The Laws of Werewolf Hunting

Chapter 383: Deep into the Wolf's Lair
Julius was captured.

It happened again, and he was too lazy to get angry.

The werewolf captain was much worse than Clayton Bellew, and probably had less combat experience than he did. A smart person could see that they could win even if they just pushed the two crazy wizards of the Key Group into the water. However, the werewolf retreated instinctively with its tail between its legs after its abdomen was pierced, and it never thought that it could turn the situation around by just taking two more steps forward.
So, when this guy's skull turned into ash and his brain melted together with the raging fire, he should have no reason to complain.

Since the situation was unfavorable, Julius could only forget about the conflict just now. As these crazy wizards left on the speedboat, the damaged cargo ship behind them slowly sank due to water intake.

When he finally got on board, he was disconcerted to find that all the seats were occupied.

The bodies of the mad wizard's companions were not brought up. Did they intend to kill him, or did they anticipate that one or two people would die this time?
No one would answer him this question.

The man driving the boat was the only normal person, but no matter how Julius asked, he refused to speak. The remaining two wizards of the Key Group were in tears. They did not restrain Julius, nor did they pay attention to what he said. They just immersed themselves in the self-world created by hallucinogens and drugs and amused themselves.

Julius closed his eyes and meditated to ease his relaxed emotions, waiting for these crazy wizards to take him to their "destination".

At least he knew he still had a chance to survive, and they must have come for the Nightingale mark on his arm. As long as he could seize the opportunity and his tongue was not cut off, he was confident that he could convince them to let him go.

And at this moment, of course he thought of the person who left him alone.

Even though he knew that Clayton could not have predicted the attack, Julius still felt resentful.

If the two of them were going together, now would be the time to count the spoils.

But it was meaningless to imagine. They were going in the opposite direction, back to Viodi. The man who ordered the killing of the imperial envoy was going to see Julius. When he thought of this, even meditation could not calm his spirit.

Clayton on the other side could not sense what was happening to the green-haired wizard, and he was about to face his own crisis.

Night fell, and it was time for him to go to Opiros.

A tall, old, bald butler led him into the castle, and many other people followed him. In addition to Linde and Lydia, he could also see some faces he had seen on the streets and in taverns before. At this moment, the expressions they looked at him had become different.

Clayton ignored the whispers and scrutinizing looks and instead observed them.

After looking back several times, he had memorized some of the situations. The werewolves here were quite different. They were not all tall, and their eye colors were not uniform. Only their hair color changed with the power of the curse.

But when they cluster together, factors such as "emotion", "status" and "relationship" make them separate and form organizations within organizations.

Eye color is an important factor in distinguishing them. Clayton noticed that most of the members had black hair and green eyes, and they did not look very happy. The difference between them was the smallest, and their average height was higher than that of the werewolves in other groups. They basically stood closely together. This large group did not accept compatriots with other different-colored eyes. Only a few members with green eyes were with other small organizations. Linde, who had the same blood as them, was an outlier among them.

Another highly cohesive organization is made up of red-eyed werewolves. They look just as elite as the green-eyed ones, but there are fewer of them and they are extremely arrogant. They also have no other colored-eyed fellows willing to associate with them.

As for the rest of the werewolf group, they don't care about eye color, are generally smaller in size, and are more keen to communicate privately.

Although they are both Konglione, the bloodlines they actually possess are different.

Including the werewolves stationed in the castle, Clayton roughly estimated that the number of werewolves here was between 60 and 80. This was nothing during the day, but at night, it was equivalent to a full-strength knight order.

When they walked beside him, the overflowing heat and vitality almost made him tremble with excitement, and he imagined himself fighting a bloody battle here.

With such armed forces, it is no wonder that the Conleone family can still maintain the old aristocratic rule here.

So far, including Lind, Clayton has seen five werewolves who look as strong as himself, three with green eyes and two with red eyes. Many of their kind are surrounding them, and there is a faint glow of strange things on their bodies. Judging from this, they should be the strongest werewolves here, the "fangs of the clan" that Lind mentioned.

These “teeth” scrutinized Creighton the longest.

There might be welcome, there might be hostility, but since he had decided to leave from the beginning, Clayton didn't care.

When he saw these Clan Fangs, he had an inexplicable confidence - he believed that he would be no worse than any of them in a one-on-one duel.

Tonight, all the werewolves here have one goal, which is to gather in the Hall of Ceremony.

This was not a welcome to Clayton Bello, but the gathering itself was one of the clan's most important events, and they did this one day a week.

Lydia walked beside Clayton, explaining the rules of the place to him. Her eagerness towards Clayton caused some of the werewolves to exchange glances, but no one spoke.

The night gatherings of the Konglione family are well known in Berdalabik, but ordinary people only regard this as a reward from the werewolf nobles to those with outstanding abilities. They also long to come to the castle to play one day and receive the same treatment. Sometimes, if civilians make significant contributions, the patriarch of the Black Claw clan will give them the "opportunity" to be promoted to werewolves.

There was no whale-oil electricity in the castle, as old as the system its master had adopted for Berdalabik, but there were braziers at every corner and torches on every wall, which gave as much light as electric lamps.

As they passed between the cold stone walls hung with torches, the firelight briefly illuminated the faces of these passers-by, revealing their sinister expressions.

As they went deeper into the castle, in addition to the smell of burning grease, the smell of hair, flesh, and feces became stronger and stronger. It was not that the servants here did not clean carefully, but that the werewolves had lived here for too long. Some of the natural smells in their lives had been mixed with the building itself over the years, marking the ownership of the castle. When Clayton listened carefully, there was a faint wailing sound coming from underground.

If nothing unexpected happens, there should be a great dungeon here.

In places where the firelight could not reach, Clayton saw some wolf-like black shadows crouching in the corners, or nimbly shuttling between the shadows, occasionally roaring, or pouncing on each other, and the echoes lingered in the corridor for a long time.

When these creatures realize that someone is watching them, they will consciously hide and enter the room on the side of the corridor, or simply run away to a farther place and then look back.

"Some of them are my sisters' children, and some are losers who cannot perfectly control their body transformation after receiving wolf blood. We are still supporting them now, waiting for them to be able to truly control their own power one day." Lydia said proudly.

Clayton nodded calmly.

The clan uses blood ties as its cohesive force, and it should unconditionally tolerate losers.

But even including these, the number of clan members he saw was probably less than a hundred.

"We will introduce you to the clan leader later, so you should behave respectfully," said Linde.

Although they also had black hair and green eyes, Lind and his daughter did not stand with the group with other green-eyed people. They formed an independent group, and some medium-level werewolves followed behind them. They were all young men who worked in the boat rental company during the day.

Perhaps it was because they were too weak, or perhaps they did not have the aura of power and law, or perhaps Lind's aura concealed them, and Clayton did not recognize their werewolves before.

"What do you think of our clan?" Lydia asked Clayton, hoping for some compliments.

"There are fewer people than I thought," Clayton said. "I thought there would be hundreds of werewolves. After all, new members join and babies are born every few years."

Many werewolves had strange expressions when they heard this, and some even laughed. One of the werewolves with red eyes grinned and answered him on their behalf: "Maybe there will be so many in the future."

The thin and bald steward was walking in front. Hearing their conversation, he also spoke in a sinister tone: "Some werewolves hope to leave the clan - to retire, travel around the world, or open up new hunting grounds. As long as they serve the clan for thirty years, they will be regarded as having repaid everything they have received here and will be given the right to leave the clan."

Thirty years is not a long time in a werewolf's life, so this rule sounds fair to Clayton.

If he hadn't owed a favor to the Elders' Council of City Sasha, he would have really thought about joining the Black Claw Clan.

However, the existence of such a rule also shows that the resources controlled by the Black Claw Clan are actually not enough. Just like wolf packs in nature, young members of the pack will leave the pack and seek other ways out due to the lack of food resources in the territory.

This is different from the information revealed by Grogne and Des.

In the eyes of the two elders, the Black Claw Clan should be a large family in Weiodhi, and its influence goes beyond Berdalabik.

It seems that after their last meeting with the Black Claw Clan, some changes have taken place in Wei'aodi, and the status of these werewolves has declined. Considering the experience of Elder Dais, this should have happened in the past forty years.

Was it because of the failed hops investment, as the locals had said? Clayton thought, poverty can indeed change many things.

After passing through the hollow courtyard of the castle and arriving at a huge wooden archway, the butler who had been walking in front suddenly stopped, and the team came to a standstill.

"The leader is already waiting inside, everyone please go in first, I still need to do some things that the other leaders have asked me to do." The butler's tone was casual and not respectful enough. This was because his identity was not just a butler, as a werewolf who only obeyed the clan leader, his status in the clan was not low.

The werewolves bypassed him and poured into the ritual hall.

Lind nodded to Clayton, motioning him to follow him.

The internal structure of the ceremony hall is not unique, nor exquisite, and can even be described as simple.

This is a huge hall. In order to set up this hall, only holes were left on the places where the second and third floors were supposed to be. A flag with the emblem of the Conleone family hung from the ceiling and was already a little faded.

In the center of the hall was an open space with several werewolf skins spread out on the ground - they had once been worn by the betrayers.

There is a high platform at the end opposite the main entrance. Two long tables made of solid stone are on both sides of the hall, enough to accommodate a hundred people. From this, one can vaguely observe the extraordinary status and wealth of the Conleone family at that time.

When Clayton sat down at the end of the long table on the right, the other werewolves had already found their seats.

The owner of this place did not have much demand for lighting. There were only six braziers placed in the corners of the hall, emitting dim light. However, this little light appropriately connected the atmosphere of the room into a whole and softened it. Everything here was like a huge gray pudding.

Inside the pudding, the werewolves' glowing eyes shone like crystal sugar cubes.

When everyone was seated, Clayton saw a figure emerge from the shadows and walk onto the stage.

He was Opilus.