The Laws of Werewolf Hunting

Chapter 386 Old Werewolf

Led by Opiros and several other werewolves, Clayton walked up the dark tower stairs.

The spiral staircase spirals upward, forming a vortex that seems to have no end. On each floor, except for the stairs, the remaining space is just one room, all of which are closed by iron doors.

The sounds of heavy movement and chewing came from behind these doors, and similar sounds echoed in layers up and down the stairs.

The elders of the Black Claw clan live here. They were all very powerful werewolves. Because of their loyalty to the clan, even when they were old and disabled, they did not choose to seek glorious defeat, but stayed here to contribute their remaining strength, their own insights and survival wisdom to the clan.

Maxim is the oldest werewolf among them.

He is over 230 years old and has extraordinary knowledge, so even the clan leaders of past generations have to show respect to him.

But Clayton didn't understand why he invited him to meet.

Standing on the sixth floor of the tower, Opiros pushed open the iron door and entered first, followed by Lind and his daughter and another red-eyed fang.

And when they all went in, the chewing sounds stopped.

"It's finally here." said a low but grand voice.

Clayton was the last to go in under the gaze of the other werewolves, and he couldn't tell whether he was feeling fear or anticipation.

As soon as he entered the room, the iron door closed behind him. He didn't have the energy to be nervous about this action, because the shadow of a huge wolf head was covering him, as well as Opiros, Linde and others.

With only five guests, the space on this floor already seemed crowded.

Because an old werewolf who almost occupied half of the room was sitting cross-legged in the room.

Its size was terrifyingly huge. When it stood up, it was about seventeen feet tall. Among all the creatures Clayton had ever seen, even Pan in Wonderland could not compare to it. Only the ancestors he had seen in dreams could surpass it.

It's not in very good shape.

There was a layer of white film on both eyes, which seemed to be a symptom of vision degeneration. The black hair had become sparse, and the pink and spotted skin was exposed in the gaps. They were close to the bones, revealing the shape of the ribs. There was also a horizontal wound on its chest, from the left to the right, and the flesh around the wound was rolled up. The smell of blood and pus filled the room.
The windows in the room were open, and the air flow carried these odors out and brought in the smell of the moat, which was only slightly better.

When the old werewolf opened its mouth, one could see the many empty sockets on its red gums. Only a little more than half of its teeth were left, with only two of its four large teeth remaining. The rest of its teeth had been blunted by the years, making it difficult for it to even chew raw meat.

Some chewed meat slipped out from between its teeth and fell to the ground in front of it, forming a disgusting paste.

Clayton had felt an incomparable fear, and he finally understood why the strong were afraid of aging.

But even though it had aged to this state, the old werewolf still gave Clayton a strong sense of danger. This was because it had a simple and primitive thought that did not conform to the laws of current society and a complex and mottled smell of blood.

"Sure enough, I can smell the familiar Yankee scent here, black hair, yellow eyes. I should recognize your ancestor. Maybe he is dead, or maybe he is still alive like me."

The old werewolf, whose sense of smell was still extremely sensitive, slowly extended his huge and smelly upper body forward, and his nose stopped in front of Clayton. His blind eyes prevented him from seeing the visitor clearly, so he could only turn his head to the side and turn his bald ears towards Clayton.

"What clan are you from? Remind me, boy, of the name of an old friend." Its deep voice was deafening.

Opiros and the other werewolves looked at Clayton in surprise.

They knew that the Yankees that Elder Maxim was talking about were werewolves who migrated from the north. If Clayton had that smell, he must be a descendant of a werewolf, not a newborn who had been inspired by the Dark Moon in recent years.

Maxim's feeling should be correct, but they can also clearly feel that he does not have the power of clan laws.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I haven't joined any clan since my awakening."

While answering, Clayton actually felt a sense of anticipation.

He felt Maxime's nostalgic feelings, and it was possible that he and the Conleone family could really establish a relationship.

"Ah - the sealer." The old werewolf suddenly realized and immediately identified the element it needed: "It's really rare. I know who you are from. Ventra Astir. Only werewolves from the Astir family would do this. They have many curses left by wizards who hate them. They are forced to maintain an inhuman state during the day. It's better to seal their own power. At least other curses will no longer take effect."

The image he described immediately reminded Clayton of the ancestor who took the train without a ticket.

However, that person was a lone traveler and was not accompanied by his family.

Could it be a werewolf from House Astir?
Astier, Clayton repeated the word silently again, and felt that it was as far away as the clouds in the sky. Maybe he belonged to it, maybe he didn't, but in the end it made no difference. He felt that he didn't care.

He had never even heard of the name Ventra.

Judging from the equally puzzled expressions of the other werewolves, they did not know Ventella or the Astier family. Perhaps the information about them had been lost for a long time and only remained in the memories of old men like Elder Maxim.

Elder Maxim suddenly shrugged his shoulders, looked at Clayton and laughed with a strange tone. His sparse teeth made his pronunciation inaccurate: "My old friend told me that the Day of Judgment will correct all these mistakes. Maybe it means that the great moon can remove other curses." "From the looks of you, her prediction is correct. She, or her descendants, chose to seal their own path. But after only a few years, her descendants have forgotten their ancestors, and she herself has probably been buried in the grave!"

"You have lost the inheritance of extraordinary knowledge, and you no longer have the power to maintain your clan. You are no different from the new generation of children. You all have to start from scratch!"

It laughed gleefully, and the whole room shook with its laughter, allowing the younger generations, who were much younger than it, to feel the terrifying power remaining in its old, half-crippled, withered body.

This kind of joy makes it even more difficult to tell the relationship between it and its "old friend".

And this attitude makes the atmosphere weird.

Clayton wanted to swallow his anger, but the terrible pressure from Maxim made him instinctively resist and he had to say something: "Maybe, since fate is only willing to give me this bad card, then I can only try to play it well."

"A clever answer."

Maxim stopped laughing, and the huge wolf head moved in front of Clayton's face again. Its cloudy eyes seemed to want to see something from him through the white film. A foul odor emanated from its wounds and mouth, like the devil's legacy.

"But I thought Ventra's descendants would be warriors, and you are a liar."

"Did I lie?" Clayton asked.

"Of course. Don't try to hide it from me. You know about the Sealers, and you are not just a lone ranger. I know you must have joined some big forces, which makes you not completely in need of the clan." The giant werewolf stretched out a hairy finger and poked his ear: "I can hear your heartbeat, without missing a single sound, so I know when you will be nervous."

“Most liars can control their facial expressions, but only the best liars can control their heartbeats.”

"When it comes to this business, you're at best a second-rate liar."

Opiros, the Lind father and daughter, and the red-eyed fang all looked at Clayton Bello expressionlessly, unable to tolerate such deception any longer. They moved their feet without concealment and surrounded Clayton.

After doing all this, Opiros looked at Maxim with a questioning look, as if waiting for a suggestion.

Crazy! Really fucking crazy!

Clayton gritted his teeth. He never thought that Maxim would judge his lies by his heartbeat.

He was on the first floor when he lied!
And considering the reason why Maxim summoned him, that is to say, Maxim could already use his sense of smell and hearing to detect his scent and heartbeat even though they were thirty meters and three floors apart!
The horror of this old werewolf was beyond Clayton's imagination.

Forcefully forcing a smile, Clayton defended himself to the huge mottled wolf head, "A lone traveler should always be careful. And you should know that I have no ill intentions this time. I am only looking for two dead people, and everything I do here is just out of curiosity."

"That's good." Maxim nodded slowly, and the shadow of his head in the cold moonlight pressed heavily on Clayton.

"So which organization do you belong to?"

Its deep voice had a magical power that made Clayton unable to suppress the pounding of his heart. He put his hands behind his back to resist the huge pressure in front of him: "A branch of the Druid Order. They emphasize the balance between cities and nature, and the balance between the Darkin and human society."

"What's its name?"

"The Presbyterian Church."

Presbyterian Church is a very common name for an organization. The decision-making groups in some villages are also called Presbyterian Churches. The predecessor of the city's parish council also belonged to the local Presbyterian Church. Clayton hoped that Maxim would not associate it with the fatal Presbyterian Church in Sasha City.

Elder Dais had a feud with the Black Claw Clan in the past. Although Clayton Bellew knew nothing about the inside story, it was obviously inappropriate for him to reveal his identity as one of their gang members at this moment, and to make these werewolves of the clan feel unnecessary hostility towards him.

Clayton once thought that as long as he didn't mention it, no one would doubt his identity, but Maxim made him no longer confident.

"Well--"

The huge werewolf Elder Maxim did not continue. He was in deep thought, his still sharp fingers rubbing the wound on his chest that had not healed for many years.

A feeling of oppression slowly accumulated in the room as it fell silent.

Just when Clayton was about to speak again to break the silence, it suddenly tilted its head and moved its ears. Then it ignored Clayton and turned to Opiros and said, "Chief, that Lavein kid and the other members who went out hunting are here. Please let them come up. I want to reward them."

"You sent Lavine out right after the trial. I've never met him. It's a pity. After all, he is my direct descendant. I want to meet him."

The tone was not humble enough, but Maxim spoke to Opiros with respect, not the tone that the real Edwards would use to speak to a puppet king.

Opiros also nodded with equal respect, then his face turned into a wolf, raised his head and let out a tortuous howl.

The iron door behind Clayton opened, and the same wolf howls continued to sound one after another on the floors below, like a herald, until finally, at the bottom of the castle, a wolf howl with a different tune rang out.