Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 489 Another Battlefield

"How interesting," Clayton thought, though he found it all rather ordinary.

Competing with the strong is his way of life.

But he is not exactly the same as he was in the past. If he were still the mortal Clayton, he would never have acted so recklessly tonight.

But this Clayton is different now. He has become stronger, but he is also increasingly willing to challenge the boundaries of death.

His life is now less secure than it used to be.

He could risk his own interests, his family, his friends, and the protection of the weak—that was the old Clayton. Now, he can also risk his life for strangers he finds agreeable, for his hobbies, and for his momentary whims—it's taken for granted that he'll take on enemies he dislikes or let his foe go simply because he feels sorry for their young lives. He does whatever he wants.

Clayton inevitably recalled the debate he had with Norris about nature: was this change because his nature had changed? Or was this simply his nature, and was it a force that allowed it to be fully unleashed?

Power gave him confidence, allowing him to do whatever he wanted and uphold principles that his weaker self could not.

Even if one suddenly loses their power, this change will likely not disappear.

Because he became a willful person, and willful people don't reflect on their own actions.

Judging from this, it's only natural that he likes himself as he is now, so it's only natural that Lydia likes him too.

Thinking about this, Clayton felt at ease again.

He stroked Lydia's face in his arms, brushing her long hair back from her forehead: "I believe your family won't hurt you, but what if you get pregnant?"

“Just because of tonight?” Lydia laughed. “Do you know how difficult it is for werewolves to reproduce? One of my cousins ​​and her husband took five years to succeed, and that was considered fast. There are countless cases of couples who haven’t gotten pregnant even after ten years of marriage. If I got pregnant because of this one night, the clan would immediately make peace with you and encourage us to continue.”

Clayton frowned: "These terms are too generous. There must be a hidden cost, right?"

"Of course there's a price to pay. The first two children must belong to Conionai, or if you're unwilling to reconcile with my father and brothers, you'll have to wait ten years. But I guess you really don't want to see them."

Clayton's silence proved her right.

Lydia snorted, seemingly dissatisfied with the choice, but there was nothing she could do about it.

"Then I'll come back to you after my service is over. Don't ask if there's any other way. Even if there is, I won't choose it. The clan raised me, and I must repay them. It's a matter of feelings, and there's no other substitute, just like you and me."

"And I must make this clear: even now, you cannot come to Weiodi to continue your conflict with my clan. If you fight with my people, even if it happens in front of me, I will not help you. Moreover, if the chieftain and my father give the order, I will personally come to kill you without any mercy. I hope you can understand this."

She said things that weren't suitable for couples, but Clayton wasn't upset about it; on the contrary, he was happy that they had things in common.

The curse drew them together in a passionate embrace, an irresistible force. But if Lydia were to betray the family that raised her simply because of this, she would be a shameless woman in Clayton's eyes.

A person who is loyal to their family is worthy of respect.

She defends her own clan today, and she will defend the family they created together in the future. Her stubbornness in hindering Clayton now is precisely her outstanding strength.

He lowered his head and kissed her cheek: "Darling, if that ever happens, you'd better be even sharper with your claws."

"Don't worry, I'll make you bleed even more than you did today." The she-wolf's nails slid across his chest, causing a slight sting. Kong Lione's fur was black, but his nails were white.

“But even if I back down, your father might come to visit me as soon as he finds out. An angry father is always a terrible thing.”

"Are you that worried?" Lydia asked teasingly.

“I’ve seen it quite a few times,” Clayton told her, describing cases that had occurred in his hometown.

In Batnu and the surrounding towns, the spring flower festival and the autumn harvest festival nights are the most suitable times for young couples to break the last taboo. At these times, the daughters' fathers always patrol around the fields and barns with pitchforks and torches. Often, an angry middle-aged farmer can be seen rushing out of the fields full of tall crops, chasing after a naked man like a lancer without a horse. Behind them, the bewildered cries of young girls can be heard from afar, but because they are also naked, they dare not come out to stop the farce.

Leaving aside the history passed down by word of mouth, Clayton himself has witnessed four such cases firsthand.

After hearing his story, Lydia almost laughed herself to death in his arms. When she recovered, she immediately assured him that her father would never chase him with a pitchfork.

Of course, Lind doesn't farm; he makes his living by the river, so he should be using a harpoon, Clayton thought.

He then asked Lydia's mother if she had any opinion about the relationship, but Lydia's answer surprised him.

"Ignore her, she's just a mortal, she knows nothing."

Seeing Clayton's confusion, she explained, "Not all werewolves can have a wife of their own kind. Many werewolves openly associate with human women, usually seeing four or five women at a time. Only the pregnant woman can become his wife and know the secrets of the Conionne noble family. My mother was such a woman." "However, women like that don't live long in Conionne, so my father sent her away. She's now living a comfortable life in a remote town."

This explanation only confused Clayton more, so Lydia had no choice but to continue explaining.

"Don't misunderstand, no one wants to kill them. The reason they die young is due to anxiety. Even if these mortal women who join the clan can accept their husbands' secrets, they cannot adapt to life within the werewolf clan. They don't understand our language, they are not used to our food, they cannot participate in our conversations, and even their religious beliefs are different. Over time, this will cause them to become ill from worry."

"Like my mother, I love my parents as much as any child would, but there are still obstacles between us."

“Since I was born, she has been very patient with me, teaching me to walk, read, and talk, and telling me bedtime stories every night. But after seeing how I enjoyed eating raw cow heart for the first time, she began to feel aversion towards me. This fear grew and even seriously harmed her health.”

“She was stronger than other human women, but she still couldn’t accept that I, the child who crawled out from between her legs, the daughter she had carefully taught all along, had naturally grown into a monster she couldn’t understand.”

"That's why I said we shouldn't care about her attitude. She doesn't understand our race and can't express her own opinions."

This is human nature—a natural fear of things we cannot understand.

Clayton felt sorry for Lydia and her mother, and couldn't help but worry about himself.

Will his old friends and family be able to fully accept his changes?
Triss felt she had seen through him; Donna tried to understand but couldn't; Joe Manny saw him as a formidable savage with a wolf's head; the friends in the treehouse and some distant friends were unaware of his change; Norris, on the other hand...
The thought of Norris brought him a sudden sense of comfort.

There's always a friend who's worse off than him; at least he hasn't lost his name and identity.

A few minutes later, the small boat finally drifted to the North District, and Lydia showed him another surprise—a set of Lind's clothes was hidden in the trunk of the boat. Her father was about the same size as Clayton, so Clayton wouldn't be without clothes to wear until he found his luggage.

Before parting, he and Lydia agreed to meet at least twice a year, using a local address unknown to other werewolves as their rendezvous place and transit point. He then took the opportunity to ask about what he had originally wanted to know from Conionne.

His two henchmen weren't eaten by the werewolves of Conionai; their bodies went their separate ways. Ginger, considered a coward by the Conionai, was thrown into the cemetery, easily concealed because he was an outsider. Edgar, though not having undergone the blood-offering ceremony, had already lost his human form; his deformed skeleton was too unsightly to be displayed, so the werewolves moved him to the family cemetery.

Clayton finally breathed a sigh of relief after understanding the matter clearly.

With that, he had no more worries.

In the second minute of the clash between Conrionae and the militia on the northern front.

The arc generators placed inside the building and at the alley entrance were very effective. Three werewolves were struck by the high-voltage current and immediately lost control of their bodies. Smoke rose from the surface of their fur after being electrocuted, and their enormous bodies rolled and fell in front of the militia. According to training, they should have been surrounded by dense gunfire the next moment, but the werewolves reacted even faster.

The wolves howled at the same time.

The resonant roar shattered the glass of nearby buildings layer by layer, and the human ear was also struck in the same way.

The well-trained militiamen were thrown into disarray by the shouts, their minds going blank. Some even lost their hearing, rendering the whistles and chants used to control them completely ineffective. They were unable to form ranks and fire in formation as usual; the gunfire was sparse and chaotic. More werewolves pushed forward to cover the wounded werewolves as they retreated.

The shotgun shells, which were widely issued to the militia, did prove effective. Shotgun shells were much more useful than single rifle bullets; they could immediately stop the werewolf's movements, and the small pellets, lacking penetrating power, would remain in the flesh and cause continuous burns.

After the militia lost 15 men, six werewolves were confirmed dead.

The results sound impressive, but that doesn't mean they can maintain that kill-to-lose ratio. The six werewolves were killed by the ranged units with the highest morale and their bullets loaded. Once the werewolves get close and the fight gets close, the situation will take a sharp turn for the worse.

Conionnei had become alert because of the casualties, and they kept moving, continuing to roll forward like a black wave, regardless of the casualties.

However, some observant people noticed that behind the wolf pack, there were always some werewolves who did not participate in the battle. They would take the opportunity to drag their seriously wounded companions back when the battle line was pushed forward. The werewolves that were attacking fiercely at the front served as their cover, preventing the soldiers from finishing off these wounded.

Before long, those werewolves knocked down by the shotgun will be able to make a comeback.

The gunmen here are undoubtedly skilled, but hitting a fast-moving werewolf in a vital spot is still not easy.

Conionai's werewolves are not confined to ground combat; they can climb—clawing their sharp claws into the exterior walls of buildings before leaping over to attack from all sorts of angles, keeping gunners unfamiliar with their fighting style constantly on their toes.

The snipers responsible for covering the ground troops were also ineffective; their bodies fell from the building one by one, and they were killed at an incredible speed.

Some people tried to see what was happening upstairs, but all they saw was a cloud of black smoke with an evil aura dancing around.

Morale is plummeting.

Let alone repelling Conionai, this force would have a hard time holding out for even ten minutes.

But the supporters of the Holy Grail Order remained unmoved.

Saisu chuckled and waved to the soldier beside him, signaling him to drag the bodies of his fallen comrades to the wagon carrying the magic cauldron.