The Laws of Werewolf Hunting

Chapter 49
Although the workhouse is a charitable joint venture between the church and the government, it also has means of making profits.

Every time it opens, the workhouse will admit hundreds of poor people, and then let these people eat and sleep, and then they have to work for the workhouse for three days.Will make another batch in a few days.

Depending on the gender, age and disease, those who are strong will smash stones, and those who are weak will pick cotton wool.

For those with little strength, pull off the residual whale oil droplets on the factory scraping equipment.

On average, each person has to work for fourteen hours a day.

Especially in the season from autumn to winter, they use trembling hands to complete the work that requires a share, and it will take a while longer.

In short, these recipients are not free to eat and sleep, they are also laborers.

It's just that after leaving the workhouse, their injuries and age still make them unable to find work.

The Salvation Army, which would spend energy and money on missionary work during the day, lost its sympathy at this moment. They broke into their rooms and dragged the poor people who had worked hard all day from their sleep, and threatened them with guns amidst their complaints, or Give them a butt.

The supposedly silent workhouse was suddenly filled with screams and wailing.

The dean ran around trying to persuade the Salvation Army to stop, and five nurses were also helping.

But the soldiers drove them away with just a push.

Charles strolled forward in the corridor, inspecting the controlled poor one by one.

A room here can accommodate six people, and a soldier with a gun can intimidate a room, so the manpower is still sufficient.

With the help of soldiers, he checked every room on every floor, but failed to find his target.

"For the sake of Heavenly Father, please stop." The dean finally found a chance to grab Charles' arm and begged bitterly.

Although he doesn't take the beneficiaries here seriously, it is definitely against the charter to let so many people in. If the parish council knows about this place, he will go out before they can negotiate with the barracks. .

Charles turned to look at him, the stand-up collar of the military uniform covered his neck: "You make all the strong men under the age of 30 here stand out."

The dean met his eyes, trembled and let go of his hand.

"The workhouse doesn't admit such people, and the soldier you're looking for is certainly not here, or the porter would know."

"Then is there such a person in the nurse's dormitory?"

"All the people in the nurse's dormitory are here now, and you have seen the dormitory just now." The dean urgently wanted to send him away.

The officer turned to look at the wall, where the workshop was.

"I saw from the outside that there should be people next door. Why is there no passage indoors here?"

"That's a workhouse. How did I know about construction?"

"Where is the entrance to the workshop?"

The dean hoped that the military officer would dispel this idea. The director of the training center was appointed by the St. Mellon Parish Council's cross-district management, and his words were much more serious than him.If the director sues the council for his leading the way, then he really has to get out.

"There's a wall there, and you won't be allowed in at night, and the doors are locked."

"I'm going to see, give me the key," said the officer, looking the old man straight in the eye.

The dean only felt in a trance for a while, but then he woke up quickly, and could only see the frown of the officer.

He went on to persuade Charles wholeheartedly, but the other party suddenly lost interest in communicating with him.

It is true that a spider can weave a magical web, but if it has no intention of approaching at all, it cannot actively stick to its opponent.

The officer took his soldiers downstairs and ordered them to do whatever they could to the tall iron fence that separated the wall, including kicking and shooting.But this iron fence is stronger than they imagined. The piles inserted into the ground are extremely deep, and the part on the ground will not shake even after being stressed. The solid pure iron can bounce off even bullets.

It wasn't that they hadn't tried the lock on the door, but the padlock weighed about ten pounds and looked stronger than a city mortar shell.

Charles watched coldly as the soldiers obeyed his orders, waiting for the head of the workshop to wake up and open the door.

This thought continued until a priest in black came out and talked to them through the iron railing.

The priest looked strong and alert, with a revolver of the same style as the officer's waist pinned to his waist. He didn't look like someone who would teach children in a workhouse.

"Brother Charles, the priest didn't let you come here, did he? Don't disturb the people here."

He is someone he knows, and he also knows who made him do the job. The officer suddenly showed a bright smile: "One of our brothers disappeared with the female nurse in the workhouse, and he hasn't returned to the camp yet. I just want to find him. "

The black-clothed priest looked at him suspiciously, and crossed himself on his chest: "Maybe he heard those voices again. Sometimes there is nothing to do if you choose to escape and indulge. As long as you pray sincerely, Heavenly Father will give him courage." Yes. By the way, are you taking your tranquilizers on time? Don't follow those voices."

Charles looked back subconsciously, but found that the soldiers following him all had expressions of deep approval.

His smile faded away, and he found that he didn't seem to understand the identity of the Salvation Army.

Although these people are weak in power, they do have something special.

"I'm fine." He moved his lips.

The priest nodded, thoughtfully: "You guys should go back to rest first, he may be back tomorrow, you don't have to worry too much."

His relief was appropriate but irresponsible, and Charles knew it was impossible.

"Okay, we'll go back in a while, but there's one more thing I need you to tell the priest."

The officer stepped forward and motioned the priest to listen closer.

The priest looked at the solid iron fence and thought it would be okay to get a little closer, so he walked forward.

The moment their figures overlapped in the eyes of the soldiers, Charles suddenly screamed.

"how do you"

Then everyone heard a gunshot.

The officer backed away clutching his chest, and fell to the ground within a few steps. Blood flowed from the gun holes of the green uniform.

That place is the heart.

Some of the soldiers surrounded him, while others aimed their rifles at the priest, glaring at him.

No matter how strong the iron railings are, bullets can still pass through the gaps.

The priest's face twitched, and he was also surprised by the sudden situation, but he knew what he should do now.

He held up his hands, and at the same time showed sideways the revolver that was not drawn at his waist.

"I didn't fire the gun just now, my bullets are not missing"

At the end of the sentence, his voice trailed off because he was using a revolver.

This is a powerful firearm, but it is also easy to misfire. For safety, most revolver users will choose to empty the current magazine, so that even if it is misfired, it is just an empty shot.

He did the same, so there were only five rounds in the six-round revolver magazine.

He can't prove his innocence.

"I will not go, please inform the Sheriff's Department and the Parish Council."

The soldiers could not accept this condition.

It is actually against military regulations for them to go out at night, but the military camp has always been lax.

Now, as noble chiefs, they died when they took them out, and they still died in front of them. One can imagine the consequences for them-they were stripped of their military uniforms, their retirement fees were deducted, and they were thrown back to their hometowns.

This is equivalent to the hard times in the colony for nothing!

This is worse than death!
"Open the door, or we shoot!"

"I didn't expect that the name Joe wasn't given by your parents." Clayton sighed.

Joe supported his forehead: "Don't mention it, I can't eat when I think that this name is given to me by the Holy Grail."

He was not yet born when his parents and the Holy Grail made a contract. In order for one party to the contract to fulfill its obligations in detail in the future, the contract limited Joseph Mani to only one child in a magical way, and also stipulated that child's name.

The boy's name is Joe and the girl's is Nancy.

Moonlight streams in from the attic windows, illuminating the space.

Moore fell behind Clayton and Joe Mani, saying that the Holy Grail envoy who had given all the information had no survival value, and Clayton would not let him go because he looked young or was related to Clara.

The lieutenant had figured out from him that all the children in this Notre Dame were the members of the Holy Grail Society themselves, or they were "defective products" found elsewhere.

The so-called "Holy Mother" refers to redemption.

The implication of using this name is to redeem those who failed to inherit the power of the Darkin.

But this approach is not redemption in the eyes of Clayton.

Clara lives in Notre Dame, while Moore lives in the Holy Grail's Notre Dame in another country.

They were separated from their parents when they were young, and their parents would not recognize them as their own family members before they regained their dark-born identities, so it was impossible to blackmail the spider priest by virtue of their kinship.

"Time flies, I have to go back." Joe Mani stood up, slightly apologetic: "If I go back late, the priests will find out that I sneaked away, so I can't help you today. Next time. Uh, next time"

He wanted to promise something, but whatever he promised wasn't convincing.

Especially since he lost Clayton's gun today.

The revolver was taken away by Moore's "faithful" men.

"It's a bit late, but we still have one more thing to do." The werewolf put his paw on Joe's shoulder affectionately.

It wasn't long before Joe learned that Creighton wasn't human, and he couldn't get used to it. Seeing familiar people turned into monsters traumatized him.

Especially those long hairs on his arms scratching his neck.

He shrank his neck and stretched out his hand to push the wolf fur away: "What else is there?"

"How about we go take a photo?"

"why?"

Clayton's answer was beyond his expectation: "If you don't do this, how will the Holy Grail know that you are in my hands?"

(End of this chapter)