Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 524 Trade-in
"The Essentials of Swordsmanship of Master Feilongbao" is a collaborative work by four renowned ancient sword masters, but their high level of swordsmanship does not necessarily reflect their high level of writing skills.

One person writes everything like poetry, prioritizing rhyme over realism, while the other three seem like they've just graduated from elementary school. In addition, four different dialects and slang terms are intertwined in this sword manual, making it more complex and mysterious than the master's sword techniques themselves.

The book does contain illustrations of sword techniques and postures, but because it was written a long time ago, the illustrators at that time did not have a satisfactory grasp of the human body, so readers could not use the illustrations to correct their own postures.

Perhaps this is why no one has reprinted this masterpiece to this day.

The person who gave this book to me knows best how difficult it is to read.

“That’s normal. I didn’t understand it at first either. But I won’t help you. You’d better figure out how to solve this problem yourself. The moves in the book aren’t suitable for everyone. If your height and reach don’t match those of the sword saints, then you might need to make some adjustments. The process of trying to recreate the moves will constantly hone your swordsmanship. Once you know which methods are wrong, you’ll know which methods are right.”

When the topic of swordsmanship came up, Sir Jonard's face lit up.

He had taken the magnificent mansion they were in with his sword, and he had every reason to be proud of it.

“But you can’t just try any wrong path, can you?” Clayton said.

“Ah, young man, that’s a bad habit. Don’t take these old books’ misguided ideas seriously. They’re all outdated stuff. I find them too old to believe.” The gentleman took a glass of wine from the tray held by the waiter and walked to the window to savor it.

"Medicine has developed rapidly in the last two hundred years. Many of the detours that appeared in the earlier period were of little value. The valuable detours were either mastered by the church or by heretics."

"The deeper our understanding of the human body, the better the path we develop will be; it has always been that way."

He turned his head: "I see that your under-eye area is bluish and your body temperature is obviously elevated. Are you trying to harden your bones, so you've started taking metal powder?"

"Terrible perception," Clayton thought, holding the cake. "Exactly."

"【Steel and Iron Body】is an exception. It is both ancient and useful—provided you survive the poisoning stage."

After admiring the view out the window for a while, the knight said, "I have a special alloy material that I can give you. A while ago, an alchemist who served the Knights was trying to develop new armor. He left the materials he needed for forging with me. After the armor was made, there were some left over, so he left them with me as a storage fee."

"The gold, mithril, and water thunder essence mixed in here are all high-quality ingredients that can only be produced in the most advanced laboratories. The only problem is that the quantity is too small; it's not even enough to make a dagger. However, it's more than enough to establish a fork in the road."

Clayton accepted this new gift with equanimity, deeming it his due.

"There's also an additional reward."

“I hope to use this reward to pay off the favor I owe in Geva,” Clayton said. This time, he stopped the other man from continuing, fearing that the terms would be too difficult to refuse, and that the day he could repay the favor would be far off.

“As you wish.” Sir Jonard turned around. “I expected you to say that, but your contribution outweighs what we did last time. How about this? Many of the merchants in Weaudie will go bankrupt, and we will spend some time organizing the acquisition of their remaining assets. If you are interested in these properties, I will give you two options of first refusal. Even if you do not have sufficient funds at the moment, the items you fancy will not be sold to anyone else within a year.”

This is exactly what Clayton needs.

He has recently realized his own thoughts and is trying to explore some more challenging industries.

Having settled this matter, the knight raised his glass to him: "Now let's talk about something else. The mayoral election is over, and the new mayor is not our poor Philip. Although this doesn't stop us, we still have to do something proactive to prevent our interests from being harmed."

“You haven’t been back long, so you probably don’t realize that the city is recruiting police officers on a large scale. Judging from your skills, your military record must be quite good, which is a big advantage in the competition. If you’re willing, I can get you a high-ranking position in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. It would be good for both of us.”

It sounded like a good idea, but Clayton had no intention of getting involved and declined, citing his busy schedule.

The gentleman sighed and shook his head, utterly bewildered by his choice: "Your approach to business is completely wrong. You can simply delegate these things to others; you just need to have someone check the bills from time to time. If everyone did business like you, who would have time for vacations?"

“You’re right, but I just got off vacation,” Clayton replied.

Jonrad was taken aback for a moment, then a smile crept onto his face: "Ha, I underestimated you. Alright, go do your thing."

After parting ways with the Jazz, Clayton began making friends in this large house.

Sir Jonard's guests were not all members of the Presbyterian Church; there were other prominent figures as well. There were hardly any young people on such an occasion.

Considering his handsome appearance and friendly demeanor, and the fact that the host seemed to value him highly, and many people were willing to befriend him, it was not surprising that Clayton joined them, given that they had been discussing business.

These gentlemen were all amiable, but they all claimed that their profession was the most profitable, making it impossible for Clayton to discern their true intentions.

Clayton doesn't actually have a particularly good business sense, and he himself admits that.

One of his military friends lived with him in Asia for four months. It was their first time in the capital, but when Clayton left Asia, he could only reminisce about the time he spent with his lovers, while his friend spotted a business opportunity at a glance and made a fortune selling infant gas masks. Now he is a well-known figure in Asia.

These jazz guests may not have malicious intent, but it's something everyone is prone to unconsciously glorifying their own careers.

Clayton carefully discerned the traps hidden within the honey, seeking only stable industries that did not require gambling.

Among the chatting crowd, a gentleman with simple and unassuming manners caught Clayton's attention.

This gentleman is committed to entering another industry that he sees as more promising, but he is short of funds, so he plans to sell one of his food canning plants.

Clayton, a former soldier, was no stranger to canned food.

A famous military strategist once said, "How far our soldiers can go depends on how long their food can be preserved."

Even in peacetime, the military continues to procure these long-lasting foods.

Clayton's familiarity with military operations and his knowledge of how to contact the procurement department were significant advantages. If he could secure a position as one of the military's food suppliers, wealth would be within his grasp.

However, the factory is not small now, and taking it over would drain most of Clayton's cash reserves. The workforce in Sasha City, another major buyer of canned food, is gradually shrinking under the control of the Elders. If he doesn't get orders from the military, it may take many years to break even, which makes him hesitant.

He eventually exchanged contact information with the gentleman and decided to walk around the mansion a bit more to check things out.

Just as Clayton was passing through the front hall, he suddenly saw Julius appear there. The young wizard was carefully helping a very beautiful lady in a black dress through the crowd.

The woman's hair was the color of fallen leaves, and her exposed skin was an ivory pale yellow, making her look very healthy. However, she was weak in her limbs and was almost leaning on Julius. Otherwise, Clayton suspected that she would fall over at any moment.

As for Julius, although he was helping the woman, his expression was not very happy.

This group is really strange; people who see them either lower their voices or stop talking.

Julius was a reliable long-term partner, and Clayton was always a kind-hearted person to his friends. He immediately stepped forward, intending to ask his good advisor if he needed help.

Upon seeing Clayton, the wizard was overjoyed, as if he had found a savior. He dragged the woman to Clayton and tried to hand her over, but the woman tightened her grip on his shoulder, showing her refusal.

“Julius, this is…” Clayton was a little confused about the situation.

The woman began to speak, but she choked on her own saliva after uttering only one sound and started coughing.

Julius reluctantly spoke for her: "Gloria Garminion, my mother."

Clayton paused for a moment, and the woman with the leaf-colored hair took the opportunity to recover.

“My previous form is broken, and I’m not used to this new form.” She explained in a familiar but awkward tone, “According to the custom of human society, you should now call me by my new name, but if you’re not used to it, you can call me by my old name, and I will respond.”

"By the way, you should still recognize me, Mr. Bello?"

“Of course, Mr. Grogne,” Clayton said blankly. In the distant, but not too distant, Nightscream Fortress of Conrione, a ceremony was taking place.

The hall that was originally the Knights' Hall was emptied out, leaving only werewolves, their followers, and prisoners. Thirty humans had their throats slit by the executioners behind them at the same time, and their crimson blood pooled in the sunken stone magic circle on the ground, covering the old brown stains left from the last blood sacrifice.

A clump of living water floated in the center of the magic circle, constantly changing shape and struggling, but unable to break through the magical constraints of the two werewolf mages beside it.

This is part of the body of a water elemental lord, whose body is divided and exists simultaneously in the mortal world and the fairy realm. The connection between the two bodies is the key for the Kongionai to reconnect the two worlds.

The gates to the fairyland have opened once more.

Although the door is invisible, the werewolves have already smelled the fresh scent of another world.

The first Conioni will return, and they will be the first witnesses—a glory that even Opirus, far away in Weiodia, could not attain.

The green-eyed Kongionai present knelt down beside the corpse, their bodies trembling with excitement, their pupils dilated to the extreme. Even the red-eyed Kongionai was infected by them, kneeling solemnly on the ground.

Soon, the original Conionne emerged from the void, accompanied by one of his descendants.

The moment he stepped out, the elders living in the castle towers sensed it. They roared with ecstatic joy, no longer caring whether the ordinary people would notice the anomaly in the castle.

The howls of wolves echoed throughout Bodarabik, celebrating the return of their ancient masters.

This original Conionne was dressed in smart leather armor, with a sword at his waist. He had an ordinary appearance but a strong build, and he carried the aura of an ancient generation. His black hair and green eyes gave the Conionne people a sense of blood connection.

However, the only drawback is that his strength is not as invincible as the legends suggest, and the werewolves can tell.

Yes, this ancestor's strength was far inferior to some of his descendants. The fairy realm fixed his state when he entered, and his physical strength could only match that of the weaker elders. The previous clan leader, Shurien, was at about the same level, which calmed the green-eyed Kongionai a bit.

Conionne initially surveyed the Knights Hall, amazed by the number of his descendants, then listened intently to the howling wolves outside, a happy smile spreading across his face.

“I never imagined that Dagni and I would have so many children, enough to fill this room.”

The werewolf who accompanied him bowed respectfully behind him: "Your descendants are not limited to these, ancestor. There are seventy of them who remained in Bodarabik alone, not including those who are not yet formed. They occupy room after room, and this castle can hardly contain them anymore."

“But you are still in trouble,” the real Conionnay stated, his tone neither praising nor disappointed.

His composure in the face of danger rekindled the confidence of future generations.

"That's why we dare to bother you, hoping that your wisdom can guide us back to greatness."

“Yes, you already said that once before.” The leather-armored werewolf nodded, the sacrifice kneeling at his feet receiving no glance from him: “Where is the current chieftain, Opiros? I can’t command you behind his back.”

The kneeling, green-eyed Leonai raised his head: "You are our ancestor."

“But your chieftain is someone else.”

He was truly a very rule-abiding werewolf, even the green-eyed Conionne was surprised by it.

“Speak freely, my lord, for I am here.” The exceptionally tall, red-eyed werewolf stepped out from his clan: “I am Shurien, and I am honored to have served as the previous clan chief. The current chief, Opiros, is my son. He is busy with important matters in Weodia and has no time to spare, but he has ordered me to be in charge of welcoming you at Bodarabik.”

“Very well, good man. Then please answer a few questions for me so that I can assess the clan’s current situation.” The first Conionne, standing in a pool of blood, asked: “Are the paths to success still the same two—loyalty to the royal family or conversion to a religion?”

"Now there are three paths, with overseas business being a new avenue."

The clan's founder nodded: "I heard that our lord broke his obligations, so you drove his family away?"

"That's it."

"The Heraldry has not yet recorded our family?"

"Yes."

"Our enemy is the Citizens' Council?"

Shurien confirmed his question, while being amazed at how efficient his communication with an ancient person could be.

Why can't we deal with them?

“They are too rich. These people can hire mercenaries to deal with us. Although we have already achieved a great victory against them, it will not be easy to truly swallow this fruit. It is not allowed to seize other people's land now, and all kinds of financial contracts are managed by banks. Even if we win, we will get very little.”

Conionne clicked his tongue; this change left him quite disappointed.

"That's a shame. But perhaps we can try the connections there; I remember excommunication can strip a person of all their property."

Shurien finally felt like he was talking to an ancient man: "Times have changed, my lord. Excommunication is no big deal now. The Church has lost the power to confiscate citizens' property, and we can't get the Church of Weiodia to do it for us. In their eyes, we are heretics."

"heresy?"

The first one, Conionne, paled instantly. "How could we be heretics?!"

He seemed to have witnessed something unbelievable and infuriating, and a fierce aura, typical of seasoned warriors, finally surged from him, setting him apart from the Coniones of the present era.

“The way of faith in the orthodox church today differs from ours,” one of his descendants attempted to answer the question.

“Then let’s convert! We’ll convert!” said our ancestor Conionne decisively.

Conionai's reaction was far from pleasant. His gaze swept over his descendants, and he sensed something worse in their expressions and eyes. These things, once seen, were transformed into a different kind of cold indifference in his eyes.

This way of looking at the weak made the green-eyed Conionais tense up; they couldn't understand the change in their ancestors' attitude.

It made the original members of the Black Claw clan uncomfortable, but no one had the thought of rebelling.

Although the first Conionne was no longer the clan patriarch, his blood still flowed in their veins, and his laws exerted a force no less powerful on his descendants than those of Opiros himself.

“Don’t tell me you’ve really become devout believers,” he said coldly.

One of the Conionians dared to stand up: "Our ancestor, you were the first to be baptized, and we have simply chosen to follow your path."

The patriarch looked at him with disdain: "I was baptized in the orthodox church because it was the only way to become a nobleman; it was a transaction. You believe in heresy and get no benefits whatsoever. Now tell me, are we walking the same path?"

Many Conionne looked astonished by his groundbreaking remarks.

Unlike the green-eyed Coniones, Shurien felt a hard-won surprise. He had originally thought that the ancestors summoned by his green-eyed compatriots would increase the power of the conservatives, but for the sake of unity, neither he nor Opiros objected to the summoning.

In retrospect, this decision was absolutely correct.

“Sir, you are truly wise,” he praised sincerely. “I would like to know what advice you have for our current situation.”

“My advice is to stop lingering on the Weodie piece of meat,” Conionne said initially. “If necessary, even noble lineage and Bodallabic estates can be abandoned. From your description of the world, it seems that the power of merchants is rising while the status of nobles is declining, to the point that they can no longer even control their own land. If the world continues to develop in this way, we should focus on being merchants, not nobles.”

"Don't treat all assets as permanent, and don't take possession for granted. When starting anew is much easier than inheriting, don't hesitate, start anew," he earnestly advised the clan's descendants.