With the setting sun slanting down behind her, Clare walked alone into an unremarkable little town.
As she watched the curious, fearful, and disgusted looks around her, her face remained completely expressionless.
Ever since receiving the mark and becoming the lowest-ranked warrior, she had seen such reactions far too often. She had long since grown accustomed to them, numb to them.
After all, in most civilians' minds, Claymores were half-human, half-Yoma warriors capable of identifying Yoma hidden among the crowd.
Coupled with their distinctive silver eyes, many people felt that Claymores were closer to Yoma than humans.
Therefore, civilians rarely showed Claymores any friendliness.
Quite the opposite!
Once the Yoma hidden among them had been eliminated, most towns immediately demanded that the Claymore leave.
Though such behavior sounded shameless, like killing the donkey after it had finished grinding the millstone, Clare did not blame these ignorant and foolish ordinary people.
After all, when she had voluntarily chosen to join the Organization, it had been to use its intelligence network to search for Priscilla's traces, then kill that bastard to avenge Teresa.
As for executing Yoma, it was merely a job, nothing more. There was no need to attach even the slightest emotion to it.
Before long, Clare arrived at the town mayor's home where the commission had been posted. After roughly learning the situation, she informed him that there was no need to pay her directly. Once the Yoma had been executed, he could hand the reward to the Abyssal One.
With that, she began wandering back and forth along the town's streets. Only when night was about to fall did she casually find a spot, lean against a wall, sit down, close her eyes, and rest.
Sleeping rough was something every Claymore Warrior had to get used to. No