To put it bluntly, a half-human would be more useful than a giant, at least they could spot details more quickly and efficiently, unlike the giant race that completely disregards them.
So, Jack strove to transform himself into a complete newcor—an inspector who didn’t understand inspections at all and was accompanied by a giant, careless assistant.
The first household was a family of three, the father was Neapolitan, having secured this dwelling as a new district’s underground sewer designer, his wife was beautiful, and his son very cute. Jack looked at his own ugly face, trying to make his smile look more natural.
After inspecting his docunts, Jack naturally did not discuss advanced scientific issues such as father-son inheritance with him, simply said "no problem," and walked away with his giant assistant.
The giant paid no attention to any potential issues, instead, he was holding a small notebook, writing sothing in it.
Jack took a glance at the notebook—Jack Reed, the inspector, works very earnestly and ticulously.
Please, big brother in all senses, do you really think I’m working seriously? Apologize to the word "earnest" right now.
The second household was a family of five, the father from Regensburg, a person of the Sydney Union, his ID stated he was a construction supervisor brought from Regensburg by Prince Casaman. He was responsible for overseeing the construction in the new city and had one day off each week, how nice.
This damn newcor didn’t have a single day off, working like 007 every day.
That 007 was sothing Prince Casaman blurted out during a visit to their departnt after hearing about their working conditions.
Three numbers that said it all.
"Sir, your docunts are in order. There’s no problem," Jack returned the docunts to the man, while trying not to look at his pregnant wife and three hungry-looking daughters.
"Good to hear. Speaking of which, are you going to inspect my next-door neighbors? They make noise late into the night, as if they’re afraid soone on this street might go to bed earlier than them. They’re really a bunch of troublemakers."
"Uh, we’re inspecting rental houses today, they are students from the local art college, but I can pass your complaints to the departnt responsible for maintaining public order."
"Thank you, young man."
After an exchange of pleasantries, Jack and his assistant arrived at the third house.
The record indicated that it was inhabited by an elderly couple. The door was opened by the old woman, who perked up upon seeing Jack’s uniform: "You must be an inspector, right? Let tell you, those art students across the street are a real headache, these guys scream all night long. My husband asked them about it, and they told him they were singing. If they call their noise ’singing,’ then I must say art is crying."
"Understood. You and your husband, my record here says that you are from the Northern Kingdom?" The old woman was well-dressed, looked lively, and her body was in good shape, suggesting that she might have a Sequence from a Transcendent.
"Yes, the south suits us old folks. Our children are in the Northern Kingdom, and we can’t stand the cold there. Initially, we thought about Carterburg, but that cursed place is as cold as the North, sotis even colder."
The old woman spoke as fast as the latest model of a rapid-fire musket. With such an agile mind at her age, Jack was even more convinced of his judgnt.
"The record says... you were opera singers?" He glanced at the entry in the record.
"Of course, that’s why my husband and I think those brats are complete educational failures. We can tolerate their howling, but they must not desecrate art." After speaking, the old woman stepped aside to let Jack see the old man greeting them in the living room and all the various trophies on display: "Before we retired, we were the best main singers in the best opera troupe of the Northern Kingdom."
After finishing, the old woman pointed behind Jack: "Look for yourself."
Jack turned to see... the so-called art students coming out from across the street.
Disheveled curly hair, tattered cloaks, and masks covering the top half of their faces.
And those awful arm guards painted with mysterious crosses, and boots laced with belts.
"Lately they’re obsessed with masquerade balls, playing late into the night, then coming back singing terribly off-key songs. I really can’t refer to that as singing," the old woman sighed. "I know it’s a bit much to ask of an inspector like yourself, but please have the public order departnt talk to them. If there’s a problem, it’s best to nip it in the bud."
The old woman then stretched out her left hand and forcefully clenched it in the air.
Jack nodded solemnly—out of respect for just about anything, the old lady’s right hand revealing the Church of Justice honor service badge was downright intimidating. Just who were she and her husband, main singers of the opera, or retired assault team mbers of the Church of Justice?
Beneath the old lady’s gaze, Jack took his leave, then glanced at the record on his watch.
Well, the new landlord’s na was Hills Clinton, a local, who rented his house to a painter from Regensburg. The record ntioned that the tenant had several friends... seed like no other issues.
The door was still open, and it was like Mr. Casaman tipping his hat: "Good evening, sir, can I help you with sothing?"
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