Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 499 Legendary Stories (Part 1)

At four o'clock in the afternoon, Wei Aodi.

A pink airship hovered silently in the air.

Compared to military airships that are often over 300 meters long, this airship, which is only 110 meters long, is quite small. When it floats in the air, a person on the ground can just cover it with their thumb.

Although it was somewhat novel, it posed no harm and brought no change; it simply remained still. The people on the ground quickly learned to ignore it and continued to discuss what had happened the previous night in the southern part of the North District.

After most of the day had passed, these things were no longer a secret.

Although some people are unwilling to let the public know about these things, a complete blockade is impossible.

The men who left the militia and some residents who fled from the North District told their loved ones everything they had seen. The secrets were passed from one person to another and quickly lost their secrecy. No one could resist the urge to share the strange tales, especially those involving demons and monsters that could actually threaten them.

In the past two years, there have been more and more strange and unusual stories, and more and more people have begun to mention the "old sayings" passed down in their families.

The so-called "old sayings" are taboos that are localized or passed down only by one family.

For example, one shouldn't cut their nails at night, should turn onto their right side first when getting into bed, and shouldn't chase after naked women in the wild. These rules may be useless now, but at a certain point in the past, they were inviolable laws. People who pass down these old sayings may not understand their true meaning, but in this era where ghosts and monsters are becoming increasingly active, they remember them, retrieve them from the old history, and strictly abide by them, hoping that they will protect them as they have protected their ancestors.

When everyone begins to doubt the old sayings, it becomes less difficult to accept the existence of werewolves and demons.

There have been many major events recently. First, there were the very common disappearances, followed by frequent gunfights, the public exposure of infighting between societies, and the chaotic fighting at the West Wharf that turned the nearby river red. Then there were even more frequent violent incidents.

This week, another attack, dubbed the "Riverside Massacre," occurred. The threat of death was secondary; the wave of unemployment caused by factory shutdowns threatened every worker.

Major newspapers began to publish articles about the dangers of demonic beliefs, and the government began to offer rewards for those who were possessed by demons.

With these groundworks laid, and the bodies dragged out of the scene, what happened last night no longer raises any doubt that it was a hoax.

However, people have not yet reached a consensus on the facts and the truth, and even those who witnessed the scene have differing opinions.

Some say it was werewolves attacking the militia, others claim it was wolf-like demons, and still others say it was angelic retribution for an illegitimate government, because they saw gunmen kill some civilians before the battle.

Even more extreme, some believed that the people fighting the army were their own gods, and surprisingly, there were quite a few of them. As a result, it was not uncommon to see heretics of different faiths fighting each other.

The newspaper business was ten times better than before. The newly printed newspapers sold out before the ink was even dry. People with money bought one copy each, while those without money chipped in to buy one. From porters to bank employees, from construction sites to department stores, wherever there were crowds, people were talking about what happened last night.

Just like Peter and Big Jack are now.

Peter and Big Jack were two typical young workers, wearing dusty hats and dusty smocks. They did everything from tightening screws and carrying loads to carpentry. Because they were single and willing to endure hardship in terms of accommodation, staying only in rope hotels every day, they had some savings. Even with the wave of unemployment, they weren't too afraid. After buying newspapers, they even dared to take out some money to buy food for homeless beggars on the street.

They're already so poor, what difference does it make if they have a little more or a little less? That's their thinking.

The two were friends who met at the factory. Peter was from Weodie, and Big Jack was from the countryside in Bodallabic, but they had similar personalities and interests.

Their favorite thing to do on a daily basis is to look for opportunities to make money in newspapers and then imagine a bright future.

More recently, the focus has shifted to studying the societies and mystical influence of Weaudi.

This includes what happened last night.

They had been waiting for the newspapers to deliver the truth since early morning, but the most authoritative local morning paper made no mention of what happened last night, which greatly disappointed them. The afternoon paper also failed to report anything convincing and instead wrote a lot of gossip.

Now we're just waiting for the evening paper.

They finished their previous loading and unloading work at 3:30 p.m. and then waited at the labor market to rest.

Empty metal buckets piled up by the roadside served as their makeshift chairs. Many others refused to sit down, their gray coats gleaming as they leaned against the building's exterior wall, at most resting on one leg, as if afraid the person recruiting would miss them or find those who sat down lazy.

The vitality had been drained from these hardworking people. "It was the Conionai family; they're werewolves. We have a ton of proverbs about wolves where we're from, and everyone knows that going missing means 'being bitten by a wolf,' but no one dares to say it," Big Jack said confidently, a cigarette dangling from his lips, ash flicking down as he spoke.

But his companions clearly didn't believe this conclusion; everyone knows that country folk love to exaggerate.

“Konionai? Good heavens, you can’t say they did it just because they’re anti-government, or that they’re werewolves. I think it’s related to the Witchcraft Society; they’re everywhere and they’re infiltrated everywhere.”

Peter spoke of the Witchcraft Society with a mixture of disgust and curiosity: "A few days ago, someone invited my cousin to the Witchcraft Society. He came back pale as a ghost, and when we asked him what happened, he vomited all over the place and wouldn't say anything. After resting for two days, he said yesterday that he actually wanted to go again, and then he went out on his own. How can this be explained without the temptation of the devil?"

Big Jack tried to explain, "But it's a werewolf."

“Some people also said they saw snakes with clams, large white bats, and headless horsemen riding rickety horses. Blah blah blah.” Peter used an onomatopoeic word to express his disdain: “The city is a bit chaotic, but it shouldn’t be that many strange things have appeared. I would believe a single rumor, but all of them coming out at once? This city was fine when I was a child.”

He rummaged through his pocket, picked out a nut, and popped it into his mouth, chewing it with a crunching sound. "If you ask me, it's probably because of the criminals in the North District who rioted. Our prisons here are useless; all the criminals have been driven north. Even the unions don't want them, so they can only survive by committing crimes. As a result, the nobleman from Conionne came to the city to protest, happened to see these criminals, and started fighting with them. That's what happened last night."

“That’s not how it is, I know, really.” Jack said in a low voice, “It’s not just werewolves, I have a friend who lives in the North District who saw some corpses, they were definitely not human, nor were they any kind of animal created by nature, they looked like humans but were not human.”

“Maybe one or two people’s claims are true, but I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.” Peter shoved a handful of nuts into his hand. “At least we live in the West End, which is a bit far from those monsters and gangs. The militia hasn’t collapsed yet; people saw them returning in formation during the day. At least they’ll fight the monsters.”

“They won’t.” The voice came from a worker leaning against the wall.

Peter and Big Jack turned around and saw a face filled with both anguish and hatred.

The worker stood there, without a hat, his short black hair tangled and dirty, looking just as haggard as the others. But his standing seemed to carry a different meaning than the others—not only a need to attract attention, but also an intention to never fall.

Big Jack stood up and handed over the cigarette he was holding.

The worker didn't mind, took the cigarette and took a few deep drags, looking more energetic than before.

“I live on the edge of the East District and I saw everything that happened last night. I live next to the defense line set up by the North District militia. They won’t protect us; instead, they’re the ones who harm us. That’s where I escaped.”

As he spoke, the other workers waiting for jobs nearby turned around to listen quietly.

“Yesterday afternoon, these militiamen started setting up various fortifications. Neither I nor the others in the house recognized what they were. Until the evening, a gang member who had served in the military came home and immediately recognized who they were going to fight. He told us to leave quickly. I and a few of my neighbors thought we should get past these militiamen and go south to find a cheap hotel to spend the night.”

"I live alone, and to protect myself from thieves, I hide all my valuables in locked containers, and in more than one place. Of course, there aren't actually that many, but I'm worried that if someone breaks in, they'll just smash them open—soldiers are much more ruthless than thieves. So I planned to take these valuables with me. Just as I was unlocking each container, my neighbors came downstairs. They ran up to the soldiers, but were stopped, and then...and then..."

He said "then" twice, his face like a flickering point of light in the ashes of a nearly burnt-out pile of newspapers.

"They were shot dead by that bunch of bastards."

“This doesn’t make sense.” Peter pulled a new nut from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. “Why would they do this? I know they’ve been scoundrels before, but not to this extent.”

Big Jack said seriously, "They might have mistaken those people for enemies."

"If they were fighting monsters, how could they mistake people for enemies?"

"That's why I said their main enemy is the werewolf. Werewolves look like humans most of the time, but they turn into wolves at night."

"Then what about the other rumors, those snake women, those headless horsemen?"

“It’s true,” said a worker from the North District, the cigarette nearly burned out in his hand without him noticing.

“After seeing my neighbors being shot, I dared not go south, nor dared I go west, as that would take a long time. I didn’t have a hat; it was stolen by the people at the workhouse the last time I went there, and constantly shining in the moonlight might give me moon mania.”

"So I turned north and went to Cocoon Street, intending to spend the night there."

"There, I saw sights that many people could never imagine in their entire lives."