Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 505 Old Acquaintance

“Mr. Bello, there must be a reason for you to be here so late, but I would like to say that there is also a reason for me and my men to be here. If you don’t mind—we’ll make our move first, and then you can make yours.”

Clayton fully understood the anger in Sheriff Albert's words.

On one hand, he could tell that the sheriff was currently investigating a case related to the union, and his presence here, chatting amicably with Chairman Wright, sent a bad signal. On the other hand, the last time Albert had put him in jail to calm down, his release was irregular, causing serious damage to the cell and even helping another prisoner escape.

Feeling apologetic, Clayton offered his chair.

He was going to stay here, and he believed that as long as the Friendship Society finally discovered the culprit who had taken the money, it wouldn't be a big deal.

Albert noticed this wary yet relaxed mood as well. The sheriff gave him a strange look, strode forward, pushed his chair aside, placed his hands on the table, and looked down at Chairman Wright, scrutinizing the Neremat's blond hair and long face. Two officers followed and stood guard on either side, their flintlock pistols already drawn.

After a few seconds, the sheriff spoke: "The Stargazing Society is your organization." This was not a question.

Clayton perked up his ears.

“This is the Western Workers’ Mutual Aid Association, not a stargazing club.” President Wright’s expression was sincere. The fact that the police officer wasn’t there to investigate the money actually made him feel relieved. “Officer, if you’re referring to our gatherings to look at the stars—we don’t consider that an organization. A few people who like to look at the stars getting together is like a few fishermen sitting in a nearby place; it doesn’t mean they’re a group.”

"Where did Weiod get the stars?" the sheriff asked casually. "I've lived in this city for months, and I've never seen any stars in the sky."

"Then you must not have looked up last night."

Wright remained calm. The duties of the union president were not simple. The various conflicts he had experienced daily had polished him into a smooth yet hard stone. Albert's current methods were not enough to intimidate him.

"Since the row of factories along the river stopped operating, the weather has cleared up considerably, and each night is brighter than the last."

Albert did not look up last night, but that doesn't mean he thinks Wright is alright. There are two things: stars in the sky and workers gathering to look at them. "What are a bunch of workers looking at the stars for? Don't you have anything else to do? Do you think wearing hats and basking in the moonlight will keep you from going crazy?"

“Stargazing is the cheapest hobby, officer. Besides, we are Nelimates, and we have a tradition of stargazing. Before becoming workers, we were all farmers. If we don’t understand celestial phenomena, we won’t know how to grow crops. Although we are in the city now, we can’t lose this skill. We will go back to farming in the future.”

“As for the moon madness,” Wright paused, turning his head to the right. The soft moonlight was now shining through the window again. If one squinted, one might mistake the undulating buildings for dark, overlapping mountain peaks. “As you said before, the weather in Weodi has never been very clear. We have only been exposed to the moonlight in the last few days, and we have all been wearing hats. I think it should be fine.”

“But you didn’t do this on a whim.” Albert pulled his right hand back from the table and stretched it behind him. The officer next to him immediately shoved a pair of long binoculars into his hand.

"I heard you have six of these here. Is it really necessary to get so many binoculars just for a hobby? Wouldn't it be more appropriate for your income level to use one binocular in rotation?"

As Sheriff Albert questions him, Clayton also begins to re-evaluate Wright.

Labor unions, gangs, and associations are almost inseparable partners.

Even though Wright was a member of the Society, he still had faith in him. Before the attack on Warehouse 96, Wright had advised the lieutenant not to kill for money. Although everyone knew the situation was not easy to control, at least at the time he was sincere and hoped to prevent it.

The Western Workers' Mutual Aid Association could not possibly be a gang, otherwise the Friendship Association would have had a reason to arrest them long ago when they were marching and speaking out for tremor patients.

But stargazing is indeed not a good hobby—at least not in the eyes of most people.

Astronomy cannot possibly be unrelated to magic.

“This is a telescope used on the ship. Many of the brothers in our association work in shipping. Because of what has happened recently, it is the off-season for all industries. They have no work, so they are willing to lend us the telescope.”

Chairman Wright's words were impeccable, yet they failed to dispel the doubts of others.

Especially in this era, law enforcement officers do not need solid evidence to carry out their duties; as long as there is a little suspicion, the police can carry out arrests.

Clearly, Sheriff Albert trusted his intuition more than Chairman Wright's testimony.

“I know what you do. I’ve seen criminals like you who pick out houses where the owners are away or alleys that are convenient for smuggling, and leave marks in these places for future use. When it’s time to commit a crime, one of them stands on a high place to observe and uses different colored cloths to imitate flag signals to signal his accomplices who have limited vision, guiding them to commit the crime.”

“The Western Workers’ Mutual Aid Society isn’t a criminal organization.” Wright sighed. “I admit we’re trying to learn astrological magic, but that’s not bothering anyone, is it? All sorts of strange rumors have been circulating since the year before last. If there were the opportunity to master superhuman powers, who wouldn’t want to try it?”

"Humph, I knew it!"

Albert breathed a sigh of relief: "Then tell me."

Hey!
It sounded like two stones colliding violently outside the window. Immediately afterward, the left-side windowpane shattered like liquid, and the sheriff's body lurched violently to the right.

"Get down!"

Almost simultaneously with the injury, he and Clayton shouted.

Albert fell to the ground, but Clayton didn't immediately lie down. He turned around, stretched out his strong arms, and pushed the two officers down before they could react.

Hey!
Another shot rang out. The lieutenant, who hadn't had time to duck down to save the person, was hit. He sat down, clutching his chest. Albert saw a red stain spreading across the white shirt beneath his open black coat.

“Southwest, four hundred yards away,” Clayton said with difficulty, then burst into a series of coughs.

Albert immediately roared out orders, commanding the officers downstairs to go after the gunman. At the same time, he crookedly crawled toward Clayton, using his only intact right arm, attempting to tear open Clayton's clothes to examine the wound before attempting to stop the bleeding.

"Damn it, the firing intervals are too short. Either there are two sharpshooters, or one sharpshooter is carrying multiple loaded guns."

The sheriff muttered angrily as he reached out his hand, but Clayton blocked it.

"I'm fine, cough cough cough cough." A large amount of blood gushed from the lieutenant's mouth, staining his beard and making people's hearts tremble.

Even knowing he was a werewolf with incredible regenerative abilities, Albert still questioned, "Your lungs might have been punctured. Are you sure you're okay?"

"fine!"

Clayton clutched his chest and coughed intermittently. After a few seconds, he suddenly stopped coughing, tilted his head back, and took a deep breath. Everyone around him could hear the gurgling sound of liquid flowing rapidly in his broad chest.

With a sudden downward movement of his head, he let out a violent cough, spitting out enough blood to fill a wine glass. Along with the blood, something strange flew out and was caught by him.

Lying quietly in the puddle of blood in the palm of his hand was a silver-gray lead bullet.

Albert suddenly gained a new understanding of inhuman lineage.

"Haa—" After spitting out the bullet, Clayton breathed a sigh of relief, then coughed again, but the situation was much better than before, and he could speak more fluently: "Thank goodness it wasn't a silver bullet. This guy is a real sharpshooter, hitting the target twice in a row from four hundred yards away."

He judged the distance of the gunman by the interval between hearing the gunshot and actually being shot; his extraordinary hearing and reaction speed enabled him to do this.

The blood that had left the body emitted a strong, pungent smell, but was quickly swept away by the cold air seeping in through the broken window.

The sheriff looked away from Clayton, his right hand covering his left upper arm. The pain from the injury finally caught up with him, causing a thin layer of sweat to appear on his forehead.

"That damn gunman must be after me. I started directing the officers to search the association members this afternoon, and they immediately sent people to retaliate. Ha, good marksmanship, but not very bright. Killing me won't stop the police."

“Officer, I think this proves my innocence, right?” Chairman Wright said across the table.

If he were an accomplice of the gunman, he would never dare to get so close to his target, after all, even sharpshooters make mistakes.

“I understand, but this isn’t over yet,” Albert said fiercely, or rather, he wanted to say it fiercely, venting his anger with a harsh tone, but when he saw the pupils of the glowing wolf eyes in front of him widening, his tone softened.

Canines have large pupils, which can widen at times, making them look innocent and reminiscent of a baby's eyes, giving the impression that they are approachable.

But Albert knew that the dilated pupils of these creatures meant they were in a state of excitement.

If it's a familiar domestic dog, it might just want to play, but if it's an unfamiliar dog or wolf, this is most likely the prelude to an attack.

The officers sent to capture the gunman returned quickly with unsatisfactory news: "Sir, the attacker has escaped. We couldn't catch him, but he left behind three rifles."

Upon hearing the officer's report, Clayton grinned. His handsome appearance made him seem like the approachable former, but the blood at the corner of his mouth indicated that he was the ferocious latter.

"Sheriff, doesn't this scene seem familiar?"

Reminded by him, Albert looked up sharply, his pupils dilating: "It is very familiar."

Even though Weaudi is now full of mercenaries, there aren't many people who can carry out such a clean and efficient attack. It just so happens that he happened to have seen it last time when he, Clayton, and Clayton's mysterious big shot friend were discussing life in a coffee shop.