Secret World of Occultists-Chapter 58: Far Reaching Influence

The following day, after finishing his occult studies with Madam Whitmore and completing his combat training with the Security & Special Operation team members, Abel finally left the Trust at around 5:00 p.m.

It was not time for him to return home yet. After all, he was headed to the Newport Police Headquarters to finally begin his firearm training!

It had been about three weeks since his transmigration, and Abel’s life had settled into a steady routine.

He would wake up, go for a long jog around his neighborhood, return home and get ready, head to the club to study occultism under Madam Whitmore, then head to the Trust to train his physique, learn combat techniques, and study field tactics.

After that, he would return home, and revise all the knowledge he had learned that day. Then, he’d have dinner and go off to sleep.

A new day and a new cycle would then begin.

Abel was getting quite comfortable with his daily routine in this life. In his past life, he would always be glued to his wheelchair, barely leaving his room.

But from this day forward, a new task would be added to his routine.

"So how often are we allowed to have access to the shooting range at the police headquarters?" Abel asked curiously, glancing at Henry who was seated across from him and lazily smoking from his pipe.

The pair had boarded a private carriage and were currently heading to 19 Brunswick Street where the Newport Police Headquarters was located.

It was situated near the bustling docks, where crime was highest due to smuggling, theft, and illegal trade. It was also close to the commercial district and the government buildings, accessible to major roads.

"You are welcome to visit the shooting range any day," said Henry as he adjusted his cuffs. "Just be sure to come after five in the evening, as the police make use of it beforehand. It tends to be far less crowded after that hour."

"I see." Abel nodded. He then asked another question, "What do you guys usually say when you get there? I mean, I’m sure you can’t say you’re from the Trust... right? Or, can you?"

Henry’s lips curled up into a light smirk. He set aside the pipe on the seat, then reached for a folded piece of paper from his coat’s inner pocket.

"Read it," he said with an amused expression, handing the document to the blue-eyed youth.

Curious, Abel reached for it, unfolded it, and started reading. Soon, his eyebrows arched in surprise and he exclaimed, "Are you serious?! A paper warrant signed by the chief constable himself!"

The police force in the cities of Albion followed a military-style chain of command.

The chief constable was the head of the force, its highest-ranking officer, overseeing all police operations within the city.

Next were the superintendents, who were in charge of the large districts within a city. Under them were the inspectors, who ran individual police stations within each district.

Then came the sergeants, who were supervisors in charge of the lowest rank in the police hierarchy—the constables.

Henry chuckled smugly as he put away the document. "This ensures that no one asks us questions when we use the shooting range for firearm practice."

He paused for a moment before adding, "This letter of authority also allows us to involve ourselves in police cases that are likely to be related to supernatural elements."

"Fuckin’ hell..." Abel couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle. "The Ministry’s reach sure runs deep!"

"It sure does, my friend, it sure does." Henry laughed.

He picked up the pipe, struck a match, and took a slow and long drag. Savoring the rich taste of tobacco in his mouth, he asked, "So you’ve begun your studies in the ritual arts under Madam Whitmore, have you? How is that coming along?"

"Yep, just started yesterday." Abel nodded. "It’s a lot more difficult than I had expected If I’m being honest."

"It is." Henry’s expression grew serious. "I have no doubt Madam Whitmore has already cautioned you, but it bears repeating—you must not practice ritual arts recklessly. Without a proper understanding, the consequences could be dire."

Abel pursed his lips. "I know that. I’m not that reckless, you know."

Henry looked at him with an arched eyebrow, mocking him, "The Commander told me you leaped into the shaft from the third floor without so much as blinking. If that isn’t reckless, then I truly wonder what is."

"That... I was just following his instructions," Abel said with slight embarrassment.

"But I mean it, Abel." Henry’s expression grew solemn. "Ritual arts are very dangerous, far more than you might realize."

He paused for a moment before adding, "Did you know that most of the supernatural cases we handle stem from ritual arts gone horribly wrong."

"Really?" Abel asked with slight surprise.

"Yes." Henry gave a solemn nod. "Just last year, a group of rogue Occultists conducted a ritual and inadvertently summoned a terrifying Anomalous Being.

"It took the team nearly a week to track it down and put an end to it. But by then, the damage had already been done, blood had been spilled, and lives were lost."

"There was something like that?!" Abel was stunned.

"Indeed," said Henry. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "You must have heard of the Red Butcher, yes? It was quite the sensation in the papers last year."

"Wait... you mean to say, the Red Butcher was actually this Anomalous Being?!"

"Yes, the Red Butcher was merely a cover-up story," said Henry. "In truth, it was the Anomalous Being summoned by those rogue Occultists.

"It murdered nearly a dozen people before we could put it down. Needless to say, Occultists who called it forth were the first ones to die."

Abel was slowly beginning to grasp the true extent of the Trust’s influence. To manipulate the narrative of such a catastrophic event and control the flow of information through newspaper companies was no trivial feat.

It spoke of a power that ran far deeper than he had ever imagined!

"I understand, man... I’ll be careful, I promise," Abel assured his friend.

"That’s good." Henry nodded. He then thought of something and asked, "And what of the etiquette and elocution books I lent you? Have you been reading them?"

"Eh, sometimes." Abel shrugged. "I’ve been preoccupied with studying Enochian and other occult knowledge lately."

He didn’t quite understand why there was such a need to pay attention to his speech mannerisms.

The people of Albion prided themselves on leading a modern lifestyle, or at the very least, appearing modern in public.

Ironically, his way of speaking had already been shaped by the culture of the 21st century. So, in a sense, that made him the most modern man in Albion.

"You ought to mind such things, Abel." The dark-haired youth remarked casually as he took a slow drag from his pipe.

A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. "Or, who knows? Someone might suspect you of being a foreign spy."

"Are you serious?" Abel was flabergasted. "You know I’m not a spy!"

"We know that," Henry said with a shrug. "But the people you meet for the first time won’t."

He leaned back slightly and added, "And given your... peculiar mannerisms, it’s only a matter of time before someone decides you’re a spy. Now that wouldn’t end well for you. Or for us, for that matter... seeing as we’re all tied to you."

Abel couldn’t help but nervously gulp. "Alright, alright! I’ll proactively make an effort to read those books you gave me, okay!"

Henry smiled, "Now, wouldn’t that be wonderful?"

The carriage soon stopped and the pair had arrived at their destination. Henry gazed at the three-story bricked building and opened the door of the carriage.

"Alright, my friend. We have arrived at the Newport Police Headquarters."