordinary people. It wasn't intangible; everyone could feel it, touch it every day—the strict curfew was one manifestation of this.

After nightfall, all streets and alleys had to be emptied. Except for those specially permitted individuals, no one was allowed to linger outside at will. This was not only a reign of terror but also a form of protection: in the dark age, the town at night was as dangerous as an unprotected wilderness. You never knew what might be roaming the streets. Those who dared to leave their homes at this hour often didn't return intact. Sometimes they were lucky enough to come back, but they had been replaced from within by something more terrifying. In the fallen Middle Ages, there were countless legends of this kind, and a large part of them weren't legends at all.

Therefore, whether out of fear of the city patrol's whips or the monsters in the dark, normal people in this era wouldn't linger on the streets after nightfall.

But there were always exceptions.

There were always some daring fellows, either bewitched by heretical forces or coerced by witch hunters, who chose an extremely dangerous profession: to become the eyes and claws in the night. They could avoid the innate hostility of witch hunters or aliens because of their human identity, and they knew these intricate town streets like the back of their hands. The best among them could even recognize everyone in town by their silhouette alone. These people were skilled and bold, and they relied on this talent to walk in the dangerous zone between secular and supernatural forces, providing limited loyalty to those aliens and witch hunters who dared not show themselves or needed to act secretly.

If the price was right or the threat was sufficient, they could even serve both sides at the same time—which would, of course, lead to death. But for those who had already embarked on this path, death was just an inevitable end that would come at any time. They no longer cared about the length of life; their only concern was the enjoyment before them.

For them, aliens, witch hunters, and even the secular forces caught between the two were all both enemies and allies.

"Grey Rat" was one of the best in this line of work and considered himself the smartest of the best.

He never ventured too far into the supernatural side—countless colleagues had lost their lives because they couldn't resist the temptation of those mysterious knowledges. He also never greedily sought the "master's" gift—whether that master was a demon or a witch hunter—because he knew that a little bit of those rewards was enough to maintain his current wealthy life, and just a little bit more would be enough to cost him his life.

Grey Rat was huddled in a foul-smelling corner between two houses, covering himself from head to toe with a tattered, grey-black linen cloth. He had been in this corner for nearly an hour, and in another ten minutes or so, he would have to move: the night patrol would be passing by soon. Although those guys in their black and blue robes were often late due to laziness, as a cautious "claw," Grey Rat never took chances in this regard.

If caught by the night patrol, the luckiest would at least suffer a beating, and those employers hiding in the dark wouldn't jump out to help their servants for such a foolish reason.

Night fell, and cold air floated around. The tattered linen cloth on his body didn't provide much resistance to the cold. Grey Rat carefully moved his numb limbs, while focusing his attention on the movements of the streets and alleys. He squinted slightly, and the dark streets in his vision appeared to have a fluorescent dark blue glow, while those living things that occasionally passed by had red outlines.

Several small red spots ran past the street, which were common rats. This was the time when they were most active.

Grey Rat understood why his colleagues couldn't resist the temptation of forbidden knowledge and power and lost their lives. In fact, even he himself often indulged in it: owl potions could bring incredible night vision, wild rituals could make people incredibly strong, and mongoose ointment could make people tireless and agile. All of these could easily give people the illusion of being above ordinary people, and this illusion of power was amplified many times over in the "claws," who were already of low status. Not everyone could resist this psychological addiction.

A man and a woman appeared in Grey Rat's sight.

He quickly gathered his scattered thoughts and focused on the suddenly emerging couple.

Years of "professionalism" sent out a warning, and he knew that there was definitely something wrong with the couple walking around the corner of the street.

This didn't require too complex a judgment; a little thought was enough to know: how many people dared to wander outside during curfew? Except for the night patrol and patrol cavalry, who could swagger around outside, even someone like Grey Rat, who specialized in gutter business, had to hide in the corners. There were many homeless people wandering around "Trout Lane" after dark, but that was the wilderness area of the city. Every one of those wandering guys could be dragged out and hanged on the gallows, and no decent citizen would sympathize with them.

And the couple in the distance were wearing neat clothes. Although they didn't look like decent citizens, they certainly weren't beggars from Trout Lane.

They were swaggering down the curfewed streets and looking around suspiciously, which was already enough to be considered a major suspicion.

Which side were they from? Were they monsters? Or the monsters who specialized in hunting monsters? Or was it a new trick of the Church, secret agents searching for witches?

Grey Rat quickly thought in his mind, but just as he was about to begin to think, he found that the couple had suddenly stopped.

A sense of alarm suddenly rose in his heart. Years of experience in this dangerous field told Grey Rat that he had been exposed.

But before he could react, he saw the woman in the long dress sway and disappear from his sight. He only vaguely saw a mist-like phantom passing through the entire street, and then he was pressed down by an unimaginable force. A pair of iron-like hands were stuck behind his neck and right shoulder, and a cold female voice sounded: "Don't move, or I'll tear you apart."

But after this cold warning sounded, Grey Rat was relieved: he was still alive, and the other party was communicating with him, which meant that he hadn't been targeted by the most terrifying guys. Out-of-control blood servants and infected werewolves wouldn't say a word of nonsense.

Since they were guys he could communicate with, then he still had hope of survival. At worst, he would just have another master from tonight on.

Hao Ren curiously looked at the thin man who had been instantly subdued by Lily.

At first glance, he thought the man was a beggar commonly found in the poor areas of this era. The man in front of him was thin and skinny, like a tall hemp stalk, with a head of dry, curly hair covering his scalp. Under the hair were a pair of shifty grey eyes. The man was also draped in a tattered grey-black linen cloth, which probably had never been washed since it left the textile workshop, emitting an unmistakable sour and rotten smell—of course, this smell might also be coming from the entire street. There were too many strange smells in this place.

But Hao Ren quickly realized that the guy in front of him was definitely not a beggar: beggars couldn't afford sturdy leather boots, and the neat clothes under that rag certainly couldn't be obtained by a homeless man.

And Lily had also said that this guy had the "smell of magic potions" on him.

"Whose claw are you?" Hao Ren sized up the thin man in front of him, while recalling the knowledge about this era that he had heard from Hasson, "Who gave you the magic potions?"

Grey Rat showed a trembling appearance, because this posture could well please the other party—whether the other party was a monster or a hunter. At the same time, he tried to observe the appearance of Hao Ren and Lily, but he couldn't tell the race and origin of the two. He lowered his head and grabbed the buttons of his coat: "'Grey Rat' pays his respects to you. I'm just a small figure active in the gutter. My last employer has already left, so if you're willing, I'm your claw..."

As Hasson had said, these guys who were born in response to the times had no loyalty at all and were cunning to the point of being almost foolish.

"I'll give you another chance to reorganize your words—" Hao Ren signaled Lily to increase the strength in her hands, "Don't fool us. We can still smell the fresh smell of magic potions on you. Who are you currently serving? What's in this city?"

He didn't ask "who's in this city," but "what's in this city." This was also one of the special languages used to deal with this kind of "claw."

Lily's strength almost broke Grey Rat's scapula, but the hand stuck on the latter's neck made him unable to shout at all. It wasn't until the unbearable pain subsided slightly that Grey Rat could finally breathe again: "I... I say... I say... Witches, several witches, and a male witch, they recently gathered in this town... Because a witch who was said to be very powerful was captured a few days ago, they probably want to save her..."

"Witches?" Hao Ren frowned. He could guess that some supernatural creatures seeking "Vivian's treasure" would definitely gather here, but he didn't expect that there would also be a captured witch involved. Was that a real witch? Or just a poor victim in the mad witch hunt?

He looked at the man in front of him who called himself "Grey Rat." The man's leanness had been explained. It should be a sequela caused by long-term use of inferior magic potions. Even now, this Grey Rat still had the smell of magic potions on him. He thought that his body had gained superhuman power, but he didn't know that these "superpowers" were at the cost of overdrawing his lifespan and health. The existence of this guy was enough to show that the witches and male witches he mentioned were all real practitioners of witchcraft, so the so-called "captured witch" should also be real.

Could these gathered witches be related to Vivian's sleeping place?