The Laws of Werewolf Hunting

Chapter 359: The Years Killer

"What do you want to say?" Chude Osmar's voice became fierce, and his broken body straightened slightly.

Not long ago they were enemies, and Clayton's unusual questions made him wary.

"I thought you knew it very well." Clayton looked at him strangely. He should have known it. "How can you worship a group of people whose background you don't know? Even those who always say they want to make their ancestors proud are just expressing their own ambitions. In reality, there are so many people who even abandon their own illegitimate children and feel ashamed of it. Who has ever thought that they are also their own bloodline?"

The so-called affection between blood relatives is not just because two people have the same blood, but also because of the transmission of emotions. It is just because the common blood naturally gives them a close relationship, making this transmission more effective and not easy to lose. It does not mean that this kind of emotion is so stable that it cannot be destroyed.

If a person's parents treat him harshly, causing him to feel resentful, then he will naturally not think about his ancestors further back.

Similarly, a father's feelings for his children are usually based on his feelings for their mother, and Clayton has never heard of a man who hated his woman but loved their children together.

The affection for those distant or never-met relatives is merely an overflow of the emotions for those close to us.

"Your explanation is useless. All civilizations are based on ancestor worship, without exception." Osmar said gloomily.

Clayton sneered, "Yes, the cornerstones of civilization include ancestor worship, religious worship, and monarch worship. There are so many cornerstones, but you didn't choose the stones related to rationality and wisdom, but chose a stone that would jump up and hit itself. After seeing you, I know what masochism looks like."

The red-headed men's attitude towards Osmar was not good, and Osmar's reaction was far from harmonious.

"Worship is the cheapest emotion, especially the vague worship that one does not understand. People who worship others initially portray a beautiful image that is impossible to exist, and then put themselves under that false image. If you must worship someone, it is best if he is dead, but your ancestors are obviously not dead yet."

Clayton wanted to ridicule Osmar, but out of consideration for those who were still eavesdropping, his words were too polite.

The red-headed man raised his head, as if he had figured something out, and a light of hope appeared on his face again: "No, I have figured it out. Maybe they are not my ancestors at all. My ancestors came to the world a long time ago, so I was born here. I have been looking in the wrong place all along."

"I don't think you've made a mistake." Clayton said calmly, "They are slaves of the Dinnon people. When the Mansis people attacked, even the nobles were in a hurry to flee to Wonderland. It was natural that the slaves who were unable to work due to pregnancy were left behind. There seemed to be no newborns in Wonderland. Who knows what will happen to pregnant women there."

Osmar stared at him, sensing the werewolf's malice through his sunglasses: "Are you trying to make me feel pain?"

"Really? What a heartless thing to say!" Clayton denied it flatly: "I promised you to bury Quoke, and you still doubt me like this. We had some grudges in the past, but on the last day in Wonderland, I had already used enough tricks on you, and the anger in my heart has subsided. They will execute you later, and you will die without me doing anything, so I am just telling the truth now."

"Then you should know that this fall is only temporary. As long as we master the power of God's grace, we will rise again."

"Interestingly, your ancestors might not think so. In their eyes, your lifestyle is decadent." Clayton took a step closer and imitated the tone of the red-headed people in the fairyland: "Unfilial descendant, you have even lost your faith, how pitiful!"

"Even if your ancestors were not from this country, they would still say the same thing. Do you think you are important to them?"

"As far as I know, the ancient Dinon people loved burnt offerings very much. They offered lambs and even their own children, but this did not prevent the disaster from happening, and they had to flee their homeland collectively. You red-headed people were once the gods' messengers who worked with them, and you only accepted tributes, not tributes. Perhaps you have changed your lifestyle after becoming slaves. Maybe your immortal ancestors in the fairyland will offer you as a sacrifice after seeing you, hoping that the gods who had abandoned you long ago would notice his piety and change their minds."

Although he declared that he meant no harm, Clayton's tone was cold and slippery, as aggressive as a venomous snake.

Chud Osmar gritted his teeth and his body began to tremble.

"Enough!" He screamed out of his throat. "How do you understand me?! How do you understand me?!"

"Yeah, I've said enough." Clayton said with a dull tone, "You know what? The girl next to me once advised me to have some sympathy for you, because you were also deceived by Edwards, and he induced you to become dependent on your relatives, but I can't have even a little bit of sympathy for you."

"You and Coke, two people with incompatible personalities, actually stayed together, and you even wanted to hold a funeral for him. I thought you had a good relationship. And Edwards' diary showed that you hesitated and even suspected that this was a scam. But in the end, you were willing to let someone close to you die for some illusory things, and then of course you fell into failure."

"You racked your brains for a long time and chose to be fooled. I have never seen anyone as stupid as you. You have accomplished nothing."

After he finished speaking, he turned and left, but suddenly he heard the sound of a heavy object falling over behind him.

Chud Osmar was lying on the ground, struggling, his hands tied behind his back. Under him were fragments of wooden boxes and broken glass from wine bottles, which had made holes and cracks in his clothes, but he didn't care. He just straightened his upper body like a snake, staring at Clayton with bloodshot eyes, and his throat was hoarse as if he had swallowed burning coals.

"Clayton Bello, I curse you."

It was hardly the voice of a man, but rather the wind from hell.

Clayton also stopped in surprise, but then Osmar's body fell down and buried his face in the debris on the ground.

A few seconds later, the clergy rushed out from behind the high wall of wooden boxes, lifted the red-headed man's body and laid him flat, and quickly came to a conclusion.

"he died."

Chud Osmar maintained an angry expression on his face until his death.

The government official arrived late. He squatted down angrily to examine the body, then stood up and looked at Clayton: "Didn't I tell you not to do it?!" Before Clayton could open his mouth, the clergy spoke.

"He died of old age."

Now even Clayton himself didn't know what to say.

He had originally wanted to make Osmar experience the fear before execution, but he ended up dying like that, and even cursed him before he died.

Although all the red-headed man's fingers were gone, perhaps he still had some divine favor on him, and perhaps the curse could still work on Clayton. Everyone knows that the last words before death carry a lot of weight.

But Osmar only said that he would curse Clayton, but there was no specific conclusion on how he wanted him to be sad.

This curse may or may not be effective, but it has already made Clayton uneasy.

No one else paid much attention to this. The government employees were racking their brains over how to deal with the bodies. The clergy also stayed here on their own accord. They kept a close eye on the people from the Elder Council, as if they hoped that the Darkborn would leave quickly, even though this was the territory of the Elder Council.

Fortunately, the Darkborn did not fight over anything. After all, this was just a warehouse for miscellaneous items. They all turned around and walked out, ready to leave the bodies to these people to deal with.

"Mr. Bello, please come this way." A member of the Presbyterian Church called out to Clayton.

Clayton followed quickly and they stopped at the warehouse door.

The dark descendant with white hair and pure black teeth handed the werewolf a cigarette, then lit it for him and took out a cigarette for himself.

"Roderick, of the Mansis."

"So, Mr. Roderick, it's Elder Dais who wants to see me. He finally has a mission for me?" Clayton asked while smoking. He tried not to think about the curse but the affairs of the Presbyterian Church.

Grogne has not recovered yet, and Elder Dais is still acting as the ruler of the association.

The strange dark descendant shook his head. "No, in order to hold the mayoral election in an absolutely safe environment, an area in the city center has been blocked off. Elder Dais is there, so no guests will be allowed in the next two weeks."

"Then what is your purpose of looking for me?"

"He just won't see visitors, but he does have something to say to you." Roderick cleared his throat and said, "Old Ascetic, there is nothing else for you to do recently. I like the gift you sent me very much, so why not go and see the gift I gave you before. It is in the safe of Dongsen Bank."

"He left a message in the gift before, why did he ask you to repeat it?"

"He said your memory is not good."

Clayton nearly choked, smoke billowing from his mouth like a steam engine.

"One more thing." Roderick said, "How is your classical Chinese?"

Clayton straightened his breath: "I only know one mainstream ancient language."

"Are you interested in historical relics?"

"I'm not bragging, but I'm at least half an expert." Clayton said frankly that he had done a lot of homework to be qualified for the job of a curio dealer.

Roderick nodded. "A professor of ancient studies at Sasha University has died. This man's death is good for many people, except for his students. Of course, the students I'm talking about don't refer to the apprentices he took in as a wizard, but those who entered the university through proper exams. They are now missing a class. The school is looking for someone to replace him."

"Before that, we can also find an expert with relevant background to substitute for the class. Another member of ours, Aureli Blanco, recommended you to Sasha University. If you are free, go over and give them two classes."

Listening to his description, Clayton suddenly remembered who the dead man was.

"Professor of Ancient Studies? Christopher?"

"Yes, you know him too."

Clayton didn't want to say too much about this matter: "Of course I know, he was hanging by the train tracks."

"Oh, he's not there now," said Roderick, with a dull tone. "We only hung him up for a few days, and then the railroad sent a protest, saying it was bad for their reputation, and now those two rows of bodies have been taken down."

"That's a shame," Clayton said.