Werewolf hunting rules

As the two sheriffs rode through the neighborhood, a young man collapsed in pain beside them.

Before this incident, this man had been hunched over, looking as depressed as any person who stayed out late at night. They had various reasons to make themselves like this, either drunk or tired, so this was not considered a case. A strange thing.

Clayton could see at a glance that there was no place to hide a weapon under his thin clothes, and he immediately dismounted to confirm the poor man's condition.

His partner Martin hesitated for a moment, and when he saw Clayton's hand touching the young man, he dismounted and followed.

"We should be cautious," he said.

This is both a warning and an explanation for my slow response.

Clayton did not continue what he said, but stretched out his hand to measure the young man's breathing and body temperature, and then withdrew his hand.

"He seems to be sick."

This guy's temperature was quite abnormal, and his forehead felt like the eggs the landlady had given him for breakfast.

Martin came over and touched him again, then frowned and cursed.

"Damn! The night clock has already struck. Where is the clinic open now? He smells like a drunk who just came out of the pub. I hope he still has enough money to pay for the clinic after paying for the drinks. I didn’t bring any money when I came out tonight.”

Clayton shook his head: "If he doesn't bring any money, let the doctor keep it in his account. We are only responsible for sending him to the clinic. The rest is up to Heavenly Father."

"You're right. But I've already touched his wallet. The thickness should be enough to deal with those 'vampires'."

Martin spat, squatted down and grabbed the patient's armpits, helped him lie on the horse's back, then got on the horse and urged the horse.

Clayton mounted his horse and followed him, standing just a little behind him.

Martin was a resident of the parish and knew exactly where the clinics were.

On the way to the clinic, Martin suddenly asked nervously: "Do you think he might have an infectious disease?"

Clayton looked back at him in surprise: "I thought this question was asked a little late."

Martin's face suddenly turned ugly.

"Well, if you're serious, all I can say is that it's unlikely to be an infectious disease. The health department didn't report the disease, the cemetery statistics didn't report any abnormalities, and he doesn't look like a whooping cough patient. So. ." Clayton slightly shrugged one shoulder, indicating that the other party should think for himself.

The Sheriff did indeed gradually ease his mood while thinking.

But the lieutenant had a new question: "Why do you think so? I have never heard about the epidemic."

Martin seemed ashamed to speak, and after a while he spoke helplessly.

"Have you really not heard of it? We have another internal theory about those monsters, saying that they are special diseases. As long as they are infected, even devout monks will have difficulty escaping to a twisted fate."

It turns out that he is the kind of person who believes in everything. Clayton suddenly understood.

This statement is quite accurate. The process of accepting the Dark Moon Curse is just like the spread of disease, except that its mutations are not spread through person-to-person contact.

That nihilistic celestial body that cannot even be observed with the naked eye can cause such a big mess. Even if he already has a certain understanding of the extraordinary world, he will still find this reality inconceivable.

Although that celestial body has disappeared for a hundred years, it has watched the older world and even participated in and shaped the history of various countries.

How can people living on this land escape the influence of the moonlight?

Just as he was thinking, the young man on the horse groaned untimely, and accompanied by this strange behavior, Martin lost control of his mount.

They all looked back, and Martin immediately screamed at this young man's amazing move.

"Damn it, he's chewing my horse's ass!"

"I said you can rest assured that this is by no means an infectious disease." Clayton said: "There is no infectious disease in the world that can cause such symptoms."

"That's crazy! I've never seen anything so obscene!"

Martin ignored his joke, but jumped off the horse and pulled the young man off the horse in distress.

"He must be starving."

Clayton helped Martin open the young man's hand that was holding the horse's tail, and at the same time used his scent to warn the horse not to raise its hoof at them.

The lieutenant is in a good mood. He has learned a lot of new gadgets in the past few days and also picked up a good ax. If it weren't for the fact that it was too eye-catching and couldn't be brought out for self-defense, then his recent life would be perfect. of.

But when he caught the young man, this feeling disappeared.

Because the young man gave up biting the horse and started biting him.

Martin's rescue was timely. He hit the young man several times, forcing him to let go of the lieutenant.

During this process, Clayton noticed the young man's eyes.

It was a pair of brown eyes that were also shining.

The teeth marks on the palm also seemed familiar.

This familiar behavior and physical appearance made the lieutenant aware of his identity - a werewolf in the process of transformation.

His previous joke was not wrong, this young man was in the midst of boundless greed and hunger.

If the landlady hadn't stored a lot of bacon in the cellar, it would have been difficult for him to survive the initial period of transforming into a wolf. Most wild werewolves were unable to restrain their desires in the early stages of transformation, thus exposing their existence to society.

"He's really strong."

Martin lay on the young man's back and struggled to tie his hands.

Clayton put gloves on himself and went to help.

During the entire process, the young man never said a word, his eyes were clear but defiant.

Pure like a beast.

Martin took out his pocket watch and took a look at it, and took a breath with waning interest: "I really don't know whether we are lucky or unlucky today. When we met this guy, our patrol time was already over before we were even halfway through the journey. Go home now. If you are anxious, you can go to the clinic to have your hands checked first."

Clayton looked at the young man, he was still in a state of dementia.

"Then how does he deal with it? How do you usually deal with this kind of situation?"

"Obstructing city security. This kind of behavior will usually be sent to the Sheriff's Department for punishment of one to two weeks in prison. But his situation is a bit complicated. I have never encountered a madman at work." Martin picked up the young man and moved to Behind Clayton's mount. "Do me a favor. You can send him there this time. Or send him to a specialized clinic for treatment of madness. It's up to you. I have to let the doctor take a look at my horse quickly."

He felt extremely distressed. The horse did not belong to the Sheriff's Department, but was his own property.

"OK."

Clayton simply agreed, then led the horse back.

When new-born children were encountered, it was one of his obligations to secretly send them to the Presbyterian Church for "education."

He wanted to send the young werewolf to the nearest Presbyterian stronghold in the parish.

Although the Presbyterian Church is powerful, it can only leave one stronghold in the chaotic area of ​​St. Alvin Parish, which is no different from the Gray Hats.

The power of the church is dominant here.

After the beginning of the colonial era, the minarets erected in imitation of the Mesri Obelisk are evidence of their existence.

Even with its decline, the power of the church could easily shake the city.

As winter approaches, the streets become more and more lively late at night. Not only are the police officers patrolling, there are also drunkards, homeless people, and gang members with ill intentions, especially the last group of people, the mines. The massacre did not dispel their presence.

The train brings too many foreigners. They are not only the prey of the gang, but also provide a steady stream of new force for the gang.

When Clayton rode past the bank store, he saw some gang members wearing inferior red uniforms clashing with another group of White clergy wearing white cloaks.

There were seven of them, with bright daggers and clubs studded with rusty nails shaking in their hands. Opposite them, the White Sect's priests were two fewer in number than them. They were all silent, but Even with his bare hands, he didn't move away from the door of the bank.

This was apparently a late-night burglary involving an unguarded bank store.

Clayton did not choose to take off his Silver Star badge for the sake of safety on the road. Unexpectedly, his identity as the Sheriff became a source of trouble. Although he had consciously stopped and waited, trying to find a path around the unfamiliar streets and alleys, the development of the situation did not allow him to stay out of it.

One of the clergy stood up and shouted to the bastards: "The Sheriff is here, are you still going to continue?"

Then everyone looked at Clayton.

What's worse is that the faces of those gang members did not show the panic that criminals should have when encountering law enforcement officers. Although they were surprised for a moment, they quickly regained their composure.

Although the Sheriff is here, he is only one person after all.

Beyond that, they have a special source of confidence.

"Brother, make way."

Clayton actually didn't want to stay at all. He thought that at least one of the clerics had a gun and could easily handle this conflict. There was also a werewolf on his horse waiting to be transported, and he really didn't have the energy to care about the other one. Nosy.

But he only remained silent for two or three seconds before he was misunderstood very unfairly.

A gang member who was thicker but not as strong as Clayton stood up and shouted at him: "Or you have to ask us to yell 'get out' before you know what to do?!"

The villains burst into laughter, and even more so when they saw Clayton roll up his sleeves.

"I want to ask, can you look after the horse for me?" Clayton looked at the priests in white. They all wore hoods and couldn't see their faces clearly. Naturally, he couldn't tell who was in charge.

"Can."

The voice came from a pair of shadowed lips.

So a priest in white clothes next to him came out and took the reins from Clayton's hand.

There will be another update soon