abnormal mutation

Chapter 10 Enforcers and Extraordinary Paths
Hughes leaped off the three-yard-high city wall, his legs plunging straight into the snow, his stance steady: "It's been three days already. I don't know how many people are looking for you. Half of Ice River Town knows that Roland Hohenzollern Otto is missing."

"They reported it?" Roland put down his package and took off his mask. "And you law enforcement officers didn't do anything?"

"Hmm..." Hughes pursed his lips and spread his hands. "I've filed a case for you. You know, people often go missing in Ice River Town."

"Thank you," Roland said irritably.

A missing person case can be a big deal or a small deal, but it's nowhere near as serious as a murder case. At most, law enforcement officers will open a case and issue a notice. If someone finds a missing person or their body, they can receive a small reward—well, probably not even enough to buy a Mina beef.

"I've been to Dongshi Hutong. Were you attacked?" Hughes' expression turned serious. He looked at the wounds on Roland's face and the backpack behind him, his eyes flickering uncertainly.

The atmosphere froze instantly. Roland's pre-prepared excuse died before it even began; some things are hard to hide from someone who truly cares about you.

"Thank you." He unbuttoned his fur coat, pulling it down to reveal a section of his gruesome wound, which he then quickly covered up again. "Someone wants my Thorn Medal."

"It looks like they're not going to have a good ending." Hughes glanced at the fur peeking out from the bundle, his slightly flushed face full of curiosity.

"I was lucky to survive. I was attacked by a starving polar wolf during a blizzard. I escaped in the chaos, spent the night in a hunter's hut, picked up some usable items during the day, and traveled all day before returning..." Roland fabricated a lie that was relatively close to the truth.

"Do you know who it is?"

"I don't know, the person in question hasn't shown up."

“I should have told you sooner.” Hughes took a newspaper out of the right pocket of his uniform and handed it to Roland. “Take a look.”

The newspaper was freshly creased. Roland unfolded it and glanced at the date: February 8th, today. The bold, blacked-out headline on the front page was eye-catching: "Law Enforcer Reform: Descendants of Three Great Medals May Be the Biggest Beneficiaries."

The article was very official, and its general meaning was that the emperor formally passed the new policy, establishing the Imperial Law Enforcement Bureau, the Imperial Prosecutor's Office, and the Imperial Supreme Court as independent entities separate from the military and government, cooperating and checking each other to form a completely new judicial system.

The Chief Enforcer, Chief Prosecutor, and Chief Justice are all appointed by His Majesty the Emperor, directly under the central government, and are not subject to local constraints or church influence. These three institutions will soon undergo a large-scale screening and expansion, with priority given to descendants of meritorious nobles.

Among them, the Enforcers correspond to the three major war medals: the Thorn Medal, the Silver Wing Medal, and the Guardian Medal. The Chief Enforcer is His Highness the Crown Prince.

"Just because of this?" Roland found it hard to believe that someone would kidnap and kill someone for the sake of an imperial organization.

As far as he knew, law enforcement officers did not always recruit from major government-run colleges and the military; they often recruited non-official personnel with lenient conditions and many ways to earn merit and become permanent officers.

"It's not as simple as you think. The law enforcement agency started screening all law enforcement officers last month. Law enforcement officers with church backgrounds have been leaving one after another. My partner, old John, retired early. This time, there is a big gap."

The Enforcement Bureau has updated the list of merit awards. Extraordinary achievements are within reach. Do you... understand? Hughes's expression was deep, his blue eyes filled with longing.

“Extraordinary? Don’t rich people have other ways to get ahead?” Roland asked, puzzled.

“You don’t understand. Talent is like conscience; you either have it or you don’t. There’s no such thing as awakening it. But there are always exceptions. The great Emperor Olmeda is one of them. He made it possible for ordinary people to experience the extraordinary.”

Hughes abruptly stopped speaking, his words unclear and ambiguous, which made Roland very uncomfortable.

"Is being a law enforcement officer a wonderful way for ordinary people to step into the extraordinary?" Roland pressed. Hughes smiled without answering.

"You know quite a lot," Roland had never found the face opposite him so irritating. "Let me ask you a different question. Does stealing someone else's medal count? The law enforcement agency can't be that arbitrary, can they?"

“If we find out, it’s a big deal. Harming the descendants of meritorious officials is a serious crime.” Hughes’ tone changed, with a hint of helplessness. “What if we can’t find out? Of the three war medals, the Thorn Medal is the oldest and the most numerous, and many related records are missing.”

"This kind of law enforcement agency is truly disappointing," Roland said without hiding his thoughts.

"Why don't we... join in and change it together?" Hughes lowered his voice, tinged with a hint of probing.

Roland gave him a strange look and remained silent. He hadn't expected that Hughes, who was so flexible on his principles, would have such a naive side. He was still young after all.

“I can’t do it.” He picked out a white-crested snow chicken from the package and tossed it to Hughes. “This is for you. Let me know if you hear anything, I don’t want to be scammed again without knowing why.”

Hughes held the frozen white chicken, immediately drawn to its peculiar white comb—a white comb with electric patterns, likely a rare white-crested snowcock. He spread its wings, seeing no obvious wounds, and deduced it had died from a severe blow.

"You hunted it?" Hughes asked, somewhat skeptical.

"Hehe, I was lucky enough to find their lair and I caught them off guard and wiped them out in one fell swoop." Roland raised an eyebrow and curled the corner of his mouth, revealing a hint of understated pride.

"I see you've had quite a haul this time," Hughes said, glancing at Roland's backpack and packages with a pointed remark.

"Should we confiscate it?"

"Of course not. It's a gift from the Guest of Eternal Winter; whoever finds it keeps it."

The term "guests of eternal winter" refers to hunters or explorers who died in the snowfields, and their belongings are naturally shared by all who see them.

"That's good, I'm off." Roland put on his mask and carried the packages one by one on his back.

“If you’re willing, come to the law enforcement office tomorrow to give a statement. Even if they can’t find anything, it will still have a deterrent effect. With the medal, as long as the medal number and surname are registered, people with different surnames won’t be able to use this medal,” Hughes suggested.

Roland paused, his mind churning with turbulent emotions. He suddenly remembered that the surname Otto was not unique to him; his grandfather had a brother whose lineage lived nearly a hundred kilometers away in Grantham, with whom they rarely interacted.

"I understand," he mumbled in response, and stepped into the side doorway.

Passing through the archway, one is greeted by a spacious monastery street that curves eastward. The ground is paved with gray flagstones, and there is not much snow on it, indicating that it has been cleaned by someone.

The streets are lined with wooden houses, most of which are quite neat, some with small yards. The houses further away from the street are rather messy, crammed together in a disorderly manner, like a group of homeless people huddling together for warmth.

Roland's courtyard was located on the south side of the westernmost end of the Convent Street, with its gate facing north. It was only a few dozen yards from the city gate, separated from the low wall by a passageway of about a dozen yards. The courtyard was large, and there was a small shop next to the gate, but the location was not good. It was windy, poorly lit, and very noisy. Fortunately, the fish market was not open at the moment, so it was quiet.

By this time, it was already quite dark, and the town was dotted with lights, but the courtyards dozens of yards away remained completely dark, without any smoke or lights, eerily silent.

(End of this chapter)