Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 500 Legendary Stories (Part 2)

"A werewolf fighting a huge group of monsters? How could you have such a bizarre dream?"

The brown-haired woman shook her head, as if asking for an answer.

But both she and Dolby knew that no matter what Dolby said, she would never change her mind.

She stared at Dolby sitting on the edge of the bed, staring intently, but as soon as Dolby actually started to speak, after only two words, she immediately grabbed her bag, turned around, and pushed the door open. The wind blowing in as she opened the door stirred up some of the papers scattered on the floor, and after she closed the door, they drifted down like fallen leaves.

"It's over, it's all over." Dolby covered her face and collapsed onto the bed in despair.

He risked his life to spy on the entire battle between the werewolf and the monsters, thinking he could sell the news for a high price. However, several fierce-looking men came to his door, pointing guns at him and warning him not to publish any text related to the incident. They then left him some money as hush money.

Damn it, he only told no more than five people about the fact that he had documented the entire process of this earth-shattering battle.

After witnessing the battle, Dolby felt unsafe even at home, so he ran to a nearby church that was still lit up for refuge. There were other people like him who were afraid; they didn't know what had happened, only that they had heard gunshots and sporadic screams in the distance. To pass the time, seek comfort, and also out of a sense of pride, he mentioned the incident to them, which must have been noted down at that time.

Thinking about this, it was too late for Dolby to regret it.

Even though the officials and priests knew it was true, his girlfriend didn't believe him, and he couldn't prove himself. Now his career has failed, and even his girlfriend has left him.

Dolby received only one pound as hush money, equivalent to ten consecutive days' wages at the newspaper he worked for.

It doesn't sound like a lot, but Dolby doesn't just have one job. It's common for someone like him to have three jobs at the same time. He often writes four-panel satirical illustrations for the joke pages of magazines and occasionally helps illiterate people write letters. Otherwise, his income would be no different from that of a manual laborer.

This amount of money was only enough for him to pay last month's rent.

If he could actually report what he saw and heard in the newspaper, he would earn far more money than this.

Dolby scratched his face in pain, then spread his hands out, resting them on the thick stack of papers. He grabbed one at random and held it up to his face. It depicted a man swinging his cane to lift a strange-looking lion. Although he had only sketched a few lines due to time constraints, the simple lines still created a vivid image.

The fingernails on the hands holding the paper were stained with ink, and there were thick calluses on the side of the middle finger.

He once tried to join the ranks of painters, working part-time to support himself and teaching himself painting. Because he couldn't afford paint, he could only practice sketching with a pen and pencil, hoping to study oil painting after entering the academy. However, when he finally gained admission to the art academy through special admission based on his solid drawing skills, he was discovered to have color blindness, which was regarded as a major defect by the academy's teachers, forcing him to return home in disgrace.

After returning, he tried his best to become a writer, but things didn't go smoothly. Writing articles for newspapers became his last job.

He was already tired of doing it.

"Why do I always fail?!" Dolby threw the painting aside again and shouted in anguish, his lonely voice echoing in the empty bedroom.

Now he doesn't even have a woman who would scold or nag him anymore.

Realizing this, he sat up abruptly, staring at the scattered drawings on the bed and floor. He had a poor memory and was not good at writing, so he made those sketches to help him recall events and stimulate his imagination.

Werewolves fight lions with human heads, werewolves fight beastwomen, werewolves fight snakewomen, werewolves fight headless horsemen, and werewolves fight giant demons.
Although they are not colored, each one is lifelike and exquisite.

But it was still a failure.

For a moment, Dolby wanted to burn them all, but he quickly suppressed the thought.

Regardless of their success or failure, they remain, in his eyes, a testament to his hard work and pride.

With his last attachment gone, Dolby's mind could finally serve him completely. He picked up the paintings and examined them closely, reflecting on everything that had happened the night before, hoping to find the remaining value in these manuscripts.

That night, he drowned his sorrows in alcohol on a high-rise scaffold in Cocoon Street, hoping the moonlight would bring him madness and inspiration, and that's when he saw what happened next.

The werewolf first fought the mummy in human form, then fought the snake woman and a creature that appeared to be human. At that time, it was still in human form, and Dolby couldn't see its face clearly. The short stick or hammer weapon in its hand was sometimes used to parry and sometimes to swing and strike, fighting like an ancient knight, while a pale flying object hovered and howled above their heads.

Unfortunately, his eyesight wasn't very good, and he had been drinking at the time, so he couldn't see many things clearly, which is why he had to draw pictures to remember them.

Then new enemies appeared one after another, and the werewolf finally abandoned his human form and used his most powerful body to fight them.

It clashed with its enemies, and with its brute force far exceeding that of humans, it crushed the ground, smashed through walls, and even used roadside trees and streetlights as weapons in the battle.

In The Enemy of the Werewolves, the headless knight who fought with human martial arts left a particularly deep impression on Dolby.

As the longsword, gleaming with silver light, spun around, trees along the roadside, some as thick as an adult man's calf, snapped as easily as hollow straws.

These monsters surged forward one by one, their purpose unknown, yet they naturally engaged the werewolves in combat.

Looking back now, Dolby was indeed bewildered. It was the first time he had seen these supernatural creatures active before his eyes, and after the initial shock came curiosity. To be honest, the recent chaos in the city had also made him wonder if some supernatural entity was stirring up trouble behind the scenes. The most suspicious guy was undoubtedly Conionne, who had recently moved to the North District—he had gone to Bodalabic a few months ago in search of news, and although he hadn't found anything, the old horror stories there still lingered in his memory.

However, he mentioned these things to the monks in the church last night, but they did not provide any answers. Now he has to find the answers himself.

Dolby picked up the paintings and laid them out on the bed one by one, looking at the images while constantly searching for information from his memory. Whether it was the fighting style or the physical appearance, everything was being reviewed again and again in his mind.

The drawings on the paper seemed to come alive again with his imagination. After a considerable amount of thought, he had no clue about the purpose of these strange creatures—he could only match six of them with creatures he had heard of from folk tales: mummies, Lamia, Mantikora, werewolves, headless horsemen, and Krampus. Their origins were varied, their habits differed greatly, and there was no consistency among them.

But a strange detail surfaced from beneath the water, drawing his attention to it.

They are always fighting in the streets.

This sounds ordinary, but it is actually a very strange thing.

He already knew the strength and speed of these monsters. Destroying public facilities was no different for them than eating two crispy cookies. Brick houses were not very sturdy for them either. That was why it seemed strange that they insisted on fighting in open ground.

The only monster that damaged the building was a werewolf, which flung Mandikara towards the pharmacy and used the building's sharp edges as a knife to cleave Mandikara's hard skull.

But after that, no monster destroyed the building.

Dolby wouldn't have been able to watch the whole thing if they hadn't been fighting in the open streets the whole time.

The streets are mostly lined with residential buildings. If they fight like werewolves and Mandikella, it will inevitably affect the residents inside the buildings. It is highly likely that they will either crush or kill the residents themselves.

Through her recollections, Dolby was astonished to discover that the cause of this phenomenon was none other than the werewolf.

It was the only monster to destroy the building, but the building was an abandoned pharmacy, which then stopped other monsters from continuing to destroy it.

Whenever two monsters are locked in combat and approach a residential area, even if the situation is extremely tense, it will drag the other away with it. If the battle is not so intense, it will move to an open space away from buildings to lure the other away. Regardless of whether it is at a disadvantage in the battle, it always controls the position of the battlefield, keeping it away from ordinary people's residences, and it does not invade anyone's home after the battle ends.

A strange feeling arose in Dolby's mind, making him want to describe the werewolf as a mother who catches her baby when she falls.

Such cautious behavior is hard to describe as rational, and rationality is also difficult to maintain in long and frequent battles. It is a huge test to deliberately maintain this fine-tuning.

It can only be called instinct.

This werewolf instinctively wanted to protect the lives of civilians from the impact of the battle.

This unconventional idea is like a spark from striking flint; it lands on flammable material and quickly expands into a flame, sparking emotions, inspiration, and many other feelings.

The werewolf is good, the other monsters are bad—Dolby suddenly realized.

This may still be a baseless guess, or he may think that the unusual behavior is just an incredibly magical coincidence, but at this moment he firmly believes that it is the truth.

Although he knew nothing else, knowing this was enough.

Dolby knelt on the bed, the images on the paper still moving in his eyes. The werewolf danced and fought vividly in various poses. The white paper carrying it and other monsters was like a boat sailing along the river of inspiration, breaking through the barriers in Dolby's heart.

He suddenly realized that these works were not without value.

The thugs only threatened him not to publish what he had seen and heard the previous night in the newspaper, but did not impose any other restrictions.

He could have completely ignored the newspaper, not said that this was a real event, and presented these pictures to the public in another form.

The truth isn't entirely important; he still doesn't know why werewolves fight other monsters. But it's precisely because he knows nothing that his imagination is stirring, like saliva gushing out after tasting vinegar.

Those sketches began to multiply into more images in his mind.

Moved by inspiration, a story of good werewolves fighting monsters gradually took shape, propelled by a stream of inspiration.

Realizing this, Dolby jumped out of bed, ran to his desk, grabbed a pen and paper, and began to write and draw, wanting to preserve what was in his mind forever.

Yes, his writing ability may not be good enough to make him a proper writer, and this not-so-short story cannot be contained in the magazine's maximum of eight panels. But what if he combined the two and then lowered his standards to just write an illustrated children's book?

He absolutely has that ability!
New pictures and new words took shape under his pen.

They are hastily drafted and simplified, awaiting secondary revision, but the main framework is already clear.

Dolby spent two hours completing the story. When he finished, the table was piled high with drafts. The approaching twilight sunlight pierced through the gaps in the curtains like golden arrows, and a feeling of exhilaration and satisfaction welled up within him.

He was overjoyed, feeling better than ever before. He no longer cared whether it would succeed; the satisfaction of this moment was his reward.

Dolby stretched and yawned for a long time before realizing he hadn't named the piece yet. He then uncapped the pen and took out some paper.

Werewolf.
Suddenly realizing that the church might not like the name, Dolby crossed it out and started a new line.

The Adventures of Gerald the Black Wolf

(End of this chapter)