Werewolf hunting rules

The morgue is not in the police station, it is an independent building. On the way to the morgue, Sheriff Albert noticed that Clayton's pace was different from that of ordinary people.

"You have also been a soldier?"

"Eleven years, two-thirds of which were in the colonies, and I retired with the rank of lieutenant." Clayton answered him with emotion.

A smile appeared on Albert's face: "I didn't expect that your rank is one level higher than mine, then some things will be easier to talk about."

His attitude is not as arrogant as George Silver. When he sees retired soldiers, he is more cordial, which makes him very talkative.

"Since you have been to sea, you should know that there are some strange and supernatural things in this world. For example, fishermen along the coast still worship the ancient pagan sea god Selem, construction workers must kill a chicken before building a church, and you Fomo people will wrap the body with a horse skin when you bury it."

"I am of Mansis descent." Clayton corrected him.

Cuitisi has the blood of the Fomor people. Although they both have black hair, the difference between them is obvious at a glance - the nose of the Fomor people is slightly round, and the nose of the Mansis people is more pointed.

"Well, anyway, you understand what I mean." Albert did not dwell on this issue: "In short, these customs have some reasons, and they are not rules that appear out of thin air. Ordinary people generally have no chance to see what is behind them, but if they see it, it is not surprising to disappear."

Clayton frowned: "Are you saying that these disappearances may involve occultism?"

"That's a coincidence." Julius interrupted: "I have a lot of knowledge in occultism."

"I'm afraid this matter is not something that ordinary occultists can solve." Albert said regretfully. He suddenly stopped and looked at the side of the street. In the distance behind the four-story apartment building, there was a seven-story building sticking out. It stood there, like a giant spying on the livestock in the pen under the dark sky. The shorter house was like the fence, covered by its shadow.

"Do you see that tall building?" He pointed there and said, "That's the city government office building in Viodi. Because it has seven floors and the people inside are a bunch of bastards, I call it the Hell Building."

Clayton squinted his eyes and looked at the window on the building: "Is it that bad?"

"It's that bad." Albert said firmly: "This city has almost no faith. This is the influence of the people inside."

"I think this is a tradition." Julius said: "In the past, Dorne has always been like this. The White Church is a later guest."

Albert shook his head and took another step: "I'm not talking about religious beliefs, but something older is preserved here. It is a culture, an atmosphere, and something that can naturally take people's lives."

"Are you going to talk philosophy to us?" The wizard followed behind and sneered.

This time it was Clayton who refuted him: "I think I may understand what Mr. Albert means. He should mean that the family power here is too strong, so that the influence overshadows the government."

"No, they are the government now." Albert said in a muffled voice.

After that, he didn't speak again.

When they arrived at the morgue, there were already people there.

Two shirtless men with scars all over their bodies were standing next to a corpse, and a police officer was looking at them with awe.

The wounds on the two men were of various types. Just by approaching them, Clayton could smell the smell of blood and the stench of suppuration. One of them bent down slightly and compared his left arm covered with terrible scars to the corpse. There was a mark on his arm that was exactly the same as the fatal wound on the corpse.

"This is a burn caused by electric current. He died of electric shock." He said confidently while pressing his own scar.

So his companion immediately took up a pen and wrote down the cause of death in a notebook.

"Reverend Notigo, Reverend Nate." Sheriff Albert greeted them.

The two walking encyclopedias of wounds stood up and responded to his greeting.

Clayton heard the sheriff's greeting and stopped taking off his sunglasses. Perhaps it was necessary to lose some vision here.

"Another person is missing," said Albert. "These two gentlemen are here to look for someone."

The two priests nodded, stepped aside, and walked out the door to wait.

But before they walked out, they glanced at Clayton for a few seconds.

"They are from the Brotherhood of Sincerity," Julius reminded Clayton in a low voice.

The Brotherhood of Sincerity is the most famous ascetic sect of the White Church, because the severity of their practice is also extreme among ascetics, and their contemporary leader has also been conferred the title of Living Saint in the Papal States.

Tritis told Clayton about these things, but she also told him that the Brotherhood of Sincerity was originally a semi-public heresy in the church, but was left behind only because they were still loyal to the church. Now the situation seems to have changed again. They are regarded as a branch of the Holy Law Sect by the church again. This development itself is incredible.

But this has nothing to do with dark descendants like Clayton. Now the church is not keen on going to war with dark descendants, so he doesn't need to care about the other party's strength.

Without further ado, they began to check the identities of the bodies here.

Although some of the bodies had begun to rot, Clayton was able to quickly identify them by their hair color.

The only difficulty was a pair of feet.

There was no torso on the bed where the bodies were placed, only a pair of severed feet that looked like they were cut off from a man.

Clayton pointed at them: "May I know when they were found?"

"Wait a minute, let me see the information." Sheriff Albert said, getting the files here from the police officer guarding the morgue nearby, and he searched based on the serial number on the piece of paper sandwiched between the toes of the severed foot. The records in the file gave them a quick reply.

"They were found after a factory riot. Maybe the feet were misplaced and their owner may not be dead."

Of course a person can survive if his leg is cut off.

"How many factory riots have you had this month?" Clayton asked. The police station they went to before also dealt with a riot, but that was in the South District.

"I haven't counted." Albert returned the file to the police officer, folded his arms and leaned against the wall: "But it happens once every five or six days. Maybe there are workers rioting now."

“Is the prison enough?”

"Thanks to the grace of God, we often only need to finish the work when we arrive at the scene, so it is enough for now." Albert glanced at the many corpses in the room: "This branch has just been established. We now even have the required number of police officers. It's not all together yet. I'm a sergeant, but I only have one person to command. The same goes for other departments. You've also seen Padre Notigo and Padre Nate. They are not our people. Some medical school graduates have come to serve as coroners, but a month after the notice was posted and letters were written to the university, no one has applied for the position. We can only ask priests with medical skills to help first."

Having said this, Officer Albert also rarely mentioned something worth celebrating: "But their work efficiency is much higher than the coroners I have seen before."

Neither Clayton nor his advisors could comment on the working methods of the Trappists.

That doesn't seem to have anything to do with medical skills.

However, it is a strange thing that they can come to work in the police station. Such a large ascetic order usually does not participate in secular work. Asceticism is all they have. They only accept donations from believers and farm their own land. Within the church, Funds are also allocated regularly to support their hard work.

Although the Sincere Brotherhood has a large number of extraordinary beings, their lifestyle is actually not much different from that of ordinary ascetics.

"How did you convince them to come to work?" Clayton asked Albert.

Albert looked at him doubtfully: "We wrote a letter asking, and then they came."

Clayton mused.

"Okay, have you found the person you're looking for?" the police chief asked.

"I'm afraid there aren't any here. As for those feet, I don't think I have the ability to identify people just by looking at them. Besides, we are missing two people. They should have two pairs of feet." Clayton's eyes glanced through the sunglasses again. Looked around, then looked back at Albert: "We have to go to Boda Labick to find someone next. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Boda Labick." Albert chewed on the name, and finally shook his head: "I have never been there, but I heard that there is no normal administrative structure established there, but the nobles personally manage the territory. It's simply It’s like it’s out of touch with the times.”

Clayton thanked him and then offered to visit the nearby prison, so they left the morgue and headed back down the corridor.

Before they returned to the exit, they saw the two priests whispering in the corridor.

When they noticed Clayton approaching, the priests stopped communicating. They adjusted their positions and blocked the corridor, staring at him warily and suspiciously.

"Priest?" Albert asked doubtfully.

The dervishes ignored him, they only looked at Clayton.

Priest Nate opened his mouth with intact teeth, and his blistered tongue flicked in the mouth that was blackened by the ascetic practice of swallowing charcoal, and uttered obscure syllables.

"Conglione?"

Priest Notigo stretched out his fingernails without nails and inserted them into the nearly healed wound on his chest, ready to open the flesh at any time.

The Dervishes of the True Brotherhood draw strength from their wounds, so this is almost a signal to prepare for battle. But Tritis had told Clayton that the ascetic monks of the Sincere Brotherhood could not take the initiative. They only obeyed the orders of the saints. Even if they failed, the bishop of the diocese would issue an order. Taking action privately was tantamount to apostasy.

Clayton frowned at the sudden hostility, and he looked at Albert, hoping for an explanation.

However, Albert also looked at him doubtfully, with a slightly distant attitude: "Are you from the Conglione family?"

"No, this is the first time I heard this name." Clayton said, "Am I very similar to them?"

"I just said that Boda Labick is still ruled by the nobles, and the Conlione family is its owner." Albert stared at his sunglasses: "As for their appearance, I heard that they have black hair. and green eyes."

The two ascetics also stared at his face.

Clayton thought for a while and took off his sunglasses.