Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 476 Blunt Head
On his way to the North End, leaning on his cane, Clayton encountered Halcha again.

The other person was riding at full speed when they saw him and were startled. They quickly pulled on the reins, stopped the horse, and threw out the ball of yarn they were using for tracking once again.

He only realized Clayton's identity when he saw the ball of yarn stop in front of him.

"I thought our agreed deadline was within three days, not within one day. You don't need to rush to find me."

Halcha thought Clayton had come to collect a debt.

The two werewolves were vastly different in age and status, and had even tried to kill each other, but Clayton didn't intend to dwell on it. He greeted Halcha as if he were facing a long-lost friend: "Good night, Mr. Halcha. I didn't head north to find you, but since we've run into each other, I still have to ask. Did you bring back the story I'm looking for?"

“I brought it. I have good news for you. I’ve also brought back the things you left in the castle that were being neglected. They’re all together.”

Halcha dismounted, took out Clayton's briefcase from the saddlebag, which had been left at the castle, and complained, "This job almost made my son's legs break."

Clayton glanced at him.

"I didn't ask you to rush me like this."

Harcha suddenly withdrew his hand and said seriously, "We may have the opportunity to cooperate in the future. I also have a daughter. She did not inherit the wolf blood and is not considered a member of the clan. She is nineteen years old this year."

Clayton smiled and reached out to take his things from Halcha's hands.

“I have a fifteen-year-old daughter. I have to take good care of my own daughter before I can take care of other people’s daughters.”

Halcha carefully examined his face: "I don't mind my son-in-law committing bigamy; that's the rule of humankind."

"That's not what I meant. I'm just simply too busy."

"Suit yourself. I'm just giving you a choice. Also, if you don't want to die, don't head east tonight." Halcha turned and mounted his horse. He and Clayton were heading in the same direction, but they couldn't walk side by side, so he left first.

Clayton, holding his briefcase, didn't immediately look through his ancestors' records; he was still thinking about the present.

Based solely on Halcha's previous complaints, Clayton had already deduced that Conionai and his men were planning a major operation tonight; otherwise, Halcha wouldn't have been in such a hurry.

But what does this have to do with him?

Norris and he were once insignificant figures who risked their lives for the words of those in power, but now they have forgotten that shame, turned around and put on embroidered robes, becoming the very people they once cursed day and night, hiding behind the scenes to control the situation for unspeakable reasons, regardless of the casualties.

Compared to Norris, Conionne appears more open and honest. They have specific reasons for killing, and when faced with a powerful enemy, they will personally lead the charge, rather than simply having their human subordinates sacrifice their lives to weaken the opponent.

They were the epitome of classical aristocracy.

Aside from not being that loyal to their lord—though that might be quite typical, though.

The person he thought was a close friend has been completely transformed, while the person he thought was an enemy has started to act in accordance with the rules he holds dear.

Clayton was in no mood to judge anything now, because things had been upside down lately, and relationships had been fickle. He suddenly remembered that he hadn't always acted entirely according to his own principles. For example, at Warehouse 96, he had gained the guards' trust, only to turn against them when Conionne attacked. All this was just so that he could finally fight alongside his own people and taste the thrill of a decisive battle against a powerful enemy.

It was against Clayton Bello's principles to hurt those who trusted him, but he didn't feel any remorse at the time. Looking back, he couldn't help but question his own standards of judgment.

The once-firm principles crumbled at some point.

This is likely the effect of a curse, much like his cannibalism and hunting instincts, but in any case, this change and depravity depend on only one thing to grow.

Clayton called it "I do".

Therefore, he did not intend to get involved in other people's disputes until he had figured himself out and settled his family affairs.

Including but not limited to Wei Aodi.

He wasn't a local and didn't know much about the city, but it was clear that the various factions in Wei'aodi had long harbored resentment. If they didn't take this opportunity to settle things now, they might end up in a situation where they were slowly bleeding out like a dull knife cutting flesh. Trying to stop the chaos might only cause more casualties.

Perhaps Norris and the Queen are right, and he is wrong, Clayton couldn't help but think.

But he never wanted to become that kind of person.

Life is precious. He can use his own life as he pleases, or take revenge on others for himself and his family, but that's for personal gain or legitimate feelings. Whether good or bad, there's always a reason. But to lose someone else's life because of a moment of folly... he doesn't want to become such a ridiculous thing.

So, faced with the mess Norris had created, he could only observe, and that was all he could do.

Clayton reminded himself of this.

He continued his leisurely northward journey with his briefcase, intending to examine the place more closely once he reached Joseph's house. Nothing particularly noteworthy happened along the way; the streets were nearly deserted, and the proportion of broken streetlights along the two rows of lampposts was increasing, likely because the regularity of the streetlight repairmen's work was closely related to the local security situation.

Just as his mind began to relax to the point where he wanted to yawn, a strange whistling sound suddenly came from the night sky.

He looked up and saw an unusually large shadow sweep across the sky.

The object was too high and too fast for Clayton to see clearly, but its pale, blood-stained limbs immediately reminded him of a detestable enemy.

A wicked creature.

Before I could think any further, several screams came from the road ahead, followed by a roar.

The roar contained a power to intimidate the spirit; it was undoubtedly the war cry of a werewolf, and the sound faintly gave Clayton a familiar feeling. At this time, the only werewolf directly in front of him was Halcha.

At this moment, did the Allies of the Friendship Society make a move against Conione?
Clayton was puzzled, yet felt it was impossible.

The two sides are still in a standoff. Although this situation may not be immune to change, humans are unlikely to be foolish enough to challenge werewolves at night.

Humans possess enough power to overwhelm Darkin during the day, while Darkin power completely overwhelms humans at night. Neither side can eliminate the other within half a day, resulting in a stalemate. Only wizards can defeat Darkin of the same level at night. He leaped onto the roof of a house on the street, carrying his briefcase and cane. Even without transforming, the night unleashed his power, giving him strength far exceeding that of a knight.

Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, he quickly arrived near the location of the roar, where he saw Harcha again in a plaza.

Unlike a few minutes ago, this Clan Fang had broken free of its human form, transforming into a terrifying ten-foot-tall beast that grappled with its enemy. It reached out and tore down a tall, spiked iron archway from the street, using it as a weapon to stab its enemy in the abdomen with the force of a harpoon. Harcha's opponent was no less formidable; if its horns were included, it was a foot taller than Harcha. It ripped a lamppost off with its bare hands and swung it to block the iron gate's attack.

Some residents, wearing only underwear, fled in panic, shouting things like "Monster! Run!" They didn't even notice Clayton on the roof.

The houses on both sides of the street lit up one after another because of the shouts. A few people looked through the doors and windows, but after only a few glances, they quickly retreated. They sealed the doors and windows, no longer daring to expose themselves to the two monsters.

Conionne's werewolves and their adversaries paid no heed to how frail little creatures were afraid. They continued to fight, objects that should not have been used as weapons attacking each other at their whim, producing a sickening metallic creaking sound.

Perhaps in a few more rounds, they will all be scrapped.

Clayton noticed that Halchai's enemy had a head like a moose skull, a body like a naked giant, and skin with a semi-rotten appearance.

Wendigo.

Clayton recognized it.

Although he only had a superficial understanding, he knew that this kind of monster should live in the north, not here.

Moreover, although the Wendigo are cursed, they possess superhuman intelligence. Since the Friendship Society is about to wage a war against the Darkin, why would the Darkin fight against Halcha at this moment?
Isn't it on Conionai's side?
"Why are you fighting?" he asked curiously from the rooftop, his eyes catching sight of the flattened head of a horse carcass, the same horse that had just been seen by Harcha.

Harcha didn't answer, but roared again, gripping the two sides of the black iron archway with its claws. It used the anti-thief spikes on the iron gate to entangle the lamppost that was being attacked, and then suddenly swung it, pulling the lamppost in another direction. Wendigo's body also slightly lost its balance, turning halfway and exposing its side.

Taking advantage of this opening, Halcha released the iron gate and pounced on all fours to Wendigo's back. He grabbed the moose antlers with his claws and twisted them forcefully. His hairy black arms visibly swelled up due to the exertion, and in one breath, he turned the giant's head 180 degrees. The sound of the spine cracking could be clearly heard in the silent street.

The giant Wendigo fell down and remained motionless.

Clayton asked again, "Do you have a grudge against me?"

"It killed my horse."

Halcha stepped forward, his claws piercing Wendigo's chest, and pulled out a huge heart, radiating coldness and stench, from the blood and filth, before swallowing it without hesitation.

"Are they Darkborn who are dissatisfied with Conionne's rule?" Clayton continued to press, trying his best to sense every breeze in order to see the wind direction and landscape that Norris wanted to obtain.

"Of course not, that kind of scum escaped long ago, otherwise he would have died in the middle of the road."

Harcha's nasal muscles clenched, his long mouth opened and closed as he chewed, and as his heart ruptured in his mouth, blood flowed down from both sides of his wolfish mouth.

"This guy attacked me as soon as he saw me. Perhaps he has a similar ability to us, able to absorb the essence from the flesh and blood of the strong to strengthen himself. Although his flesh and blood are solid, he may have been a formidable character in the past, but he actually has very little essence. Perhaps he has just recovered from weakness and is eager to regain his strength. This level is enough to deal with those greenhorns, but as for me..."

Clayton stared down at the corpse; within the massive, pale moose skull, black, thorn-like material was slowly writhing.

“Legend says that only by completely destroying the Wendigo’s skull can it be killed,” he reminded Halcha.

Halcha listened to his words and did not use his claws. Instead, he picked up the "street lamp weapon" he had just used and smashed it down on Wendigo's head. He smashed it fourteen times before the moose skull cracked. A black mist spewed out from the crack and disappeared without a trace in a few seconds.

Halcha watched the black smoke dissipate: "Looks like I owe you one more time."

"So you don't know where it came from?" Clayton asked.

"No."

After his anger subsided, Halcha realized how incredible it was that this monster had appeared in Weaudi.

Halcha Conionai, being a southern werewolf, did not know Wendigo; in fact, he had only just learned the name from Clayton, but it did not seem like a shapeshifter.

But if it weren't a shapeshifter, how could an eleven-foot-tall monster appear in the city so quietly?

Even Conionai's Darkin allies wouldn't bring such a large, berserk pet to their cause.

It couldn't have been done by human means, could it?

Clayton jumped down from the roof and poked Wendigo's abdomen with his cane, turning it inside out. Fresh heads and hands rolled out of the ruptured stomach and intestines, drawing his attention.

"Its intestines are very clean, with no food residue from long ago. This meat is practically like its first meal."

“That’s strange. I’ve never seen such a large cursed being suddenly appear in a city before,” Halcha said, squatting down with his tail dragging on the ground. “Your investigation methods seem quite experienced. Have you seen this before?”

Clayton had indeed seen it; he remembered Pan, whom he had encountered in Wonderland.

The thinning of the barrier between the mortal realm and the fairy realm could lead to the sudden appearance of some powerful fairy realm creatures in the mortal realm. Since the fairy realm can survive without food, this explains why the Wendigo's intestines are so clean.

If such an accident were to occur in a city, it could very likely result in a large number of casualties among the unarmed.

Clayton disliked harming the weak who were unable to fight, and if such an accident were to occur again, he felt he would have to intervene, because he had the power to do so.

This doesn't count as participating in the personnel struggles of Weodia. In Weodia, ordinary people couldn't take sides; they were merely spoils of war.

However, the thought almost made him laugh as soon as it popped into his head.

After returning from the Fairy Realm, he studied the occult records about the rifts between worlds. This wasn't exactly a secret; many forms of witchcraft relied on the power of the spirit and astral realms, and this knowledge was shared. He now knew that the rifts between the multiple worlds didn't exist constantly; they moved and healed. It was one thing for a Fairy Realm creature to be sent over once, but two in a row?

Perhaps in another ten years, something similar will not happen to Wei Aodi again.