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

After waiting for a while, Gordon and Vera finally found a table to sit down.

"You order," Gordon said.

Now we're finally in Vera's comfort zone.

"Two set meals of number nine, one extra-large set meal of number nine, and one set meal of number six with extra sauce..." Vera didn't even need a menu.

The waiter quickly jotted it down using a cardboard clipboard.

"I can't eat that much, order less," Gordon reminded him.

"Oh right, I forgot about you," Vera said. "Another small serving of fried fish."

"...By the way, is it really safe to eat fish these days?" Gordon questioned. "The fish in the Blackwater River have been looking rather strange lately."

"The fish-frying brothers will be fine," Vera reassured them.

Gordon was skeptical of this.

Soon, the waiter brought over a tray.

  

[Fried fish. A fish cannot swim in the same river twice in its lifetime.]

[Peas. So green they look like they can even photosynthesize.]

Thinking of those strange fish, Gordon couldn't resist cutting one open to take a look.

He examined it for a long time before confirming that it did not emit light, had nothing that looked spiritual, and that eating it would not cause any harm.

So Gordon picked up his fork and boldly took a bite...

The fried fish's outer shell cracks open with a crisp sound, and the fragrant fish meat melts in your mouth, exuding the aroma of fish seasoned with salt and pepper!

too delicious!

Is this the Fish Fry Brothers?

Gordon swallowed the whole fried fish, and instantly felt a wave of pleasure wash over him; it felt incredibly good...

He leaned back, trying to soothe his stomach.

Even though he had already eaten dinner, he didn't feel greasy at all, and even wanted to eat another fried fish.

"Great job, Fish & Fried Brothers," Vera nodded.

"Bravo, Fish & Beverage Bros." Gordon replied seriously.

This restaurant has been added to the list of must-eat restaurants in Lendnheim.

Gordon, still feeling unsatisfied, waited for the pleasant sensation to gradually dissipate before placing the water compass on the table to check its status.

Ever since it entered the store, it has acted like it has gone insane.

First he pointed to the fish, then to Vera's sword, then to Gordon's face, as if all of these things were in cahoots.

"Is it broken?" Vera asked instinctively.

"It's not broken," Gordon mused. "It's thinking."

It circled twice more, then pointed to the fried fish on Vera's plate and stopped moving.

"Is there something wrong with the fish?" Gordon murmured.

The sound wasn't loud, but it still made the air in the store freeze.

The waiters, the chefs, and the diners all cast meaningful glances at Gordon, as if his words had insulted everyone's mother.

This is the holy land of fried fish, so there are some things you can't say carelessly!

Gordon immediately changed his tune.

"No, it's because this fried fish is so delicious that it has an extraordinary attraction." Gordon picked up Vera's plate with a look of admiration.

That's more like it. Everyone lowered their heads contentedly and continued to savor the delicious food.

"So," Vera leaned closer, "does this thing actually work?"

“Of course,” Gordon explained. “It can point to any spirit of the same origin. The monsters of the Blackwater River, the box, and the Deepclaw are all connected. It might even help us point out the esotericists.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the compass turned a quarter of a fan and suddenly pointed to a corner of the restaurant.

Gordon looked in the direction indicated by the pointer.

There was a man wearing a hat with a No. 9 fried fish set meal in front of him.

The order in which he ate was strange; it seemed as if he was pretending to eat.

It's not right.

This guy ate the fries and the peas.

They just don't eat the fish! The crispy, golden-brown crust is perfectly intact.

Gordon checked the compass again and found that its needle was indeed pointing steadily at the man.

Under Gordon's gaze, the man in the hat looked up.

The two stared at each other silently for a few seconds, with tables of guests between them.

Gordon forked a piece of fried fish from Vera's plate and gestured to her from afar.

"Eat up, bro, why aren't you eating?"

The man in the hat nodded stiffly without saying a word.

His name is Thomas.

Thomas's task was clear.

He had to track, monitor, and record Gordon's actions, gather enough information, and then report back to "The Swimmer".

And now... it seems he's been discovered by his target. And the intelligence isn't quite right; there aren't any "wild dogs" following him at all.

Thomas lowered his head, ignoring Gordon's words.

Gordon immediately reported him to the waiter: "Sir, there's a customer here who hasn't eaten a single bite of fried fish. Please take care of his appetite; is he sick?"

The waiter quickly walked towards Thomas.

"I don't see you've eaten a single bite of fish." The waiter's tone was no different from an interrogation. "Was it not cooked well?"

"Very good...very delicious."

"How would you know it's delicious if you haven't even tried it?"

"I... can tell it tastes good just by smelling it."

"Please eat it." The waiter leaned forward. "Enjoy the service from Fish & Fried Chicken."

Everyone watched him silently.

Hey bro, if you're not going to eat fried fish, are you here to cause trouble?

Thomas's expression turned extremely ugly.

He was very confident in his tracking skills.

He was a master among wet-footed people, wearing an amulet that could suppress smell and sound, appearing and disappearing unpredictably, and was proficient in stealth, tracking, and counter-tracking techniques. In theory, he should never have been discovered.

The only problem is...

As a believer, Thomas was not allowed to eat fish in principle.

Now, even the chefs are coming out from behind the counter.

The chef kept wiping the knife in his hands, silently applying pressure.

His apron was printed with the cheerful smiling faces of the Fish-Fryers, but those faces now looked particularly sinister.

"He ate fries and peas, but wouldn't eat a single fish," Gordon added, "which means he thinks our fried fish isn't as delicious as fries and peas."

Upon hearing this, everyone stared at Thomas.

Thomas swallowed hard, knowing he had to do something.

He couldn't resist picking up his knife and fork; the tip of the knife made a crisp sound as it touched the fried fish.

In that instant... a sense of blasphemous sin overwhelmed Thomas.

It smells so good! It smells so good!

I really want to eat fish!

But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he couldn't help but tremble violently, as if in an instant, the king beneath the Blackwater River was staring at him, his brothers and sisters who had turned into fish and shellfish were glaring at him, and even the precepts of the Hermitage were interrogating his conscience.

He shuddered.

"...I'm full." Thomas put down his knife and fork, got up, and quickly left.

"Sir, your fish hasn't been touched at all!" the waiter said.

"I'll go ask for you." Gordon stood up, took out a silver pound note and slapped it on the table. "Calculate it for me, I'll come back for the change."

Before the waiter could react, the two had already rushed into the street.

On the street, the compass needle steadily pointed to the back of the man in the hat.

"Sir, please wait!" Gordon said. "It's not a bad thing."

Thomas walked faster.

"You have an inexplicable spiritual response," Gordon followed behind. "All we need is your cooperation for a very short observation. No blood draws, no autopsy, just a cup of tea, and we'll talk in a quieter place..."

Thomas found Gordon's words increasingly illogical.

"Coordinate with a very short observation" = keep an eye on him until he reveals his true colors.

"No blood draw" means we need to start from somewhere else.

"No dissection" means preserving the complete body.

"Have a cup of tea" = anesthesia.

"Let's talk somewhere quiet" = Find a place to silence them.

Thomas broke out in a cold sweat and quickened his pace.

"Don't be nervous," Gordon said.

"I'm not nervous," Thomas finally said.

"Then why are you walking so fast?"

"I'm in a hurry."

"Where are you rushing to?"

"Work."

"What kind of job?"

"pier."

They came to the riverbank, and the night wind blew from the Blackwater River.

Thomas was speechless. Gordon and Vera were still following behind him.

He said he was going to work at the dock, but the problem was, when he got to the vicinity of the dock, he didn't know where to go.

There were indeed workers moving goods nearby, but no one scolded him for being late, nor did anyone ask him to move the goods.

Thomas had no choice but to grit his teeth and stop at the dock, facing the Blackwater River to enjoy the scenery.

Vera stood at a distance that was neither too close nor too far; if Thomas tried to jump into the river to escape, she would pin him to the ground instantly.

Gordon stood next to him and watched along with him.

"Is your job to observe the river?" Gordon asked.

Thomas remained silent.

Gordon looked at his profile and observed carefully that his skin was grayish-white and there were several unnatural fine folds behind his ears that opened and closed slightly with his breathing.

Thomas finally couldn't hold back any longer and turned to try and enter a narrow alleyway with no lights.

"That's a dead end," Vera said. "Perfect for killing. It's easier for him to kill us than to explain the dockworks."

"That makes sense," Gordon agreed. "Many people tend to avoid street interviews."

They followed them in; the alley was narrow and damp.

Thomas abruptly threw down his hat and turned to glare at Gordon and Vera.

Immediately afterwards, his skin began to ooze water violently.

Gordon looked at Thomas and quickly came to a conclusion in his mind.

Members of the Blackwater Hermitage.

He might just be a so-called "wet-footed person".

Thomas opened his mouth, his entire face swelled up morbidly, octopus tentacles extended from his jaw, and murky steam billowed from between his teeth as he began to chant some incoherent prayer…

If he finishes reciting the prayer, this alley will become a water dungeon!

The prayer had just begun, and the water vapor had just begun to form.

Vera raised her hand, her eyes turning from gray to crimson, and the power of the source material burst forth.

[Tearing Fate Apart: The Predestined End]

"Don't die too quickly." There was even a hint of pleasure in her tone.