Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 481 Behavior
The mummy from Maxriy had indeed never passed through the Gate of Rebirth.

Under Clayton's direction, the young man, who was originally dressed as a shaman, removed his robes, horse-head staff, and a waist drum that he had never played in front of Clayton before, and assisted him in completing the ritual of dispelling the spirits of the dead with a very respectful attitude.

Only then did Clayton become interested in finding out his background.

This young man, named Valvado, had nothing to do with the monsters that appeared in the North District. He was here because he wanted to seek refuge with Conriona.

The reason Lamia had her eye on it was because the shamanic robe contained the power of a serpent spirit, which the banshee coveted.

"They killed Master Gasherov!"

When asked about his reason for being in the North District, Valvador's hands, which were resting on his knees, trembled slightly, but because he was kneeling on the ground, this movement was not easily noticed.

"If all these magical artifacts had been in the master's possession at that time, he certainly wouldn't have been defeated by those people."

He glanced at the strange objects that Clayton had taken, but quickly looked away, no longer daring to look at them.

Clayton sat at the counter, holding the horse-headed staff and comparing it to the Builder Norris had left him, finding the Builder's appearance far more ornate and beautiful: "You're his student? He left all his magical artifacts with you?"

“There were several others as well. These ritual implements were distributed among all the students for safekeeping, one for each person. I was only in charge of the horse-head staff. The robes and spirit drums were with the others, but they were all dead. The Sacred Heart Society killed them.”

“Then they came together in your hands.” Clayton stated this in a declarative tone, making it impossible to tell whether he was accusing or curious.

Valvador must clarify the facts.

“Before they died, they gave me everything to help me escape,” he said with difficulty. “Kango, who possessed the Spirit Drum, sensed the danger and was prepared.”

"They all trust you, so there must be something special about you."

Clayton did not see Valvaldo use any mysterious magic—even in the most critical moment, he only managed to summon a spirit by using the horse-head staff.

If he were to rely entirely on himself, he probably wouldn't be able to accomplish anything.

“No, I’m the worst of the worst. I’m only alive because I’m Dornish, I don’t have a language barrier, and I don’t look particularly special.” Valvaldo’s voice was like a rusty machine without lubrication. “As long as I run away and hide in the crowd, the Brotherhood of Friends won’t have a good chance of catching me.”

He wasn't the strongest, but he was the one most likely to survive.

So the others chose him.

Upon hearing this unexpected answer, Clayton put down what he was holding, jumped off the counter, and his expression turned serious.

"Then why didn't you obey their wishes and run away, instead of going to find Conionai?"

Varvado opened his mouth, then said dejectedly, "They're all dead. I really don't want to leave like this."

If he doesn't leave, what can he achieve? Won't he still end up in his current state?
He was almost starting to hate himself.

"it is good!"

Clayton suddenly shouted, startling Valvaldo so much that he almost jumped up. With a look of delight, Valvaldo helped the kneeling shaman apprentice to his feet.

"You're a man, kid, so I won't make things difficult for you. Take your things and go."

He led Valvado back, returned the robes, staff, and drum, and pushed the young man out the door. But the young man, holding these things, dared not turn around and stood frozen in place, as if afraid that if he turned around, Clayton's hammer would immediately fall on his head.

"Go ahead, the camp of the Conionais is behind the building with the eye painted on it, don't go to the wrong place."

"If you want to get into the fight quickly, you can apply for the wolf blood ritual. You will have a chance to become a werewolf, but there is also a risk of death."

Clayton held the hammer in his left hand and waved to him with his right, his face kind, like a father seeing off his son who was about to embark on a long journey to pursue his career, giving him detailed instructions—if you ignored his thick beard stained with brains and blood.

Valvaldo took two steps back, clutching his belongings, nodded with a forced smile, and then turned and ran away as fast as he could.

Clayton watched his retreating figure disappear into the distance.

There was no deeper meaning behind his actions; he simply expressed all his thoughts in words.

If he had to pinpoint a purpose, it was that he hoped there would be more people in the world who still retained their passion. He had always admired such people, rather than someone like Norris, who was corrupted by wealth and power and only wished to hide behind the scenes and manipulate others to shed blood for him.

Undoubtedly, the monsters that appeared in the North District were the work of the Friendship Society. Only they had the ability and the will to do such a thing. Even though Norris has now left Weiod, he cannot escape involvement, even if he may not support such actions.

Norris simply left Weodia with his men; he did not withdraw the money he had previously invested in the Friendship Society.

These monsters, whose habitats are scattered across the land, did not grow out of the land of Weodia overnight. When Norris was still in Weodia, the Brotherhood of Friends had already begun preparing for these things, but Norris turned a blind eye to it.

These monsters, though powerful, could hardly stop a werewolf clan whose fighting strength approached that of a regular military organization. Even if they developed a collective consciousness and united to fight Conionai, they could only delay the inevitable for a while, at most one night. And in the absence of any possibility of unity, releasing them into the northern district was merely indiscriminate firing, threatening only ordinary people.

Clayton now harbored genuine resentment towards his best friend, and his instinct was to oppose him in every way possible.

However, Norris knew things would turn out this way and even called it a good thing, which left Clayton with mixed feelings.

Even a scoundrel hopes his friends are good people. Clayton was aware of this phenomenon, but he had always been in the carefree role of the "scoundrel" in his group of friends, letting his good friends tolerate him. He never imagined that one day he would suddenly have to become the constrained "good person".

Faced with this bizarre situation, he could only curse Norris once again.

Stopping thinking about these annoying things, he went to his spoils, took out his heart and lungs—the most important internal organs—and ate them. Then he cut off some pieces wrapped in waterproof cloth he found at the pharmacy.

He's no longer worried about Conionnai coming after him.

The cartographer had been screaming in the sky for so long that the werewolves' hearing would have definitely picked it up. If Conionai were interested in this place, or if they had enough manpower, they would have sent people over long ago.

He cleaned his face with the rubbing alcohol stored in the pharmacy before leisurely turning back towards Cocoon Street.

The street surface became uneven and full of sand pits due to the power of that desert ghost.

Clayton spent a little more time getting back to Cocoon Street, retrieving his luggage, and then a little more finding Joseph's family in the basement area of ​​a house. Then he had to face a situation that was far more troublesome than a battle.

"How did she die?"

Despite the musty smell, he questioned the group of children huddled like quails in the basement under the lamplight.

Joseph's mother died.

The time was three days after Joseph left.

Not to mention Joseph, even Clayton himself found it hard to accept this; this was the first thing he did for Joseph.

He used a strange artifact to transfer his vital energy, in exchange for a portion of its permanent power, to the critically ill woman. Even if that power could only have a temporary effect, as long as she could replenish her nutrition in time after waking up, her body would naturally recover, and the money should be enough.

He robbed the local gang of several pounds.

After receiving news of Joseph from Clayton, the children gradually stopped being afraid. The oldest of them was several years younger than Donna, and an adult who would help them was no different from an angel. So they began to tell the story of what had happened after their mother woke up, using their not-so-fluent language.

"Mom woke up and prayed for you."

She kissed me!

We gave her water.

"She ate something and looks much better."

"She said she wanted to recover quickly so she could go back to work and buy us food."

They were speaking at the same time, and if Clayton didn't have extraordinary hearing, he would never have been able to hear what they were saying.

But upon hearing this, he had grasped the key point, so he asked the children, "Where is the money? Where is the money I left for you?"

The children spoke up again in unison: "Mom told us to hide the money."

“She said we can’t spend money recklessly, like a king.”

"Mom said there will be tougher times when we'll need money, so we all have to work now."

"She told Dolly to go to the pharmacy and buy the same medicine as before."

"Another panacea?" Clayton suddenly asked coldly, recalling the dark medicine bottle he had seen in the hut by the bridge where they were staying. "Is it?"

The children unanimously agreed, and then went on to talk about how their mother was full of energy and went to work immediately after taking the medicine, how she suddenly collapsed on the street, and a whole host of other things that happened afterward, such as how they used the money Clayton left to buy their mother a burial plot and take a picture. But Clayton no longer needed or wanted to hear any more.

How should he evaluate this woman?
Foolish and short-sighted?
After getting out of bed, he immediately thought about work, and when he received money, he only thought about saving it instead of using it to repair his body. He thought that his body had improved by using tincture of opium to boost his spirits, and he ignored the importance of rest and recuperation. In the end, he died a violent death because he was too weak.

This behavior not only cost her her life, but also made Clayton's choice to expend his own power to save her a joke.

But Clayton couldn't get angry.

He only felt absurdity and bad luck.

This kind of thing happens everywhere, it just happened to be related to him this time.

Opioids, a panacea that has been popular in the world for 150 years, cannot be stripped of its reputation as a cure-all even though the medical community has made it clear that it cannot cure diseases and can only suppress pain.

Commoners used it, and nobles used it too. Everyone felt that not feeling pain meant being cured.

But how is this possible?
The thrill of the battle was quickly fading, and he was losing interest. He went outside, called out the gang member in charge of the house, grabbed a handful of money from his luggage, stuffed it into the man's hand, and entrusted him with a task—to send all the children to Sasha City after dawn.

He gave the man his home address and told him that this was just a deposit. If any of the children arrived safely, he would give him an amount equal to the deposit, and if all of them arrived safely, he would give him ten times the amount.

No one would refuse this kind of business.

Judging from the joy on this person's face, he has probably already figured out what he will do after leaving the gang.

After dealing with the matter, Clayton left and headed south again, but he soon ran into an "old friend".

"Hmph—Lamia, I didn't expect that you would find a like-minded girlfriend in just half an hour. You've moved pretty fast."

Clayton skillfully tossed his briefcase onto the roof, then shouldered the long-handled hammer. Opposite him stood Lamia, a serpent-bodied banshee with only one eye and a face full of malice. She pointed him out to her friend, and next to her, of course, was another banshee.

This new friend proudly raised her lioness-like head. She had a humanoid body covered in yellow fur, her full breasts were bare, and she carried a red two-headed snake as a weapon.

She is a notorious perpetrator of childbirth and child abuse, a spreader of disease, and a descendant of the evil demon Ramashtu.

But Clayton was not the kind of person who would be intimidated by the reputation of his ancestors.

He spat on the ground and strode straight toward them: "You two only know how to attack the weakest. You already have considerable strength, why can't you have some greater ambitions?"

Both banshees showed indignation when they heard Clayton belittle their personal hobbies.

Lamia's tongue hissed, while Ramashtu's daughter wrinkled the muscles on her nose, revealing her fangs.

"Well, you've reminded me. If I don't deal with you tonight, things I asked you to do might go wrong." As he prepared to return to the fight, Clayton felt as if something had settled heavily in his heart, and he was no longer feeling empty.

“Let’s settle this tonight.” He grinned.

A battle was about to break out, and the sound of bat wings flapping could be heard again in the sky not far away.

The pale, wretched creature also landed on the eaves, its majestic face displaying a half-smile, its gaze fixed on the male protagonist it was interested in.