Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 519 Food Chain

On his way to find another entrance to the dungeon, Julius was stopped by some familiar faces.

His body was barely clothed and covered in scars.

Even at night, it was clear that they were ascetics from the Brotherhood of Sincerity.

They didn't seem to be waiting for anyone, but rather were ordered to guard this position; it just so happened that the male wizard ran into them.

But is it really just a coincidence?

Julius became nervous.

The ascetics are a tough opponent; bullets won't hurt them unless you hit a vital spot.

He wouldn't let his guard down just because these people belonged to the church. These ascetics were theoretically affiliated with the church, but in Weodia, they were already under the control of the Muhammad Religion, and Abigail had visited them not long ago.

"Has the Sincere Brotherhood also sided with the Witchcraft Society? I thought you were believers in God the Father."

“We certainly believe in the Father, but we follow the path of the scars,” replied Brother Nottigol, who had met Julius at the police station and was the one who identified the sorcerer.

“Even if it means cooperating with demon worshippers?” Julius tried to rouse their conscience, but all he saw were calm faces.

“As long as he has the path we need,” another ascetic replied.

"Was it Abigail who told you that you were needed here?"

The ascetics did not answer this question, but the eldest of them spoke slowly: “We need this exchange. It is the convergence of different paths of flesh and blood, and it is all worthwhile in order to hear the complete teachings of the Father. If we can complete the convergence of paths and reach the state of the Incarnation, we will be closer to the Lord than anyone else.”

The wizard turned and ran.

He finally understood why the orthodox church's clergy regarded them as heretics, since these ascetics placed the Way above God.

The ascetics followed closely behind.

Hearing the footsteps behind him, Julius began to control his speed. Clayton's wolf blood was still circulating in his body and had not been metabolized, but this power would not last long, and he had to make good use of it.

A sense of awareness seeped from his head, expanding backward to discern the location of the ascetics behind him.

But these ascetics seem to possess the same senses as wizards. Once enveloped by psychic awareness, they become cautious in their actions, and it is actually fine if they do not use their psychic awareness.

One of them shouted triumphantly, "Wizard, we can feel your telekinesis, because you are inside our vast bodies!"

Julius didn't have time to correct his mistake of mistaking psychic awareness for mental power; he simply learned his lesson, abandoned psychic awareness, and focused his mind on following the guidance of his five senses to discern their orientation.

It's not a wizard's method, but it works very well.

The benefits of wolf blood are straightforward; he has never felt the world to be so simple and clear, only that it has deteriorated compared to when he was first injected, and the power of the blood is waning.

His extraordinary hearing told him that only four people were close behind, while the others had fallen several paces behind. This boosted Julius's confidence—the ascetics' extraordinary abilities did not actually enhance their physical bodies much.

Perhaps he's stronger in one-on-one situations?
Julius slowed his pace slightly, and as soon as the ascetics behind him approached, he turned around and delivered a side kick.

Although he didn't know any fighting techniques, his sheer strength was enough to shatter the wooden crates used for transporting goods on the dock.

Julius's foot landed on the ascetic's chest, but it felt as if he had kicked a wet tree trunk that had been soaking in water for a long time. It only made the ascetic stagger, and he even had the strength to reach out and grab his leg.

He hurriedly retreated, cursing these hateful "heretics" in his heart.

They abandoned all sorts of ingenious secrets and devoted themselves solely to ascetic practices in exchange for this formidable defensive power.

The only saving grace is that the Brotherhood of Sincerity does not pursue combat ability; they focus on asceticism and do not spend time learning any fighting skills, just like Julius.

Julius may be stronger than them at this moment, but not by much. To hurt them, he would have to start with those exposed, unhealed scars, the parts where they draw energy. But how could someone who is not very good at using melee weapons penetrate those twisted, tiny scars while in motion?

If he were a werewolf, he could use his strength to forcefully suppress his opponent, which would be much simpler.

Clayton was in the brothel.

The wizard turned and fled towards the location of the brothel.

Rounding a street corner, he slowed his pace, using the building wall as cover. He stealthily drew a dagger made of animal horn from his pocket, then turned and pressed himself against the wall, controlling his breathing, waiting for the first person to bump into him.

He had been away from the brothel for fifteen minutes, and it would take him another fifteen minutes to get back. He also didn't know how long the effects of the wolf blood would last.

He had to eliminate the enemy himself.

Even one would be good; it would at least serve as a deterrent to those who follow, making them cautious and hesitant to go all out to catch up.

The sound of footsteps approached from the other side of the wall.

10-digit, 9-digit, 8-digit
Julius timed his move perfectly and lunged forward, colliding with the pursuing ascetic. He wrapped his left arm around the ascetic's neck and pulled him towards himself, trying to keep their bodies pressed tightly together, while his right hand wielded a beast-horn dagger, stabbing the ascetic rapidly and repeatedly.

When the distance is so close, it doesn't matter if psychic awareness is perceived.

He unleashed his psychic powers, pinpointing the location of the scars on the enemy's body.

The blade cuts through the skin but cannot penetrate; the rough yet soft feel is nauseating.

The ascetic was not a dead man after all. Even though he was caught off guard by Julius’s sneak attack, he began to struggle after he reacted. The burns and puncture wounds twisted and turned on his skin with the movement of his muscles. Even with the accelerated nerve response, Julius’s blade could not accurately hit them. He made seven cuts in a row, but they only slid away on the skin around the wounds.

The ascetics' counterattack was also swift and fierce.

At the end of the seventh strike, Julius was pushed away, then received a vicious blow to the face. Pain and warmth converged at one point, turning into a spurt of blood from his nose. Then the ascetic grabbed his neck and forced him backward until his back slammed against the cold, hard brick wall.

Anger burned in his chest, and Julius swung his hand back at the ascetic who was gripping his own arm—the only thing he could hit.

The ascetic used this arm to control him, but in doing so, he also controlled himself. The blade found the wound on the no longer moving limb, burrowed in, then slid, widening the gap, and cleanly slicing off a large chunk of flesh as if peeling an apple.

The members of the Brotherhood of Sincerity possess incredible endurance due to their usual methods of training, but some things are beyond their control.

With the loss of flesh from his arm, his grip strength decreased, and Julius took the opportunity to break free.

The ascetic raised his hand again, his threat had diminished. The wizard and the ascetic fought for only five or six seconds, but the wizard's memory failed him in calculating how many times he had struck and how many times he had been struck.

Neither of them were skilled in combat techniques. Compared to the battle between the werewolf and the prophet's guard in the brothel, their fight was more like a battle between wild beasts—clumsy but fierce.

Pain coursed through the body, patch by patch.

Julius felt like he was a tree, his bark cracked but his inside still strong.

Spurred on by his own imagination, he gritted his teeth and endured the ascetic's fists, continuing to search for his vital points with his dagger.

As they struggled, his companions caught up. Julius's mind went blank, yet in the stillness of the moment, a strong sense of gambling thrill arose within him. He didn't try to break free; the dagger continued to fall, one strike after another. He was gambling that he would kill his enemy before the other ascetics caught up.

The ascetic also heard his companion's footsteps. He stopped attacking and instead grabbed Julius's clothes tightly, preventing him from leaving.

A wrong choice.

The wizard's slowed movements gave him an opportunity; the horn dagger pierced the ascetic's chest wound, then passed between his ribs and into his lung. His grip on Julius's coat quickly weakened, and Julius ripped the coat from the ascetic's grasp, nimbly rising to his feet and fleeing once more.

The dead ascetic's companions were less than five yards away from him, but could only watch helplessly as he escaped, like a shepherd watching his lamb being carried away by a wolf.

Julius could understand the thrill of being a wolf to some extent.

Although the bluish finger marks on the neck are an unpleasant souvenir, the cut was effective.

After passing their companions' corpses, the ascetics stopped their recklessness and huddled together in pairs. Julius had no chance against two of them, but their caution slowed them down, allowing Julius to continue leading the race.

Driven by the crisis, the wizard returned to the brothel faster than expected and heard two gunshots from inside.

He hesitated for only a few seconds before three people emerged—two men dragging a woman dressed as a man, who came face to face with him. The woman had long red hair and a beautiful face, but she was blind; her left eye socket was even empty, completely missing the eyeball. "Abigail!"

Julius was panting, and as his tense mind relaxed slightly, he was so surprised that he didn't know what to say. He only knew that the gun at his waist finally had a use.

The prophet's guards hadn't anticipated an enemy outside, standing thirty yards away. The fact that their eyes weren't glowing indicated a lack of night vision—this was the perfect opportunity. The Soul Reaper's magic stimulated his senses; even though he had just expended considerable energy, he completed the sequence of drawing his gun, aiming, and firing in a split second.

The guards didn't have time to react, but the woman they were supporting, though blind and missing an eye, had foresight.

She struggled to break free from the guards' grasp and narrowly avoided the bullets even as Julius drew his gun.

Abigail was now unable to contain her rage, and her fury was no less than that of any tyrant in history.

The humiliation of being defeated by the werewolves was still fresh in her mind, and now another person was shooting at her.

She couldn't see the enemy, but she could clearly sense that it posed an immense threat, larger than a werewolf, almost her natural enemy. Yet, her intuition told her that this enemy seemed weak to her guards.

The consequences of performing continuous divination on the werewolf, followed by the use of forbidden magic, surged up. Her cursed and corrupted mind trembled, and frenzy gnawed at her nerves, climbing up her tired spine. She almost vomited and was unable to make any more accurate divinations.

"Kill him." After a split-second decision, she gave the order again.

Killing a human was more in line with the female prophet's expectations than killing a werewolf, so this time they attacked without hesitation.

Fortunately, one of them still had his pistol loaded but hadn't fired it yet.

Now the pistol has fired.

But under the cover of night, Julius also dodged the gun barrel by sidestepping, the bullet grazing him and hitting the ground, the scene almost exactly the same as the prophet's dodging of bullets, which surprised the prophet's two guards.

“Don’t panic,” Abigail said wearily. “Draw your swords.”

Upon hearing the order, the two guards did not hesitate and carried her away in another direction.

This operation was extremely rushed; they didn't even have time to reload their silver bullets before engaging the werewolves, resulting in heavy casualties. Now, with another unknown opponent added to the mix, they cannot allow the prophet to continue taking risks.

Loyalty was met with screams and beatings, but the guards remained steadfast in their duties and acted decisively.

Julius took off to chase after him, but two hands suddenly appeared on his shoulders, forcibly dragging him backward.

The ascetics finally caught up.

"Okay, I'm going to die," the wizard thought.

But the next second, they let go of his hands and threw him to the ground.

The ascetics of the Brotherhood of Sincerity retreated in a strange formation—or rather, a collective consciousness born of shared emotions that drove them to perform the same actions.

A tall, black werewolf, its eyes covered, leaped out from behind the brothel wall, its movements light and silent, almost blending into the night.

Julius only noticed it when he sat up.

Okay, Clayton.

But Clayton's situation is not good.

Julius noticed that the werewolf's left paw and face were glued together by a fleshy substance, and its right eye was completely covered by this substance, rendering it completely blind.

The ascetics probably saw it too, so although they were afraid, they did not run away immediately.

They also saw this as an opportunity.

"Beside me!" Julius shouted. "It's the Brotherhood of Sincerity!"

Almost instantly, the werewolf tilted its head, pricked up its ears, locked onto Julius's position, and then crouched down, running over with its other three legs in a very uncoordinated manner.

Its movements are bizarre, yet it still possesses a powerful sense of strength when its limbs move, with its black back undulating like a torrent.

The ascetics held their breath and slowly retreated.

The werewolf approached, locking onto the nearest ascetic with its sense of smell. It stood upright and reached out its claws to grab him. The ascetic struggled in its beastly claws, which were so large that they covered almost a third of the ascetic's scars, weakening him and causing him to begin to injure.

But that's about it.

After a five-second standoff, sensing that his prey still possessed vigorous vitality, Clayton brought the body to his mouth and bit down on its head. Then, his free "right hand" grabbed the thigh and tore it downwards with force, the terrible sound of tearing cloth echoing from the ascetic's body.

The human body began to tear apart, and the scars that had given him strength could no longer protect him.

He was like a stamp, with the dense scars on his body being the perforations along the edges of the stamp. Although the skin outside his wounds was indestructible, the wounds themselves could be enlarged. When the werewolf began to exert force, he tore open along these perforations.

The blood-red contents spilled onto the ground as the container ruptured.

The ascetics of the Brotherhood of Sincerity scattered and fled.

The werewolf from the Bello family ignored them, discarded the corpse, and dragged Julius along to continue the chase after the fleeing prophet.

It ran at a speed that most humans could not match, quickly leaving behind the Witchcraft soldiers who had just appeared in Julius's field of vision and closing the distance between itself and the prophet.

The prophetess was struggling on the shoulder of a guard, hindering his progress.

"Stop running! I order you to stop!" she screamed, hearing the increasingly clear footsteps behind her. "If we can just hold them off for a little while, the Witchcraft Society can kill them all!"

It's true; a blind werewolf is still a beast, but a beast that can't see a hunting rifle is nothing more than a target. As for its wizard followers, they are insignificant in the face of multiple guns.

She finally persuaded her guards, and the two men stopped, put her down, and turned to draw their weapons.

Behind the two guards, Abigail raised her left hand, palm facing the werewolf.

The veins on her slender wrist swelled, and a black substance flowed through them, rushing towards her fingertips. Then, one after another, black moths broke through her fingertips and flew out, which was the forbidden spell used earlier.

This time, she sacrificed her left hand.

The swarm of moths flew toward the werewolf's feet, intending to prevent it from running.

Seeing the flesh and blood spell that had caused Clayton such a great loss, Julius laughed. He raised his right hand and pointed at the flying insects, which fell in swarms and merged with the soil.

The last time he used this ability was in Gevor, when he disabled an army of killer rabbits controlled by a witch.

"The Soul-Stealing School!"

After proclaiming Julius's origins, the prophetess abandoned her two guards and turned to leave.

The Soul Reaper school of wizards is the bane of remote manipulation spells. They can speed up or slow down the part of the mind that is separated from such spells, altering its frequency and making it unable to receive the spellcaster's remote commands normally.

Unfortunately, the prophets of the Temple of Truth all love this kind of spell because it doesn't require getting close or making contact.

Clayton couldn't see the prophet's expression, but he heard the tremor in her voice, and immediately burst into laughter.

"Go, Julius, you go kill her, I'll hold the others off!"

Julius rallied, and without Clayton needing to say anything more, he bypassed the guards and gave chase.

The two guards glanced at him out of the corner of their eyes, caught in a dilemma.

If they let Julius get close to the prophet, the prophet will most likely die, but if they dare to turn their backs on the werewolf and chase after him, they will be the ones to die next.

“Don’t hesitate,” Clayton reminded them.

"Face me now, or you'll regret not fighting harder when you're dead!"

Sorry for the lateness