Werewolf hunting rules

Although the workhouse is a charitable institution jointly owned by the church and the government, it also has profit-making methods.

Every time it opened, the workhouse would admit hundreds of poor people, and then let these people eat and sleep. Then they had to work for the workhouse for three days. Change another batch in a few days.

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

With almost no effort, the remaining whale oil droplets on the factory scraping equipment were pulled away.

On average, each person needs to do these tasks for fourteen hours a day.

Especially when autumn turns to winter, they use trembling hands to complete these tasks with quota requirements, and it takes a while longer.

In short, these recipients of aid do not live and eat in vain, they are also workers.

It's just that after leaving the workhouse, their injuries and age will still prevent them from finding jobs.

The Salvation Army, which would have spent energy and money on missionary work during the day, lost sympathy at this moment. They broke into their rooms and pulled all the poor people out of their sleep after a hard day's work. They threatened them with guns or threatened them with their complaints. Give them a rifle butt.

The workhouse that was supposed to be silent was suddenly filled with screams and wails.

The dean was running around trying to persuade the Salvation Army to stop, and five nursing staff were also helping.

But the soldiers just pushed them away and drove them far away.

Charles strolled forward in the corridor, inspecting the restrained poor from room to room.

Six people can fit into a room here, and a soldier with a gun can intimidate a room, so the manpower is quite 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, stop." The dean finally found a chance to hold Charles' arm and begged.

Although he doesn't take the recipients here seriously, letting so many people in is definitely against the charter. If the parish council knows about what's going on here, he will get out before they negotiate with the barracks for accountability. .

Charles turned to look at him. The stand-up collar of the military uniform covered his neck: "You ask all the strong men under the age of thirty here to stand up."

The dean met his eyes, trembled and let go.

"The workhouse does not admit such people. The soldier you are looking for must not be here, otherwise the porter will know."

"So are there such people in the nurse dormitory?"

"Everyone in the nursing dormitory is here now. You just took a look at the dormitory." The dean eagerly wanted to send him away.

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

"I saw someone outside next door. Why is there no indoor passage here?"

"That's a studio. I don't know anything about the construction."

"Where is the entrance to the studio?"

The dean hoped that the officer would give up this idea. The director of the studio was appointed by the inter-district management of St. Mellon Parish Council and his words were much stronger than his. If the director complained to the board of directors about him leading the way, he would really have to get out.

"There is a wall blocking it. No one is allowed in at night. The doors are all locked."

"I'm going to take a look. Give me the key," the officer said, looking directly into the old man's eyes.

The dean only felt dazed for a while, but then quickly woke up and could only see the officer's frown.

He then tried his best to persuade Charles, 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 getting close, it cannot actively stick to its opponent.

The officer led his soldiers downstairs and ordered them to wreak havoc on the tall iron fence that separated the wall, including kicking and shooting. But this iron fence was stronger than they imagined. The stakes were inserted very deep into the ground, and the part on the ground did not sway even after being stressed. Even bullets could bounce off the solid iron fence.

It's not like they didn't try to open the lock on the door, but the padlock weighed about ten pounds and looked stronger than a city defense mortar shell.

Charles watched coldly as the soldiers followed his orders and waited for the person in charge of the studio to wake up and open the door.

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

The priest looked strong and alert, with a revolver in his waist that was the same as the officer's. He did not look like someone who would work in a training camp to educate children.

"Brother Charles, the priest didn't ask you to come here, right? Don't disturb the people here."

It was someone he knew, and he also knew who asked him to work. The officer suddenly showed a bright smile: "One of our brothers disappeared with the female nurse in the workhouse. He has not returned to camp yet. I just want to find him. "

The priest in black looked at him suspiciously and made a cross on his chest: "Maybe he heard those voices again. Sometimes it is helpless to choose to escape and indulge. As long as he prays honestly, Heavenly Father will give him courage. Yes. By the way, did you take your sedatives on time? Don’t follow those voices.”

Charles glanced back subconsciously, only to find that the soldiers following him had expressions of deep understanding.

His smile disappeared, and he realized 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 lately." He moved his lips.

The priest nodded, thoughtfully: "You guys should go back and rest first. He may be back tomorrow, so 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 moment, but there's one more thing I need you to tell the priest."

The officer stepped forward and gestured to the priest to come closer and listen.

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

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

"What are you doing"

Then everyone heard a gunshot.

The officer clutched his chest and backed away. He fell to the ground within a few steps, and blood flowed from the muzzle of the green uniform.

That location is the heart.

Some of the soldiers gathered around, while others raised their rifles and aimed 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 surprised by the sudden situation, but he knew what he should do now.

He raised his hands and turned sideways to show the undrawn revolver at his waist.

"I wasn't the one who fired the gun just now, I didn't have any shortage of bullets."

In the second half of the sentence, his voice dropped 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 accidentally triggered, it will only be a dry fire.

He also operated in this way, so there were only five bullets in the six-shooter revolver magazine.

He couldn't prove his innocence.

"I'm not leaving, please notify 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 in controlling them.

Now, as a noble officer, if they die while taking them out, or die in front of them, the consequences for them can be imagined - they will be deprived of their military uniforms, their retirement pay will be deducted, and they will be thrown back to their place of origin.

This is equivalent to those hard years in the colony being wasted!

This is worse than death!

"Open the door, or we shoot!"

"I didn't expect that your parents didn't give you the name Joe." Clayton sighed.

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

He was not yet born when his parents made a contract with the Holy Grail Society. In order for one party to the contract to fulfill their obligations in detail in the future, the contract restricted 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 name is Nancy.

Moonlight filtered in through the attic windows, illuminating the space.

Moore fell behind Clayton and Joe Mani. The special envoy of the Holy Grail Society who had revealed all the information had no survival value. Clayton would not let him go just because he looked young or was related to Clara.

The lieutenant has already figured out from him that all the children in this Notre Dame are either the members of the Holy Grail themselves or "defective products" found elsewhere.

The so-called "Mother" refers to salvation.

The meaning of this name is to redeem those who failed to inherit the power of the dark descendants.

However, this method cannot be called salvation in Clayton's eyes.

Clara lives in Notre Dame, while Moore lives in Notre Dame, where the Holy Grail is located in another country.

They have been separated from their parents since they were young, and their parents will not recognize them as their own family until they regain their status as dark descendants. Therefore, it is impossible to blackmail the spider priests based on their biological relationship.

"Time flies so fast, I have to go back." Qiao Mani stood up, apologizing slightly: "If I go back late, the priests will find me sneaking away, so I can't help you today. Next time, uh, next time"

He wanted to promise something, but whatever he promised was unconvincing.

Especially since he lost Clayton's gun today.

The revolver was taken away by "loyal" men found by Moore.

"It's indeed a bit late, but there's one more thing we can do." The werewolf put his paws on Joe's shoulders affectionately.

Joe had just learned the news that Clayton was not a human being, and he still couldn't adapt to it. Seeing familiar people turn into monsters made him feel traumatized.

Especially those long hairs on his arms that were tickling his neck.

He shrunk his neck and stretched out his hand to push away the wolf hair: "Is there anything else?"

"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?"