The Laws of Werewolf Hunting

Chapter 397 Coming from afar
What happened to Clayton Bello was far more serious than robbery.

But Sheriff Albert didn't know this.

"I'm sorry, we have very urgent official business to perform right now. If you want to report a case, please wait here for a while, or go to the police station where we met last time." He said and was about to leave.

"Are you dealing with the gang fight at the dock?" Clayton asked.

Albert turned his face back and said, “That’s right. I came here to deal with it as soon as I heard the news.”

Clayton's eyes swept over the police team. There were seven people in total, but only two of them were equipped with guns. The others only had sticks. "I suggest you don't bother with it."

"Why?" Albert asked in amazement.

"I just passed by there, so I know how fierce the battle is. You don't have enough people and weapons. Those people are so hot-blooded that they might attack you as well. When I left there, several people were already dead on the dock."

"That sounds like even more reason for us to get involved," Albert said.

It looks like he can't help me now, Clayton thought.

With good intentions, he reminded Albert, "Then at least walk slower, so that you can save your energy when you get there. Those people should have made enough trouble. Exhausted people are easier to deal with."

Albert's expression changed slightly, but he didn't look grateful.

"It's a good idea, but I don't need such a tactic." After saying that, the sheriff called out to the other policemen, and not only did they all take action, they also quickened their pace, as if to make up for the time wasted talking to Clayton.

"Then at least bring an extra gun."

Clayton shouted, and as the sheriff paused he threw the shotgun and a bag of ammunition over.

After receiving the guns and ammunition, Albert looked at him in surprise, with a touch of emotion on his face. The misunderstanding that he had just thought of the other party as being indifferent also disappeared.

A person who had just been robbed actually took out his self-defense weapon to share. Who could not be moved by such noble character?

“But you might”

"It doesn't matter. It's not mine," said Clayton.

Albert's expression turned strange. He thanked him briefly, handed the shotgun to a subordinate, and led the team away quickly.

Seeing them leave, Clayton turned and walked towards a secluded direction. He originally wanted to ask Albert for help, but he didn't expect that when they met, he would have to help the other person instead.

But with nothing in his hands, he felt more at ease.

This is not to say that his body recovered. On the contrary, the feeling of illness was getting worse, but his heart was light and clear as crystal, and confidence was surging, as if as long as he was willing to put his heart into it, he could understand everything thoroughly.

This feeling is actually very mild, it is just a kind of inexplicable self-confidence, but it has a huge impact on Clayton.

Because before he thought, he would act according to this confidence and feeling, as if it replaced part of his instinct. And the guidance given by this confidence was not correct, just like he should not have let his enemies go before, but he still let them go. He should not have given the only weapon for self-defense to Albert, but he still did it.

The last thing that caused a similar change in him was called a curse.

"It seems that I am really sick," he thought worriedly.

The foul smell of the river water covered up his scent, and the riverside was filled with this smell. It was impossible for the Black Claw clan to continue tracking him by smell. He was safe now. Maybe he should do as Albert said and go to the West District Police Station to rest first, and then find a doctor if conditions permit.

He couldn't name the river here, but his illness was probably caused by the pollution of the river water. Some toxins in industrial waste can cause people to have hallucinations or lose control of their emotions, and he drank a lot of industrial waste water last night.

"Sir, are you happy now?"

Someone on the street called out to Clayton.

He stopped and was surrounded by several thin but fanatical-looking men and women, holding cards with meaningless magical symbols on them, as if they were trying to preach to him.

There was a deadly fight between gangs of workers on the road ahead, and here someone was preaching. Clayton suddenly felt an absurd atmosphere.

"I'm very happy," he said wearily.

The group was stunned, but didn't intend to leave: "Really? You don't look happy."

They reminded Clayton that he was not in a good shape. "It's none of your business, get out of the way!" He stretched out his hand in anger to push them away. He was very weak, but it was easy for him to deal with these people.

Behind him, those people were still shouting: "It is our mission to make the world happy. The end of the world is approaching. Only human joy can fight against the great terror. It is the Heavenly Father who wants us to sow the seeds of happiness in the world. The happiness of every person is of vital importance!"

Happiness is of course crucial, but Clayton thinks it would be better for them to fatten themselves up first before saying that.

How can a hungry person bring happiness to others?
He walked a few dozen steps and with his extraordinary hearing he heard them harassing another person. He couldn't help but stop and look back, and found that it was a man with a numb face dragging his luggage passing by. The man was surrounded by them, listening to the clumsy missionary words at a loss. His face gradually relaxed, revealing a sincere smile, and finally he stood in their queue, and the expression on his face was assimilated into the same fanaticism.

"It's crazy." Clayton couldn't understand what was happening here.

"This is the drawback of urbanization. People are blinded by steel and concrete. They cannot get close to nature or to each other. So they don't know what the true grace of the world is for all souls. In the past, they surrendered to gold and silver. Now, it's even worse. They worship colorful paper. Just the deception of words can make them sell their souls to the devil."

Very radical remarks came from the side. Clayton turned his head again and saw an old man wearing a white linen robe and a crown of dead leaves standing there. He had black eyes, silver hair and beard that grew naturally long, and a beard that hung down to his crotch. He was not wearing shoes, but a pair of large bare feet on the ground. His foreign accent showed that he was not a local, just like Clayton.

Is this a druid?

"So how do we solve this problem?" Clayton asked mysteriously.

The old man raised his right hand with blue veins exposed: "It's very simple, as long as we urbanize, all problems can be solved."

This man is crazy to say such things in the street. Clayton thought, turning his head back, intending to ignore the old man and continue on his way, but the old man did not let him do so and grabbed the werewolf's arm.

"You've seen this, don't you think so?"

"You're too extreme." Clayton wanted to pull his hand back, but the other party was much stronger than he thought. He kept exerting force, hoping to strike a delicate balance between just pulling his hand out and fighting with the other party immediately.

"Extreme?" the old man asked.

"Of course, cities are the crystallization of civilization. Without cities, civilization will regress. Scattered small settlements cannot unite their forces, let alone conduct trade activities efficiently."

The old man showed a look of disappointment on his face: "So this is how you think. No wonder you are like this now."

Clayton paused. "We?"

"What? Aren't you a werewolf from the Conleone family?" The old man asked again arrogantly, "You have gone against your own nature, worshipped gold and silver, and taken everything beyond your needs, so you are always controlled by others and cannot gain status. Don't you realize the root cause of your decline now? Do you have to wait until disaster strikes before you know how to repent?"

Clayton raised his right hand and scratched his face wearily.

"You said it well, but what color are my eyes?"

The old man stared into his eyes: "Yellow-brown, people in some places also call this color dirty water green."

"But the werewolves of the Conlionet family have bright green eyes, which are completely different from mine." Clayton tried to free his right hand, and this time he did it easily, and pointed to the north. "They are all in Berdalabik, there is a castle there, and they live in it. If you are not afraid of death, go there to preach, I wish you good luck."

He didn't know who this old man was, but if he could convince the Black Claw clan to retreat to the mountains, then it would be fine for Clayton to treat him as a saint.

"I see. I'll go there later." The old man didn't show any embarrassment at all. He stared at Clayton and said, "Maybe I recognized the wrong person, but you should think about what I said."

"I will," Clayton said, and he walked away faster and faster.

Shortly after the werewolf left, the old man in the white linen robe continued his previous behavior. He wandered in this chaotic city, observing all the elements that led to human depravity. Until it was almost evening and the sky was dark, he came to a block made of black iron railings and clean marble bricks.

Many gunmen patrolled here with lanterns, but did not stop the old man from passing through.

He walked to a luxurious mansion. Light shone from every window of the building. The sounds of musical instruments and melodious songs drifted out with the light. The aroma of delicious food and wine followed closely, as if it could spread this feeling of happiness to the doormen and guards on duty.

A young woman with silver hair and purple eyes was not affected by this feeling. She stood at the door with an anxious look on her face. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the old man and immediately came forward to greet him.

"Elder Gregory, the dinner has already started a while ago, and Mr. Basby is waiting for you."

"Don't lie to me, young lady." The old man said coldly, "I know that you only talk about business when the banquet is almost over. I came quite early, and no one will be waiting for me. Let me and your father rest for a while."

"Elder, Mr. Basby is not my father."

"Why? Because he got your mother pregnant without marrying her?"

Morgan smiled awkwardly and stopped talking. Instead, she turned around and gestured, and the doorman pushed open the magnificent door for them.