The Laws of Werewolf Hunting

Chapter 9 Sniper
The monitor's method is indeed in the sky.

Clayton played with the rotten feather, guessing it was a wizard's trick.

Those mysterious beings are said to be able to awaken dead creatures and use their eyes to observe the outside world.

For this reason, he was very relieved. If the people of the Holy Grail Society really stayed behind closed doors because the last watcher was killed by him, then he really had nothing to do.

Although the new monitor was a bit more advanced than Clayton had imagined, it made his investigation easier.

If the monitor is a human, then it is inevitable that there will be a mixed smell when dealing with other people.But if it is a bird that hardly lands, its smell will be more specific, reflecting its owner's smell.

Now there is only one feather in his hand, which is not enough for Clayton to collect enough scent, he needs a whole one.

After taking off his clothes and hiding in a bush behind a tree, Clayton moved his hands and feet, and then launched his transformation.

His muzzle elongated into a wolf shape, black hair surged from his pores in waves, his muscles swelled and steamed, and the ankle joints of his feet grew rapidly.

A full werewolf is no smaller than a horse.

Clayton raised his paw and held the Conqueror rifle in his mouth, and his white fangs fixed the barrel of the gun.Then he put his limbs on the ground and ran like a real beast.Tawny eyes glowing in the dark flashed across the street like lightning,
With no one but a handful of sheriffs on the streets at night, Clayton could free himself as best he could.

To be on the safe side, in order not to be discovered by the watcher, his route was separated from the carriage by two streets, and he also specifically looked for those remote trails where the sheriff would not come in and out to check. .

The strong wind brushed Clayton's cheeks, and his smooth black hair and two pointed ears fell back.

The scenery on both sides almost formed a line in his field of vision.

A werewolf was not a wolf. Clayton's speed was even comparable to the military horses he used to drive, and his stamina was even higher.He was sure that he would reach St. Mellon Parish sooner than the carriage he had hired himself.

As long as he arrives at the observation point of the warning clock tower of the General Public Security Department in advance, he can figure out what is following him.

Ding Ding Ding.
Joe Mani bent down and picked up the dropped spare bullet and stuffed it into his pocket again.

Then he sat back on the bed, leaning his back against the wall, and gazed out the window at the world outside the humble house.

The room he was in was all there was to live, it was small and shabby, with water leaking from the ceiling, but it was the best place he could find right now.

He still had a daytime makeover on his face, and because each change required wax and glue, and there was more than an hour of preparation time, he just let them go overnight.

The disadvantages are also obvious.

He scratched his face, intending to buy some peppermint ointment for prickly heat after big brother Creighton got rid of the Holy Grail.

The revolver tossed and turned in his hand, and he flicked the magazine out, then back again, carelessly.

Joe doesn't really know much about guns.

But thinking of Clayton's reminder yesterday, he felt a little scared for some reason, and would carry this revolver with him even when taking a bath or sleeping.

"Be careful of the sky."

He felt horrified.

The Grail Man training birds to stalk sounds plausible, and the only explanation he can think of, but how is it actually possible?
He came back by train.

Those guys whose brains are not as big as his finger, not to mention whether their speed and physical strength can keep up with the train, even if they can keep up, how can they find themselves among so many heads in the sky?

It's so unreasonable.

Joe Marney shivered, and pushed the magazine back one last time.

He decided to go to bed.

When you fall asleep, you don't have to think about anything.

Throwing the blanket over, and pressing the pistol under the pillow, he lay down facing the wall.Then he silently counted down to the pocket watch he took off.

The alarm bell in St. Mellon Parish rang every quarter of an hour, and the sound became more prominent in the silence of the night.

He hasn't moved here for long, and he can't adapt to this system, so he pinches the time every day, and he can only fall asleep at ease after the bell rings.This is especially true if the time is close to the hour, otherwise the half-waking bell will drive away all drowsiness.

This has been going on for four days.

The pointer on the pocket watch gradually approached nine o'clock, and when it reached the right position, a familiar loud chime sounded from the window.

When—when—when—.
boom!
The window on the side of Qiao Mani's head suddenly exploded, shards of broken glass splashed all over the ground, and a strange thing flew in, wriggling twice with softness and vitality, and emitting a strong stench at the same time.

Someone is shooting here!
He sat up suddenly and took up the revolver, aiming warily at the window.Then squatted down and leaned against the corner of the wall.

The light of the moon shone into the room from above his head, and in the gap between the light and the corner of the wall, Joe could see clearly the object that had fallen in.

It was a ochre-colored wing.

While exuding a rancid smell, there are deformed and huddled little human hands grasping nervously at the tip of the wings.

Joe Mani lost the strength in his legs, and he sat on the ground, trembling, raising his gun and aiming at the mass of flesh.

"what is this!!!"

3 minutes ago.

Clayton crouched on the bell tower, he did not return to human form, but used his strong werewolf arm to support the long rifle with the metal barrel covered by black cloth, calmly aiming at the end of the street.

Darkness concealed his figure.

He watched his rented carriage appear, and dragged slowly to Mercy Street,
And above, there is a shadow that hovers silently.

It wasn't the size of an owl or a kestrel he imagined, it was as big as a human.

It would be better to say that it is almost like a human being.

Its whole body is an eagle, but its head is that of an adult woman, with long hair hanging loose.

Because the flying height was about the same as the top floor of the warning clock tower, the parallel convective wind quickly blew that rancid smell into Clayton's nose.

It's the harpies.

He didn't need much knowledge of the mysterious world to recognize it.

Because there were excerpts from the myths and epics of the country in the middle school textbooks, the harpy, as the villain of that chapter, has its own illustrations.

They are born from the gods, but they are immortal because of the curse, and they are good at witchcraft and love lies
On the way of King Lyasius to the Giant Island by boat, the sailors were bewitched by the harpies, and they manipulated the ship to deviate from the course and got lost in the endless sea.It wasn't until Lyasius woke up and shot them with a bronze-headed bow that the sailors were relieved of being deceived.

All in all, this is the monster that deceived the ancient king!

In comparison, monsters at the level of werewolves are quite friendly.

"The God's Daughter of Eternal Rot"

Clayton gritted his teeth, stretched his limbs, moved a few times on the roof, moved to a position where it was easier to shoot, and re-aligned the mechanical sight on the Conqueror rifle with the flying shadow, waiting for the bell to ring.

Even if it is a harpy, it is not enough to resist bullets.

He had read the book "Naturalism" by a well-known biologist. Any group of creatures that can fly has discarded a lot of mass in the evolution of generations. The bones are hollow and easy to break, which is the price they pay for flying.

Creatures that can fly are more fragile than land creatures of the same mass!
And even if the Harpy had any special abilities, it wouldn't affect him who was 100 meters away.

The carriage stopped in front of the house at 214 Mercy Street.

The coachman called twice from the driver's seat, but got no response from the passengers.

The harpies did not continue to hover above, but stopped on the eaves a little to the side, withdrew their wings and froze.In the case of poor light at night, it looks like a stone gargoyle, echoing the real gargoyle on the other side of the house, all of which are unknown to the people on the ground.

The coachman jumped out of his seat and went around the back to check on the guests, but only found Clayton's spare clothes.

When—when—.
The coachman seemed to have misunderstood something, threw the clothes out of the carriage, returned to the driver's seat in a panic, pulled the reins and drove the horses forward quickly.

Clayton Bello was clearly absent.

The harpies finally noticed something strange, a trace of doubt flashed across its face, its wings fluttered and it swooped down, preparing to chase after the carriage to observe the situation inside the carriage.

And all these actions are like miniature dancers dancing on the stage of the musket, which is clearly seen by Clayton.

But the moment the three bells struck, Clayton pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot was covered under the sound of the bell, and the high-speed projectile rushed out of the barrel under the correction of the rifling, and went straight through the wing of the Harpy, which was a hundred meters away, directly breaking off a section of the tip.

The bullet didn't stop after passing through the flesh, and a window behind the Harpy blew open, because after receiving damage and imbalance, its body couldn't hold back and hit the rear end of the carriage, making a muffled sound.

The coachman felt the shock, and without daring to turn his head, he swung the rein violently up and down, and disappeared on the other side of the street within a few seconds.

Clayton jumped down with his rifle in his mouth, kicking up a cloud of dust as he landed on all fours.

The Harpy seemed to have lost consciousness after the impact just now, lying straight on the street.

Clayton looked at its head, feeling the possibility of communication.

The black wolf fur shrunk back, and he turned into a human again, put on the spare clothes next to him, and then endured the stench, holding the rifle in one hand and lifting it with the other, and walked towards the door of the house at No. 214 Mercy Street, lightly tapping the Lightly knocked the button on the door.

"Joe, it's me."

The lights in the house came on.

(End of this chapter)