Unable to repay my student loans, I had no choice but to work part-time as a demon hunter.

Gordon took the threatening letter with the wet handprint and went to Wycliffe Street to find Vera.

His time is precious; he doesn't have time to outwit the mysterious man. Finding a professional would save him the trouble.

Wycliffe Street is located in the old town of Lundnim. It is characterized by its narrowness. After walking more than 300 steps, Gordon saw a white brass sign at number 27 with a white raven with outstretched wings engraved on it.

Arthur Grey's Private Witch Hunting Agency.

Gordon's 20 pounds sterling he had prepared for this trip was only enough for Gray to glance at him; there would be no further developments, so he didn't go in.

Across from the firm, the agency lobby is squeezed between San Bartolo Hospital and Parker Brothers Gun Repair Shop. The wooden sign reads "Commissioning and Acceptance," and the windows are covered with different messages.

[Commission: The monster of the sewers. Delve into the sewers of Lundnium and hunt down the beasts that infest them, harming innocent civilians and young girls.]

[Commission: Blood on Ice. Solve a murder case targeting an innocent girl in Lundnim.]

[Commission: The Fifth Commandment. The girls are murdered in the same way.]

Why are so many missions related to the serial murders of teenage girls? Gordon was completely baffled.

He glanced to his right at Gray's beautiful office and to his left at the simple lobby, and made his decision.

Push the door open and go inside.

The doorbell rang like a coin falling into an empty can. The hall was crowded with a group of people, each with their own misfortunes, including several dockworkers in overalls, a plump woman, and a deliveryman. Their expressions varied, and clearly, each family had its own troubles.

Behind the counter sat a thin-necked man with a monocle on his nose; his complexion reminded Gordon of oatmeal porridge.

"Who should we contact?" the agent asked.

"Vera Cartrett," Gordon said.

"Let's choose another one," the agent said.

"I haven't said what I'm commissioning yet," Gordon said.

"So I can still help you," the agent said, pulling a blue memo book from a drawer. "She's about to be removed from the agency. Do you know her?"

  

"know."

"So you know, she's not exactly a clear-headed hunter, there's always this... " The agent made a gesture to clear away the odor.

"A hint of sweat, a touch of sourness, and a slightly sweet aftertaste?" Gordon said.

"?" The agent looked at him.

"?" Gordon looked back.

The agent continued flipping through the pages.

"...Anyway, she just got a job the day before yesterday. There was a crow-man monster on the third floor of the house," the agent said. "Some hunters will evacuate the crowd first, negotiate with the monster, and calm the client down. She crawled down the chimney to the third floor, nailed the thing to the dressing mirror, and bled the beast dry like a chicken. The landlady fainted from fright."

"Is the monster dead or not?" Gordon asked.

"He died a very serious death," the agent said.

"Is the person alive or not?" Gordon asked.

"Alive," the agent said.

"I think it's perfect."

"But this damages the professional image of hunters," the agent complained. "If everyone thinks hunters are like her, citizens will no longer hire hunters."

"What does it mean?"

"This is the era of Emperor Albert," the agent said seriously. "We also need to keep up with the times. We need hunters who can move freely in high society, who are willing to smoke pipes, read newspapers, listen to poetry dramas, and buy some government bonds, not those rogues, knights-errant, and witchers of the Middle Ages..."

Gordon remained noncommittal.

He suddenly remembered something more meaningful.

"What should we do with the corpse of that crow-man demon?" Gordon asked.

"It was handed over to the demon merchant for recycling. Why are you asking about that?"

"She deserves some money. The corpses of these otherworldly beings are quite valuable—wings, beaks, claw tendons."

"We withheld her deposit and are also helping the homeowner recover the cost of the carpet cleaning," the agent explained. "This is our promise; we will never allow a hunter to make a mess of your house. Rest assured."

“But the Crow-men kill,” Gordon said. “From what I’ve heard, all I remember is Vera saving that family’s lives. But why would they care about the carpet?”

"They want compensation, what can we do?" The agent closed the memo. "Anyway, sir, could you tell me about your request? There are always better ones than this trainee hunter."

Gordon sensed something was wrong. The money he'd spent on bananas could only hire monkeys, but the same amount of money could hire a much more formidable, readily available fighter. So he didn't fall for it.

Where is she?

……

The back door of the agency leads to a narrow alley.

Vera squatted by the door, holding a paper package in her hands, carefully placing a piece of cold sausage between two pieces of hard bread.

She sniffed, instantly recognizing a scent from among countless others, and stopped what she was doing.

"Vera Cartrett." Gordon walked up to her.

She looked up at Gordon, skillfully marked three weaknesses on him, and then looked down.

"I was going to look for you," Vera said. She hadn't cut her hair in the past few days, and it was a bit longer than the day before.

"It's alright, I've found you now. I have a new commission," Gordon said.

During the last incident with the water monkey, he gave Vera five gold pounds as a reward. I wonder if she's spent them all, or if she even remembers it.

"I have a request," Vera said, eating. "It's under my left collar."

Gordon pulled a commission form from under her collar; the edges were tugged, suggesting she had stolen the job from someone.

"...Young men and women, on a whim, called their friends and secretly went to the cave, stirred up the mud and sand to obstruct their view, and never returned..." Gordon read aloud. It seemed that some people had gotten lost while idly exploring the outskirts of Lundenim and needed hunters to search for them, or at least find their bodies. "...Can you do it? Be careful not to die in there."

Yes. I can swim.

"In a cold, dark river? Who knows if there are poisonous eel demons in there. And it's only one gold pound."

"That's all," Vera said.

"I'm going to talk to that agent with the long, thin neck." Gordon walked toward the back door of the agency.

Vera suddenly reached out and grabbed the back of his coat.

She wasn't very strong. Not very strong for her.

But Gordon was pulled to a stop in place.

Gordon turned his head and saw that Vera was a little... red, at least on her ears.

"what."

"I'm going to fight him," Gordon said.

Don't go.

"You deserve a job that pays well and is easy. Arthur Gray ate breakfast every two days, fished all day, killed a water monkey, a talking octopus, and earned 40 gold pounds."

"..." Vera shook her head. "There's no need."

She has her own way of understanding the world.

This made Gordon even angrier.

"Fine," Gordon said. "You're such an idiot."

"Ouch." Vera let go, trying to refocus her attention on the food.

She was in pain all over her body, and her mind was foggy.

Just one bite is enough.

Snapped!

She felt something light and airy hit her head hard.

A piece of paper fell in front of her and slowly covered the food.

Gold Pounds!

"How could this be?" Gordon said with a tone of disappointment. "One gold pound for this night."

The second card fell.

"Buy your tomorrow."

The third card fell.

"I'll buy you a nice meal."

The fourth one.

"I'll buy you a new outfit."

The fifth one.

"I'll buy you a ticket to see a doctor and get some medicine."

Gold coins fell one by one, covering the food, landing on her knees, and on the ground, like a flock of golden butterflies.

Vera sat there blankly.

"Am I going to die?" she asked, looking up.

Too many people are given a sip of wine, a piece of meat, or a kind word before they die. So she felt that today her life was finally going to be taken.

“No,” Gordon said, “if you don’t pull yourself together, I’ll be the one who dies.”

Vera began to sniff Gordon, gauging the distance between him and danger.

Gordon looked around. The city was sometimes reassuring, and sometimes it felt like it was fraught with danger.

Vera's mind was filled with fragmented thoughts.

Why? Really? Do I have to pay it back? Can I eat it?

She eventually picked out the two most practical ones at random.

"What are you doing? Who are you killing?"

"Someone is threatening old Baz and asking me about me, asking about the college student who killed the water monkey that day. He probably didn't come to give me a gift." Gordon patted the threatening letter in his arms.

"I will protect you."

"Yes," Gordon paced back and forth in front of Vera twice, "I need you! I need your sense of smell."

"Need," Vera repeated. A strange yet endearing word; need means you won't be driven away.

"Yes, as I said before, our cooperation is based on fairness and justice. But this time is special. You'll be eating, drinking, and staying with me. You can't run away on your own. There are too many supernatural powers in this city. I'm afraid that in my dreams I'll be put into a sack by magic and wake up to find myself in the basement of some cult, with a group of people chanting spells at me."

Vera then swallowed the bread and sausage, grabbed a few gold coins, and didn't ask for any more.

"I'll stay with you," she said. "No one can attack you."

"Let's go." Gordon left the alley. Vera stood protectively by his side, taking this task more seriously than anything before.

As they walked out of Wycliffe Street, Arthur Gray was sipping a drink by the window of his office. Gordon pointed to the office and told Vera that she would have her own office someday. Vera looked up and repeated twice, "I will have my own office," a thought that gave her a wonderful and immense encouragement.

Gray vaguely heard mutterings, opened the blinds, and saw the college student and the hunter passing by the street below the second floor. He couldn't help but straighten up, and for some reason, he felt that many things might happen in the city in the future.