Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 512: Advancing with the Times
"You mean the electrotherapy device? Your friend is really well-informed. It can not only regenerate severed limbs, but also restore a man's virility. Lightning is the power of the Father and naturally has sacred effects. With proper adjustment, its benefits to the human body are unparalleled by medicine. Even our diocesan bishop said it was good after using it—of course, he wouldn't say that to outsiders."

The members of the Witchcraft Society spoke with a grin, but their words had nothing to do with demon worship.

Not everyone knows the truth about their distorted beliefs. Many demon worshippers believe they are serving pure angels, only forced to hide because of suppression by the corrupt church and government. As for those methods of service—though contrary to secular morality—they were considered sacred by many religions in the past, which is perfectly understandable.

Clayton didn't explain anything to the other party, but instead asked them to show him the so-called electrotherapy device.

The electrotherapy device was set up in a secluded yet incredibly luxurious brothel in the North District. The floor was paved with marble and covered with red carpets. The walls were covered with oil paintings in gilded frames. The sound of music could be faintly heard through the entrance corridor.

It's hard to imagine that it exists in the North District.

Clayton had seen the building from afar before, but never imagined its purpose.

The ground outside the building was flat and open, with thugs providing security. But just two streets away, the environment was no different from the slum where Joseph had lived.

The front half of the brothel resembled a workhouse, but as they passed through this section, they came to a brightly colored hall filled with the scent of champagne and a strange, cloying aroma.

On the dance floor, a group of brightly dressed women and gentlemen danced intimately to the music of a band. Meanwhile, on sofas surrounding the dance floor, some drunken men lay back and rested, their arms linked with those of the prostitutes who weren't dancing, or sprawled across the sofas, their bare feet nudging these regulars as they watched the patrons on the dance floor with keen interest, seemingly observing their attire and considering how to snatch these wealthy patrons from their fellow prostitutes.

Several private rooms were set up against the wall in the hall, where men and women were either playing cards and laughing or smoking with intoxicated expressions, the smoke from their pipes filling the area with haze.

It smells like opium.

Clayton was very familiar with this taste.

In military hospitals, doctors used this drug extensively to relieve the pain of the wounded, and Joseph's mother and many ignorant but ailing people regarded it as a panacea.

Here, it is simply used as a tool for pleasure.

As he passed through this area, Clayton's eyes swept over the drunken men, all dressed simply and plainly in similar black suits—the standard styles most commonly found in ready-to-wear stores—but this was merely a disguise.

The private carriages parked outside were all painted black, but their very existence suggested that their wealth was not as simple as it appeared.

Clayton couldn't hide his stylish beard and waxed hair from his eyes.

Several young girls were squatting down, cleaning up vomit on the carpet. They were unremarkable in appearance, which was perhaps a stroke of luck.

Clayton saw some girls her age doing the same things as the older dancers on the dance floor.

It remains a life of extravagance, indulgence, and even sinful pleasure.

“Look at this gentleman, ah, he certainly deserves a look,” a member of the Witchcraft Society whispered in his ear.

It turned out that while Clayton was thinking, his gaze inadvertently fell on a drunk man with a sword, which the man mistook for Clayton's interest in the guest. This was not surprising, as the sword's scabbard was well-made and covered with elaborate and gorgeous gilding, making it look like a noble family heirloom. Its owner must have been extraordinary.

“He is Little Broad, Figo Hutton’s brother-in-law. He also comes here often for electrotherapy to treat his pelvic fracture. If you want to repair your relationship with the Friendship Society, you must befriend him. We can also introduce you to him when he is lucid.”

Clayton withdrew his gaze and nodded slightly.

“That sounds good, but hasn’t the recent situation affected you? I thought someone like Gentleman Brod would be staying at home right now, rather than coming to the North District, since Conionne is nearby.”

“It has absolutely no impact.” The member of the Witchcraft Cult who was leading the way continued as they walked, “The werewolves don’t care about this place at all, and besides, we’re fellow believers.”

Conionne probably wouldn't admit it, Clayton thought.

He didn't know what lies the higher-ups of the Witchcraft Society had fabricated to appease these peripheral members, but he knew the lies wouldn't last long.

“Let’s forget about Conionnai. Last night you robbed the Friendship Society members, aren’t you worried about their retaliation? Don’t the Hutton family have any complaints?”

His question amused the other person: "It's the small businessmen who need the big businessmen to join them, not the other way around. Besides, a businessman is a businessman. For those small businessmen, the Friendship Association is just an investment. Success is certainly good, but once they see that the possibility of failure is not small, they will become timid and stop working hard, lest they gamble themselves away with failure."

"Of course, the most important thing is that we didn't kidnap anyone. What happened last night was just a missionary effort. The path to truth is always paved with blood, but the good news is that those lovely young men have now accepted our teachings. Even if we tell them to leave, they don't want to leave now."

He whispered to Clayton amidst the drunkard's snores, "This isn't a conflict at all, so if you ask me whether our sect is on friendly terms with the Friendship Society, I'll say yes."

Clayton still wore a smile, but hunger was rising in his stomach, reaching his heart and throat. "Even if they send men to hunt you down?" he asked.

The demon worshipper sneered: "Just a bunch of stubborn fools. Who can those crows catch? Do they even dare to search this place? If they strike down those heretics who compete with us, that would be a good thing."

Clayton's smile grew even brighter.

Together they walked through the decadent prostitutes and their patrons to the restaurant in the brothel's atrium. The space overhead was uninterrupted, with no floor-to-ceiling partitions. The iron and glass structure allowed sunlight to stream in from directly above on sunny days (though sunny days were rare). Only four intersecting wooden beams spanned the dining area overhead.

A huge crystal chandelier hung from the wooden beams, and below were guests dining, enjoying dishes that were no less magnificent than those of the king.

Next to the restaurant were the kitchen and the guardhouse. The guardhouse was on the second floor, and the stair railings were waxed and gleamed with gold. Waiters and shift gunmen went up and down the stairs here.

After passing through the bustling front, the road behind the restaurant begins to become quiet and serene.

The pure white color scheme replaced the bright decorations, and the people who appeared looked increasingly rational.

Clayton saw a flat-chested lady emerge from a room on one side of the corridor. She wore a wide-brimmed hat with a veil over her face, walked hurriedly, kept her head down, and occasionally raised her hand as if to adjust her hat, but actually to cover her face, as if she was very reluctant to let others know that she was there.

The demon worshippers leading the way stopped, their gaze following her as she turned until her figure disappeared from their path.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” he asked Clayton.

"What's a pity?"

"This lady had a breast disease, so the doctor had to remove them. But can a woman still be considered a woman without those two treasures?"

Why would a decent woman come to such a filthy place if she didn't have an important purpose?

Clayton recalled the intelligence Julius had found: the Witch Doctors had stolen Orlanster's secret techniques, and perhaps they had indeed cracked some of the mysteries.

The demon worshipper spoke with a smile throughout, and if he were a salesman by nature, he would certainly be doing a good job: "Our high priest definitely has a way to help this poor woman. She is blessed by angels and now has three chambers. With faith and electrotherapy, it won't be difficult to restore a person who is completely missing."

"Do you really think electrotherapy can regenerate severed limbs? I've seen plenty of people die from electrocution." Clayton smelled ether, a medical anesthetic.

Although he hadn't seen the electrotherapy device that was being touted as a gimmick yet, he was certain there was an operating room here.

"Perhaps there are some auxiliary methods." The man smiled sheepishly and finally told the truth.

"Sir, even for a werewolf like you, regenerating severed limbs is not easy, let alone for humans. Even if some people can reconnect severed parts, there is a strict time limit. If the damaged part is already damaged, then there is no way to do it."

"It is impossible to compensate for one's own loss with other people's organs or limbs, not only because of size mismatch, but also because different people's blood will be incompatible."

“So, we came up with a new idea.” He gave a proud smile: “The inspiration came from a well-known fact—a woman can give birth to a complete human being, so why can’t she give birth to a single limb or organ?”

"If we can manage to have the injured person and that woman share a bed, the resulting offspring will have the same blood as the injured person. After some time of nurturing, allowing it to grow to the right size, the injured person can then fully reattach it. Of course, I don't know much, but our high priest will certainly be able to explain it clearly to you. This is truly a very worthwhile investment project."
Clayton hadn't been surprised before, but he was genuinely surprised now.

If witches don't use this opportunity to spread their religion, then this technology is actually a medical technology that benefits the public.

Even if some of Orlanster's secret information was stolen, the Witchcraft Society definitely made its own unique technological innovations—the part about reproduction is unique in the world.

"Even associations are keeping up with the times now?" he couldn't help but think to himself.

Just then, the door to the room where the flat-chested woman had just left opened again, and a naked woman with three breasts in front of her walked out. She was the high priest that the witch doctor had mentioned.

When she saw Clayton, her expression changed from confusion to surprise, and then to anger.

In just a few seconds, she used her demonic powers to read Clayton's intentions, and roared furiously as she raised her hand to cast a spell.

"Who let this mad dog in?!"

Content describing child prostitution was censored, but I don't understand what went too far in the original text.