Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 486 Runner

Green runes appeared on the walls, floor, and ceiling.

As soon as the runes appeared, Clayton Bello immediately felt the space around him being filled by something invisible. He found it as difficult to move around as if he were underwater, and he couldn't reach out and grab the two prey immediately.

The wizard and his guards retreated rapidly in the small room, trying to get as far away from the werewolves as possible.

A series of strange words came from Serbergan's mouth. He spoke with unusual force, each syllable carrying a heavy weight, as if an invisible stream of water was overflowing from his mouth, merging with the power of the runes and flooding the room that could be seen from one end to the other.

The flame of the oil lamp on the table placed against the wall shrank to a single point under the weight of the magic, and the light suddenly dimmed.

The wizard raised his hands, then rubbed his thumbs under his eyes. The liquid hidden under his fingernails immediately spread across his cheeks, leaving two glowing eye spots that seemed to grant him vision.

His accomplice, however, had a different method. As the gunman retreated, his legs gradually sank into the ground, eventually disappearing completely underground, but leaving a shadow on the surface.

As the gunman's figure completely disappeared into his own shadow, the shadow on the ground turned and charged towards the werewolf. It moved with incredible speed, unimpeded, and was difficult to distinguish in the dim light. The swaying reflections of many objects provided further cover for it, making it resemble a ghostly shadow flitting beneath the waves.

Shadow Kingdom

The Shadow Secrets' signature path is one that even newcomers to the mystical might have heard of. The recipient gains the ability to temporarily travel between the two worlds by replacing their body with the blood of a creature from the Shadow Realm, making it highly suitable for assassination.

A circular shadow followed Clayton Bello to his feet, and the reflection of a silver-plated dagger flashed from the darkness.

The tall werewolf was not good at dealing with attacks close to the floor. It leaped high into the air and pounced on the wall directly opposite it, its left claw and the claws of both feet piercing into the wall, hanging its heavy body on it, and it could also swing its right claw back to tear at the wizard.

Serbergam was rummaging in his pocket when he saw the wolf's claws coming at him. He had no way to defend himself head-on, so he could only fall backward in a sorry state to avoid the sweeping attack.

The gunman's shadow was still chasing Clayton, swimming upwards along the vertical wall like a shark that had caught the scent of blood.

Clayton ignored it, pushing off the wall with both feet and stomping heavily on the werewolf lying on the ground. The werewolf's mobility was severely weakened by the runes, but it still maintained its extraordinary abilities, and this time the wizard was unable to dodge.

First, the surface of the flesh caved in under the beast-like feet, then the lumbar vertebrae to the tailbone were directly destroyed by the pressure of more than 1,200 pounds.

The wizard groaned, still managing to stay conscious. He pulled out a syringe and stuck it into his neck, attempting to inject the golden liquid into his veins.

The werewolf raised its right hind paw, which had been resting on its waist, and slashed at the wizard's neck. The scythe-shaped black toenail severed the wizard's right hand, syringe, and neck all at once.

The splashed golden liquid landed on Clayton's legs, instantly corroding through his black fur.

Beneath the billowing white smoke, one could vaguely see well-developed pink muscles, and red blood oozed from the edges of the wound.

"Holy water?"

Clayton paused, then suddenly felt a sense of boredom.

"Since you've worked so hard, then so be it."

He abandoned the wizard's corpse, stomped on the chessboard until it shattered, and then chased after the shadow.

In just a few seconds, Shadow had completely lost its ferocity, turning from following Clayton to fleeing outside. This was likely partly due to the death of its companion, and partly because its abilities had reached their limits.

The world of shadows is not suitable for human survival. Those who hide in the shadows cannot stay there forever; they must return to reality, just as whales need to surface for air.

In the realm of shadows, there is no color, nor is there gravity; only the sounds of the real world can be faintly transmitted, much like how one cannot hear the sounds of the shore from the deep sea. In such an environment, the concept of direction is diluted from one's memory. Once the characters in the shadows lose their understanding of "up" and "down," they will be forever lost in this cold, desolate alien world.

During the day, the person in the shadows can maintain their understanding of above and below by being guided by sounds from the real world, thus using their abilities for a longer period of time.

At night—the people in the shadows are hard to detect, but because the night is much quieter and their sounds cannot be transmitted back to the shadow world, they are more likely to get lost in it.

The shadowy figure that the gunman had transformed into had grown from the size of a frying pan to the size of a human head, and was still shrinking. It was foreseeable that the moment his shadow completely disappeared from the world would be the moment he became lost.

This is why Clayton didn't deal with him immediately.

He must now get out of the enemy's sight as soon as possible and return to the present world to correct his perceptions in order to carry out a second deep dive.

Clayton followed the shadow.

Once outside the building, there was an unobstructed road. The shadow's speed increased to a level beyond human limits; if it remained stationary, it would disappear in the blink of an eye.

The werewolf was on all fours, giving it his all in the race.

Its footsteps were silent, yet its movements were lightning fast. It broke free from the wizard's runes, and the feeling of unleashing speed and pushing the limits of the body thrilled it.

The streets that are just a gentle breeze in the eyes of ordinary people are completely different in front of it.

It was anything but tranquil; on the contrary, it was extremely jarring. The werewolf's erect ears were filled with the clatter of the wind. As the werewolf began to accelerate, the air gradually hardened, and even greater force was required to break through this omnipresent obstacle.

Clayton's body parted the air, the blood clinging to his fur had long since congealed, and it was shaken off by the intense friction with the air. Without these creatures attached to him, the werewolf's black fur swayed wildly in the wind like flames.

Aside from his right foot being slightly hampered by the holy water, the werewolves of the Bello family believed everything was perfect.

Even this injured leg is not a big deal; it's impossible to always present a perfect image to the outside world.

The guy it was chasing was also an amazing runner. He hadn't slowed down at all from the start until now, and the shadows he left in the world were not affected by the wind. Even when he made a 90-degree turn, he didn't falter in the slightest.

The shadow was so fast that Clayton was already struggling to keep up with it.

"If only my body were lighter," Clayton couldn't help but think.

Although his current body was large and powerful, it was also very heavy. Dragging such a body would make it difficult to catch up with the Shadow. If he could be a little lighter, he could increase his speed and catch up with the Shadow. As he thought this, his body indeed shrank a bit.

With his slightly smaller body, he moved his four long legs to continue chasing the shadow that was flying across the ground, no longer falling behind.

About half a minute later, the shadow was already smaller than the apple.

It continued to shrink, passing through the dappled shadows of roadside bushes and tree canopies, keeping the werewolf on its toes as it ran, lest it slip out of sight and disappear. But it was still gradually being left behind.

"If only the hind legs were a little shorter," Clayton couldn't help but think.

His long legs are certainly good now, allowing him to unleash powerful kicks, but if his hind legs were a little shorter, he could take steps faster, coordinate better with his front paws when turning, and bleed less from his wounds when running.

As he thought this, his hind legs indeed seemed to shorten, and he caught up again.

About half a minute later, the docks in the West End were in sight. The huge, no longer emitting smoke, giant chimneys cast their reflections on the street, while the shadow shrank to the size of a grape. Even with his extraordinary eyesight and speed, and the moonlight, Clayton could hardly see the path of its movements.

The threat of getting lost was imminent. The shadowy figure trembled, seemingly wanting to return to the real world, but gave up because it was afraid of the werewolf behind it and continued to move forward at high speed.

"If only my front legs were a little shorter," Clayton couldn't help but think.

His claws are great now, making it easy to climb or hold weapons, but if his forelegs were a little shorter, his eyes would be closer to the ground, allowing him to see the shadowy figure more clearly.

As he thought this, his two front legs indeed shortened, and the shape of the shadow became clearer.

Now Clayton has become a black wolf that runs as fast as the wind, but he still cannot surpass the warrior who hides in the shadows.

The two runners maintained a consistent line, one in front of the other, one to the left and one to the right, like two black lines extending down the street, one thin and one thick. Clayton had no interest in what lay ahead; he was simply chasing the shadow, following the path it had traversed, and he would repeat it again, nothing more.

When the shadow shrank to the size of a pinhead, it finally stopped.

Clayton moved closer to it, observing the runner's inevitable end.

The barely perceptible shadow trembled on the white ground, seemingly struggling, yet still unsure whether death in the wolf's jaws or being lost in another world was better. It hesitated for only a moment, less than a second, before the black spot vanished completely, the unremarkable scene signifying that the visitor to this shadowy realm had chosen to settle there.

Clayton almost applauded to congratulate him on his housewarming, but refrained because his claws had completely transformed into the form of a wild beast.

Seeing such a rare sight made his trip worthwhile.

As the shadow disappeared and attention shifted from his eyes to his other senses, Clayton finally came to his senses and noticed where he was.

He was on the ship.

The wooden boardwalk creaks and groans when the river rises, and tattered fishing nets are tangled on the protruding wooden stakes on the outside of the boardwalk, forming a simple railing. With just a little breath, you can smell the nauseating fishy smell.

He looked up and saw the vast, almost non-reflective black surface of the water.

Several dirty little boats were moored to the shore, gently rocking with the equally unclean water, like dead fish washed ashore.

The boat he was on was one of them.

The shadow actually disappeared at the bow of the ship, and the white ground was actually the whitewashed iron hull.

Clayton's high spirits cooled somewhat as the black water shoved against the side of the boat pushed him away. He realized that the gunman was trying to escape onto the boat and use the water to block his pursuit, but unfortunately he was a little too slow and couldn't shake him off.

He also noticed the changes in himself.

Werewolves inherently possess three forms, and he has now unintentionally mastered the last one.

The pure animal body fascinated him, yet he didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable.

Perhaps he should have been surprised by this change and pondered it for a moment, but his instincts showed no curiosity about it, as if it were a natural occurrence.

The black wolf's limbs stretched out, and its body swelled, transforming it back into a burly, tall werewolf. Its right leg, corroded by the holy water, hadn't fully recovered, but it wasn't seriously injured.

With no one around and the two Darkin wielders both at their wits' end, Clayton temporarily lost his target.

He tried to jump ashore with a little effort, but the rope used to moor the boat was already rotten and broke due to the small impact.

The boat left the shore and drifted northward with the current.

Clayton was an easygoing man, and since he was in a good mood, he didn't take it seriously. He lay down with his arms outstretched, filling the small cabin completely, and became a dutiful passenger.

When he arrived in the North District, he disembarked and went to Cocoon Street to retrieve his luggage.

Everything is just right.

He lay down for a while, and then another small boat powered by an electric motor came along. The sound of whale oil boiling in the external fuel tank could be clearly heard.

Clayton sat up and looked back. There was only one beautiful woman on the ship, and she looked surprised when she saw Clayton.

When he saw her, Clayton was also surprised, and his almost shameless feelings turned into embarrassment.

The speed of the electric boat was incomparable to that of the rowboat, and it quickly caught up, running alongside Clayton's boat.

The young woman from Conionai stood up from the driver's seat, put one foot on the edge of the boat, seemingly wanting to jump to Clayton's side, but hesitated, simply maintaining the two boats side by side.