The Laws of Werewolf Hunting

Chapter 116 Third Person
Just as the two sheriffs rode through the neighborhood on horseback, a young man collapsed in pain beside them.

Before this happened, the man had been hunched over and out-of-the-way like any person who stays out late at night. They have various reasons to make themselves like this, whether they are drunk or tired, so this is not a problem. A miracle.

Clayton saw at a glance that there was no place for a weapon to be hidden under his thin clothes, and he dismounted immediately to ascertain the condition of the poor man.

His partner, Martin, hesitated for a while, and when he saw Clayton's hand touched the young man, he dismounted and followed.

"We should be more cautious," he said.

This is both an admonition and an explanation for my slow response.

Clayton didn't follow his words, but stretched out his hand to measure the young man's breathing and body temperature, and then withdrew his hand.

"He seems to be ill."

This guy's temperature is quite abnormal, and his forehead feels like a breakfast egg brought by the landlady.

Martin came over and touched him again, then frowned and cursed.

"Damn it! The night clock has struck, where's the clinic open now? He smells like a drunk just out of a tavern, and hopefully he'll have enough money to pay for the clinic after paying for the drink, I didn't bring any money with me when I came out tonight."

Clayton shook his head: "If he doesn't bring any money, let the doctor record it. We are only responsible for sending him to the clinic, and the rest is up to Heavenly Father."

"You're right. But I've reached his wallet, which should be thick enough for those 'vampires.'"

Martin spat, knelt down and grabbed the sick man by the armpit, helped him to lie on the horse's back, got on the horse himself, and urged the horse.

Clayton mounted his horse and followed, just a little behind him.

Martin is a resident of this parish, and he knows exactly where there are clinics here,
On the way to the clinic, Martin suddenly asked nervously, "Do you think he might have an infectious disease?"

Clayton looked back at him in surprise: "I thought it was a little late to ask this question."

Martin's face suddenly became ugly.

"Well, if you're serious, all I can say is that it's unlikely to be an infectious disease. The health department didn't report the disease, the cemetery statistics didn't report anything abnormal, and he didn't look like he had whooping cough. So . " Clayton shrugged one shoulder slightly, signaling the other party to think for himself.

The sheriff did indeed gradually ease his emotions in thinking.

But the lieutenant had a new question: "Why do you think so, I have never heard of the epidemic."

Martin seemed ashamed to speak, and it was a while before he spoke resignedly.

"Haven't you really heard of it? We still have a saying about those monsters, saying that it is a special disease. As long as they are infected, even a devout monk will inevitably have a distorted fate."

It turned out to be the kind of person who believed in a little bit of everything. Clayton suddenly realized.

This statement is quite accurate, the process of accepting the curse of the dark moon is just like the spread of disease, but its mutation does not spread through human-to-human contact.

That illusory celestial body that can't even be observed with the naked eye can cause such a big mess, even if he already has a certain understanding of the extraordinary world, he still feels incredible about such a reality.

Although that celestial body has disappeared for a hundred years, it has watched the older world, and even participated in and shaped the history of various countries.

How can people living in this land escape the influence of the moonlight?
Just as he was thinking, the young man on the horse moaned untimely, accompanied by this strange behavior, causing Martin's mount to lose control,
They all looked back, and Martin immediately exclaimed at the young man's astonishing move.

"Damn it, he's eating my ass!"

"I said you can rest assured that this is by no means an infectious disease," Clayton said. "There is no infectious disease in the world that can cause such symptoms."

"It's crazy! I've never seen anything so nasty!"

Martin ignored his joke, but jumped off the horse directly, and dragged the young man off the horse in distress.

"He must be starving."

Clayton helped Martin break the young man's grip on the horse's tail, and at the same time warned the horse not to hoot at them with his scent.

The lieutenant is in a good mood. He has also learned a lot of new things these days, and he even picked up a good ax—if it wasn't too eye-catching and couldn't be taken out for self-defense, then his recent life would be perfect of.

But when he caught the young man, this mood disappeared.

Because the young man gave up biting the horse and started biting him.

Martin's rescue was timely, and he hit the young man several times, forcing him to let go of the lieutenant.

During this process, Creighton noticed the youth's eyes.

It was a pair of brown eyes that were also shining.

The teeth marks on the palms also seemed familiar.

This familiar behavior and external signs made the lieutenant aware of his identity-this is a werewolf in the process of transformation.

His previous joke was not wrong, this young man was in the midst of boundless greed and hunger.

If it wasn't for the landlady's wife storing a lot of bacon in the cellar, it would have been difficult for him to survive the initial period of wolf transformation. Most wild werewolves were exposed at the social level because they had difficulty suppressing their desires in the early stage of transformation.

"His strength is really great."

Martin lay on the young man's back, struggling to tie his hands.

Clayton put on gloves for himself and went over to help.

During the whole process, the young man never said a word, his eyes were clear but he was indifferent.

Pure like a beast.

Martin took out his pocket watch and took a look, and gasped with disinterest: "I really don't know whether we are lucky or unlucky today. When we met this guy, we haven't gone halfway through the journey, and the patrol time is over. Yes. Now go home, if you are in a hurry, you can go to the clinic to see your hands first."

Clayton looked at the young man, who was still in a state of dementia.

"Then how does he deal with it? How do you usually deal with this situation?"

"Obstructing city law and order, this kind of behavior is usually sent to the Public Security Department for a penalty of one to two weeks in prison. However, his situation is a bit complicated, and I haven't met a lunatic at work." Martin picked up the young man and moved to Behind Clayton's mount. "Do me a favor. You can send him there this time. Or send him to a special clinic for treatment of madness. It's up to you. I have to let the doctor see my horse quickly."

He was very distressed, this horse was not from the Public Security Bureau, but his own property.

"Row."

Clayton simply agreed, and then led the horse back.

When encountering newborns, it is one of his obligations to secretly send them to the Presbyterian Church for "education".

He was going to send the young werewolf to the nearest Presbyterian stronghold in the parish.

Although the Presbyterian Church is powerful, it can only leave a stronghold in the chaotic area of ​​St. Alvin Parish, no different from the Gray Hats.

The power of the church is the big head here.

After the beginning of the colonial era, the minarets erected in imitation of the Mesri Obelisk are evidence of their existence.

Even if it once declined, the power of the church can still easily shake the city.

As winter approaches, the streets become more lively late at night. Not only are the sheriffs patrolling, but also drunks, vagabonds, and gang members with malicious intentions, especially the last category of people, the mine The massacre did not dispel their existence.

There are too many foreigners brought by the train. They are not only the prey of the gang, but also provide the gang with a steady stream of new troops.

As Clayton drove past the silver shop, he saw some gang members in shabby red dresses clashing with another group of white priests in white cloaks.

There were seven of them, gleaming daggers and clubs inlaid with rusty nails dangling in their hands, and opposite them, the priests of the White Cult were two fewer than them, all of them were silent, but Even with bare hands, he did not move away from the door of the silver shop.

It was apparently a late-night burglary in which the victim was an unguarded silver shop.

Clayton did not choose to take off the silver star badge for the safety of the journey, but at this moment, the identity of the sheriff became the source of trouble.Even though he had consciously stopped his horse and waited and looked, trying to find a way around the unfamiliar street, the development of the situation did not allow him to stay out of it.

One of the priests stood up and shouted at the bastards: "The sheriff is here, are you going to continue?"

So everyone looked at Creighton in unison.

What's worse is that the faces of those gang members did not show the panic that criminals should have when they met law enforcement officers. Although there was a moment of surprise, they quickly recovered their composure.

Although the sheriff came here, he was only one person after all.

Beyond that, they have a special source of confidence.

"Brother, make way."

In fact, Clayton didn't want to stay at all. He thought that at least one of the clergymen had a gun and could easily handle this conflict, and there was a werewolf on his horse waiting to be transported, so he really didn't have the energy to take care of the other one. Nosy.

But he was only silent for two or three seconds before he was misunderstood very unfairly.

A burly, but not quite Clayton, gang member stood up and yelled at him, "Or you know what to do when we say 'Fuck off'?!"

The thugs laughed, intensified when they saw Clayton roll up his sleeves.

"I want to ask, can you take a look at the horse for me?" Clayton looked at the priests in white. They were all wearing hoods, and their faces could not be seen clearly. Naturally, he couldn't tell who was in charge.

"can."

The voice came from a pair of shadowed lips.

So a priest in white clothes next to him stepped out and took the reins from Clayton.

　one more soon

　　
　
(End of this chapter)