Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 514 Cleansing Flames
The wolf hunters, upon receiving the order, broke free from the prostitute's embrace without hesitation.

If we trace their origins back to the Witcher, they have a history even older than the Witcher, but a lack of cohesion makes it difficult for them to be considered a unified entity. The honor of fighting for humanity against werewolf rule in the distant past is also gone.

They are money-driven killers, more ruthless than armed detectives. They obey whoever can satisfy their desires, making the Witchcraft Society a good employer in that respect.

Currently, all five werewolf hunters employed by the Witchcraft Society are from the same school.

Yes, school.

The world's first school was a warrior's school. When the ancient sages discovered the pattern of the spread of secret power, the school was born. Students ate and lived together, used the same way of thinking, and underwent the same training. When one person obtained the secret power in the trial, the others had a higher probability of being "infected".

This is the only effective way to mass-produce secret-type superhumans.

With their mastery of the Blade Technique and seamless teamwork, even the Black Claw chieftain of Bodarabik might not be able to escape from their grasp.

The wolf hunters wore black trench coats, each with four flintlock pistols hanging from their chests, capable of unleashing a large amount of firepower in a short time. They also carried silver-plated scimitars at their waists. Without a doubt, they were all skilled swordsmen, perhaps not as good as the ascetic monk Marug from the grasslands, but certainly no less skilled.

They followed orders and walked through the courtyard, then along the white corridor to the sanatorium.

The priestess leading them stopped in the courtyard, locking the gate behind them. They continued onward, unmoved by the numerous disemboweled corpses and pools of blood along the way.
They stopped when a strange tremor caused them to shudder.

Feeling the tremor beneath their feet, the five werewolf hunters all frowned.

One of them spoke up: "Loretta has released all her savings? How are we supposed to find it?"

Another tall companion knelt down, pressed his palms to the ground, and used his superhuman senses to carefully perceive the runners with unusual strides: "It seems so, that werewolf is putting a lot of pressure on her. I haven't found the werewolf; it may still be in human form."

“You can tell by the height of the claw marks on the corpse,” said the wolf hunter with a crooked nose.

One person remained silent, while the last werewolf to speak licked his lips, revealing a bloodthirsty smile no less menacing than that of a werewolf.

"Heh, it disdains to use its full strength? It seems very proud. I like it."

They set off again, but at a slower pace, giving the previously overlooked, faintly sweet aroma ample time to engulf them.

Deep within the sanatorium, symptoms began to appear in the chimeras who had ingested the sweet aroma beforehand.

They had been running and searching for the scent of intruders in the clean corridor, but their once lithe and agile limbs began to weaken, and their erect feathers and scales became listless. An observer could easily see their movements gradually slowing and deforming; they could barely stand, their once fierce pupils becoming increasingly unfocused, and glistening tears overflowing from the corners of their eyes, making them look as innocent as newborns.

The transparent liquid, which had been spilled on the ground at some unknown time, evaporated rapidly, suppressing the central nervous system of those who inhaled it.

In this invisible poisonous gas, the smaller chimeras were the first to fall, followed by the larger ones. It was as if an unseen group of lumberjacks were felling these "trees" one by one according to their size.

Only a very small number of them escaped the calamity due to their special physical constitution, and then searched aimlessly for the enemies around them.

The Darkin "parents" who arrived behind them did not fall, because they were true believers who had participated in the Witchcraft Society. The ritual magic of the Inath had modified the believers' bodies, making them more resistant to drugs than ordinary people. This was so that they could take more addictive drugs and experience more forbidden pleasures in the world.

The cessation of the numerous footsteps caused the werewolf hunter team to stop again.

Just two minutes later, their consciousness began to wane.

“There’s a sleeping potion in the air,” said one of the werewolf hunters.

His irritable companion cut open his palm to test his pain, then impatiently flicked the blood off the dagger and sheathed it again. "Damn it, the Witchcraft Guild's supplies must have been stolen, and they're using them on themselves!"

The pessimistic werewolf hunter leaned against the wall: "Brothers, we didn't bring gas masks. Maybe we should go back."

The werewolf hunter, who had remained silent last time, was still silent this time, his expression suggesting he was about to faint—he had always been like this, making it difficult to judge how much he was affected at this moment.

“We can’t go back,” the last person said. “Loretta’s purchase included the right to use our bodies, and she deserves that.”

Once he said those words, there were no more objections.

But just as they were about to continue forward, the most beautiful sight they had ever seen in their lives was born.

A sheer veil, barely visible, swept across the floor from the end of the pristine white corridor, flying straight toward them. Under the scrutiny of their extraordinary vision, its texture proved impeccable; the material was more delicate than the curtains on the Queen's four-poster bed, lighter than silk, and more varied in color than the sunset.

It was a nearly transparent blue that would turn into a beautiful orange-red upon contact with a solid object.

It tumbled and swayed gently in the air, as if propelled by light ripples of water, making everything around it appear dreamlike.

But just a moment later, the rude guest who had arrived with the beautiful veil revealed his true identity.

That was high temperature and air blast.

An explosion occurred.

Not only werewolves, but the flames and shockwaves also engulfed the unconscious chimeras, darkin, and many members of the Lich King.

A deafening roar erupted from the first-floor sanatorium area.

Those hiding in the rooms were lucky; they had a chance to escape through the windows. But shortly after they escaped, the doors were torn apart by flames, and a surge of heat rushed in. Simultaneously, the parallel windows on the exterior of the building shattered, and the influx of fresh air fueled the internal flames, sending bright red tongues of fire shooting out. In an instant, the pristine white building transformed into a monster with a furnace-like belly, fifty-five mouths, each spewing flames. The deafening explosion alerted people in other areas.

Many men and women rushed outside to take refuge and watch the fire, while the drunkards who were slumped on the sofas, regardless of their status, were left unattended in the chaos.

Fortunately, the fire did not spread to other areas.

Clayton and Julius stood on the roof, feeling the commotion below.

No one could have imagined that the source of the explosion was just a match that Julius had just thrown down the chimney.

The Witchcraft Society had a considerable stockpile of ether, but it wasn't enough to start a large fire; they only poured the chemicals into the corridor.

The sanatorium's paving extensively uses stone and metal materials, limiting the availability of fuel. Once these materials, along with the ether itself, are burned out, the fire will subside.

There's still a while until the end.

Julius took a deep breath, then leaned against the chimney and dry heaved. Only after he had vented did he straighten up.

"I won't eat meat for the next two months."

Clayton remained silent, analyzing the noise of the burning flames, trying to hear how many living creatures were still inside the fire.

“Get ready,” he said to Julius.

"Some enemies must be dealt with personally."

Ten minutes later, the fire was extinguished.
Clayton leaped off the roof, while Julius slowly climbed down the ladder beside him.

Some members of the Witchcraft Society who did not yet know their identities tried to stop them, but Clayton simply glanced back at them, and the fear brought by the Evil Eye dispelled them all.

The male servants finally remembered their masters and busied themselves going back to move them away from this dangerous place. Before long, the carriages that had been parked in front of the brothel started moving and disappeared into the night as if they had never been there at all.

After the flames subsided, the sanatorium was no longer a pristine white; it was covered in black ash.

The high temperature had not completely subsided, and the scorching air distorted the scenery before our eyes.

As Clayton and his advisors walked down the corridor, sparks flew from the still-burnt window frames and disappeared into them.

Is there really anyone left?

Julius didn't ask that stupid question.

Since Clayton is taking this so seriously, there must be someone involved.

The wizard's intuition silently activated, searching the rooms on both sides of the corridor. The burned doors had turned black, perhaps broken, revealing half of the interior, but the rest were still firmly stuck in the door frame.

Without any communication, they swept through silently.

Julius stopped only when his psychic senses detected an unusual signal. Two corpses lay in the doorway of the room ahead, and the situation looked ominous.

Clayton clearly knew earlier than him, but he didn't stop for a moment.

The other party also noticed them.

The curved blade cleanly sliced ​​through the carbonized wooden door from the inside, producing a crisp sound like a dry branch breaking.

The three men who emerged from the room were smartly dressed and fully armed. They were remnants of the werewolf hunter squad, with large burns on their faces and arms, but they did not appear to be in pain.

Or perhaps they are not feeling pain right now.

Clayton's pupils dilated. The werewolves' state reminded him of Edwards' trick; they now looked no different from people whose emotions had been drained.

“Muscle memory,” Julius said. “This is a complex branch of the Blade Secret and Blood Secret.”

"The ether took effect, but their nervous systems are different from ordinary people. With the power of secret transmission, they reshaped their physical instincts and can fight even when they are unconscious, and can use their combat skills normally."

"You have seen the most perfect result of this detour—the headless horseman, except that it is dead, while they are still alive."

But the werewolf hunter and the headless horseman are still different.

Clayton calmly dodged the three bullets fired at him.

Despite facing a formidable foe, he still couldn't muster the fighting spirit, thus concluding that the witch priestess was still alive.

One of the three wolf hunters turned to Julius, discarding the pistol he had just fired and taking a second gun from his chest.

"I hate this kind of opponent."

Julius muttered as he took a step back, trying to hide in the next room. This was a complete waste of time. Before he could even dodge, the werewolf's body leaped out and slammed into the werewolf hunter, crushing half of his bones.