Werewolf hunting rules

The monitor's methods are indeed in the sky.

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

According to legend, those mysterious beings can awaken dead creatures and then use their eyes to observe the outside world.

For this reason, he was very pleased. If the people of the Holy Grail Society were really locked up because he killed the last monitor, then he really had nothing to do.

Although the new Monitor is a bit more advanced than Clayton imagined, it makes his investigation easier.

If the monitor is a human being, then it is inevitable that there will be mixed smells when dealing with other people. But if it is a bird that barely touches the ground, its scent will be more specific, reflecting the scent of its owner.

There is only one feather in his hand now, which is not enough for Clayton to collect enough scent. He needs a whole one.

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

His muzzle elongated into a wolf shape, black hair surged out of his pores like waves, his muscles expanded and exhaled heat, and the ankle joints of his feet grew rapidly.

A complete werewolf is no smaller than a horse.

Clayton raised his paw and held the Conqueror's rifle in his mouth, his white fangs holding the barrel in place. Then he got up on all fours and ran like a real beast. Yellow-brown eyes that glowed in the dark flashed across the street like lightning,

With no one else on the streets except a handful of vigilantes at night, Clayton could unleash as much of himself as 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 found those remote paths where the sheriff would not go in and out to check. .

The strong wind blew across Clayton's cheeks, and his soft black hair and two pointed ears fell back.

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

Werewolves are not wolves. Clayton's speed can even rival the military horses he used to control, but his endurance is even better. He was certain that he would reach St. Mellon Parish faster than his own hired carriage.

As long as he arrived at the observation point of the Security Bell Tower of the General Public Security Bureau in advance, he could figure out what was following him.

Ding ding ding.

Joe Mani bent down and picked up the fallen spare bullets and stuffed them into his pocket again.

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

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

His face was still undergoing a make-up during the day, and since every make-up required consuming wax and glue, and there was more than an hour of preparation time, he just let them stay overnight.

The disadvantages are also obvious.

He scratched his face and planned to buy some peppermint ointment to treat prickly heat after Big Brother Clayton solved the Holy Grail Club.

The revolver turned over in his hand, and he carelessly pulled the magazine out and then threw it back.

Joe actually doesn't know how to use a gun.

But thinking of Clayton's reminder yesterday, he felt a little scared for some reason. He would take the revolver with him even when taking a shower or sleeping.

"Watch the sky."

He felt creepy.

It sounds feasible for the people of the Holy Grail Society to train birds to track, and it is 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 one of his fingers, regardless of their speed and physical strength, can keep up with the train. Even if they can catch up, how can they find themselves among so many heads in the sky?

It's so unreasonable.

Joe Mani shuddered and pressed the magazine back for the last time.

He decided to go to bed.

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

He put on a blanket, put the pistol under his pillow, and lay down facing the wall. Then he counted down silently to the pocket watch he took off.

The warning bell of St. Mellon Parish rings every quarter of an hour, and the sound is more prominent in the silent night.

He had moved here not long ago and could not adapt to this system, so he had to worry about the time every day and could not fall asleep until the bell rang. This is especially true if the time is close to the hour, otherwise the sound of the bell while half asleep will drive away all sleep.

This has been going on for four days.

The hands on the pocket watch gradually moved closer to nine o'clock. When they reached the correct position, a familiar loud bell sounded outside the window.

When-when-when-.

boom!

The window on the side of Qiao Mani's head suddenly exploded, shattered glass splashed all over the floor, and a strange thing flew in, squirming twice with softness and vitality, while emitting a strong stench.

Someone's shooting here!

He sat up suddenly, took the revolver in his hand, and aimed it warily at the window. Then he squatted and leaned against the wall.

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

It was an ocher-colored wing.

While exuding a putrid smell, there were also deformed, huddled little human hands nervously grasping the wing tips.

Joe Mani lost strength in his legs. He collapsed on the ground, tremblingly raising the muzzle of his gun and pointing it at the mass of flesh.

"what is this!!!"

Three minutes ago.

Clayton crouched on the bell tower. He did not return to his human form, but used his strong werewolf arms to hold the long rifle with a metal barrel covered by black cloth, and calmly aimed at the end of the street.

The darkness concealed his figure.

He watched the carriage he rented appear, then slowly tow it to Mercy Street and stop.

And above, there was a shadow that lingered silently.

It wasn't the size of an owl or a kestrel he had imagined, that thing was almost as big as a man.

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

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

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

It's a harpy.

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

Because there was an excerpt from the country's mythological epic in the grammar school textbook, the harpy had its own illustration as the villain of that chapter.

They were born from the gods, but they are immortal because of the curse. They are good at using witchcraft and love lies.

On the way King Liasius took a boat to the Island of the Giants, the sailors were bewitched by the harpy and controlled the ship to deviate from the course and get lost in the endless sea. It was not until Liasius woke up and shot them with a bronze-tipped bow that the sailors were relieved of their deception.

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

In comparison, monsters of the Werewolf level seem quite friendly to the people.

"The eternally rotten daughter of the gods"

Clayton gritted his teeth, exerted his strength on his limbs, and moved a few times on the roof to a position where it was easier to shoot. He re-aimed the mechanical sight on the Conqueror rifle at the flying shadow and waited for the bell to ring.

Even a harpy can't resist bullets.

He had read the book "On Nature" by a well-known biologist. Any biological group that can fly has discarded a large amount of mass in the evolution of generations. Hollow and easily broken bones are 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 a hundred meters away.

The carriage stopped in front of the house at No. 214 Mercy Street.

The coachman sat in the driver's seat and called twice, but received no response from the passengers.

The harpy did not continue to hover above, but stopped on the eaves a little further away, folded its wings and remained motionless. When the lighting is poor at night, it looks like a stone gargoyle, echoing the real gargoyle on the house on the other side, all of which is unknown to people on the ground.

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

When——when——.

The coachman seemed to have understood something wrong and threw the clothes out of the carriage. Then he returned to the driving seat in a panic, pulled up the reins and drove the horse forward quickly.

Creighton Bello was obviously not in it.

The harpy finally noticed something strange. A trace of confusion flashed across its face. It flapped its wings and swooped down, preparing to chase behind the carriage and observe the situation inside the carriage.

All these actions were like miniature dancers dancing on the stage of the rifle sight, and Clayton could see them clearly.

But the moment the three bells rang, Creighton pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gun was masked by the sound of the bell. The high-speed projectile rushed out of the barrel under the correction of the rifling, and penetrated the wing of the harpy a hundred meters away, directly breaking one of the tips.

The bullet did not stop after passing through the body, and a window behind the harpy exploded. After receiving the damage and being unbalanced, its body couldn't help but hit the back end of the carriage, making a muffled sound.

The driver felt the vibration, and without daring to look back, he violently swung the reins up and down, and disappeared at the other end of the street in a few seconds.

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

The harpy seemed to have lost consciousness after the impact just now, and lay straight on the street.

Clayton looked at its head and felt the possibility of communication.

The black wolf fur shrank back, he transformed into a human again, put on the spare clothes next to him, then endured the stench, holding the rifle with one hand and lifting it with the other, he walked towards the door of No. 214 Mercy Street, tapping it with the toe of his shoe. He lightly clicked on the door.

"Jo, it's me."

The lights in the house came on.