Werewolf hunting rules

The Salvation Army's right hand was held by the werewolf in his own hand, and the hands of an average-sized adult man looked small compared to his.

With just a little force, a piece of nail was pulled out by him.

The prisoner's body tensed up, but he gritted his teeth and didn't let go.

So Clayton pinched his little finger and twisted it gently.

This was more effective than drinking a dose of panacea. The originally sluggish man suddenly became energetic and twisted on the ground like a landed fish. The roar in his mouth also woke up the other two Salvation Army members who were sleeping. They looked at Clayton's back with fear or resentment, and the sounds of their companions being tortured inevitably filled their ears.

And all this was seen by Donna and Clara.

Donna couldn't help but feel once again that she wasn't on the good guys' team.

But this must be an illusion. She still remembered the way Mr. Schmidt was transported back, and her pity immediately faded.

She looked back at Clara, who was smiling.

The smile of the twelve or thirteen-year-old blond girl looks extremely innocent, but the meaning behind it is extraordinary.

Demons are creatures that feed on emotions. Even if Clara knows nothing, she will still instinctively cheer for the smell of fear and death. This joy has nothing to do with the good or evil of the tortured person.

It's the devil after all. Donna thought to herself, then turned back and continued listening to the lecture.

It's not good to not pay attention in the first class.

Next, her beloved Uncle Clayton showed her more techniques to create maximum pain at the minimum cost. Punishments such as nail pulling, finger twisting, skin peeling, and tongue pricking can make people feel extraordinary pain, but The actual damage caused is very small,

But this was also what Clayton told her.

A regular school class lasts about thirty minutes, but the teaching aid Mr. Clayton hired couldn't hold it for ten minutes.

"You know what? My cousin just died in your hands, so I have to ask you to suffer." Clayton made up a cousin lightly and let him die in the hands of the Salvation Army.

"He deserves it uhhhhhh-"

After a mediocre cry, the prisoner collapsed completely, no longer shouting or struggling, but his chest was rising and falling desperately, and he was breathing heavily.

Even if Donna knew that he was a guilty person, she couldn't help but feel a little moved when she saw this miserable appearance.

Clayton looked back and saw the look on her face, and reassured: "Don't worry, he won't die. He just shouted too often and was out of breath. He will be fine in a while. He is still far from death. .As long as you rest and cultivate for a month, these injuries will heal on their own."

"But, I don't think the locals will give him a chance."

The girl nodded and said no more.

Clayton tore the unlucky man's clothes to pieces, revealing a piece of hairy chest.

Nothing.

"You don't deserve to wear clothes, go live with the beasts." He cursed and kicked the prisoner over.

A pattern appeared on the prisoner's back.

This is a new tattoo.

A python erupting flames from its nostrils coiled on the skin, and the traces of stitches were still slightly swollen. It was obvious that the skin had been tattooed recently.

Creighton knew the image.

This is the Forged Fire Snake, the companion of the forging god Lurweng, one of the thirteen main gods of the Dinon people. It is said that the flames emitted from its nostrils can melt all metals. With its ability, the forging god can transform any metal that other craftsmen cannot process. mineral.

Julius said Detective Ace's tattoo was a seahorse, while this man's tattoo was a fiery serpent.

Both kinds of strange animal tattoos are closely related to the thirteen main gods of the Dinon people. Even if Clayton knew nothing about witchcraft, he understood at this moment that this was definitely a prerequisite for a certain ritual.

He thought for a moment, stood up, walked to another prisoner who seemed to be still intact, and squatted down. He turned to Donna and said, "Look at these cowards, they don't have any injuries on their bodies. They must have been frightened when they saw those civilians." My feet were weak and I was caught without any resistance.”

The harsh words coming out of Clayton's mouth made Donna feel a little uncomfortable, but she quickly realized that these words were also part of teaching.

Clayton stepped on the straw, grabbed the hair of the man in front of him and faced him, with a hateful smile on his face.

"He's a third-rate thing after all, don't you think?"

At this moment, the person he was talking to had changed from Donna to the person in his hand.

His sarcasm made the prisoner suddenly become angry and struggled to stand up straight to be eye level with him.

"If we hadn't been unlucky, do you think we would have stood there and let you catch us?! My brother and I are both sick. If it happens again, even if we lose, at least ten of you will die!"

Clayton laughed: "But you don't have that chance!"

"I'm going to fuck your mother and these two little bitches!" The prisoner stood up and cursed angrily, and then Clayton pinched his cheek, pulled his chin out of place, and pushed him to the ground.

The Salvation Army members who met Clayton at dusk were all killed by him. The man in front of him didn't know him, otherwise he probably wouldn't dare to say these dirty words.

As usual, he forced the man's clothes off, and sure enough, he also had a tattoo on his back.

This time it was a parrot with a huge crest. It tilted its head and looked forward, its hook-like mouth slightly open, as if it was talking.

This is the patron saint of travelers among the thirteen main gods of Dinon - the companion of the light-armed Marin Frey - and it is also said that he is his son Hamlet, the tongued bird, who has the ability to communicate with all living things.

Three of the followers of the thirteen main gods have appeared. Clayton can guess that most of the Salvation Army have similar tattoos, but he still can't figure out why Chud Osmar doesn't directly portray the image of the main gods, but It is to choose these minions with weaker abilities.

He pressed the prisoner's cheek again and put the chin back on.

"You guys are hiding in the swamp with nothing to do, so you just give each other tattoos? It's really romantic. How did you come up with it?"

The man whose jaw recovered was not in the mood to answer Clayton, and opened his mouth to curse again. Clayton had no choice but to move his two front teeth, and then turned to the last prisoner.

"So who got the tattoo for you? The craftsmanship is quite good. I want to get one for myself."

Finally, the prisoner glanced at his two tortured companions, and after a moment of consideration, he replied: "Chud Osmar."

He didn't feel the need to keep this secret.

Clayton smiled, his first question was answered, and the next thing became much simpler.

They asked and answered questions as if they were casually chatting. Soon, he figured out the Salvation Army's previous deployment and what Chud Osmar ordered them to do - stay in Gévaux, at least near Gève.

He became more and more certain that the soul of that land was related to Chud Osmar. It was definitely not formed naturally, but the doomsday seeker deliberately used some kind of ritual to activate the power that existed here a long time ago. They couldn't get out of Gevo.

He turned his head and the girl was looking at him in awe.

"Donna, contact Julius and ask him if Mayor Jeffrey is at their place?"

The girl opened the barn door and let the birds fly again.

After a while, the reply arrived.

She put the note close to her face: "He said that the mayor did come and is gone now."

"Then let him come."

A few minutes later, Julius arrived.

Clayton stood at the door to greet him: "I have already checked. Everyone has tattoos. Go and study what they are used for."

Donna handed the lamp to the wizard and stood outside the barn with her uncle.

She could see that her uncle had something to say to her now.

After the barn door was closed, they stood in the cold wind and looked at the moon. The dark clouds had dispersed and the snow had stopped. Otherwise, this would have been a torture for a girl with a mortal constitution.

"Clara can see that they didn't lie." Donna was the first to reveal the results of her work.

Due to her intellectual disability, Clara herself was unable to use this ability, so she used the new contract to bypass the restrictions.

Clayton was noncommittal about this conclusion and just raised his chin towards her: "I understand, now tell me, what did you learn from what I just did?"

Donna recalled what the other party had said to her before.

"Injuries on the hands and feet will be more painful, as well as pulled nails and pierced tongues that will grow back within a month."

"anything else?"

"Uh, will you faint if you shout too hard?"

"What else?" Clayton asked again.

"Pressing on a person's cheek may dislocate the jaw."

"anything else?"

Donna racked her brains, but this time really came up with nothing.

"I can't think of anything," she replied honestly.

Clayton crossed his arms towards the moon and let out a breath: "Also, don't let the people being interrogated know how important your information is, and don't let them feel that they can master your rules and have the ability to speak. The possibility of the world prevailing. You have to find a way to extinguish the flames of this illusion."

Donna suddenly realized: "That's why you hit people before asking any questions just to make them think you were here for revenge, not to obtain information."

"Yes, a little trick." Clayton admitted: "If necessary, you can hit them or their companions first to let them know that you are here to make them suffer, and they are not qualified to negotiate terms with you. Asking them at this time will get better results.”

"But this time it was an accident. The teaching time should have been longer. Because I thought they would be tougher. After all, these people will only die if they fall into the hands of the locals. If it were me, I would choose to be tough to the end and die. Like a warrior.”

Clayton turned his head, looked at the girl's thoughtful face, and suddenly asked: "When you saw me torturing them, did you feel any intolerance or pity?"

Donna's heart skipped a beat, but she admitted her weakness.

"Yes, but I'll fix that."

Clayton shook his head: "No, you don't need to correct it, that's good."

Donna looked at him in shock: "Why?"

"It's only when you feel uncomfortable inflicting violence on other beings that you constantly think about whether what you did was right, whether you wronged a good person, whether there was another better way to solve the problem. Such thoughts will spur you on. You, make you more cautious and determined.”

Clayton's voice paused for a while and then sounded again, and Donna vaguely heard a sigh.

"Take good care of your compassion. If you are as numb as me now, you will be finished."