Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 569 The Dwarf's Short Story
After Julius left, Clayton also left home soon after, heading to the training grounds for the racehorses to check on things.

This place is located south of the city. Low, large stables are set up on a meadow surrounded by forest, where the competing horses currently reside. A large fenced-off pasture surrounds the area, where some competitors are warming up their horses at this time of day. Standing here and looking around, the forest canopy stretches far into the distance; the lush green shadows fade with distance, creating a heavy, dark green texture.
This stable was originally built to house horses for the king's army and was part of the military camp. Later, when the army left Sasha, it left behind a lot of garbage and the stable. It was converted into a hotel by the locals to provide temporary accommodation for travelers who came on horseback from all directions.

Later, when the railway was connected, the place was not abandoned. People from several nearby towns would stop here when they passed through on their way to the city with their goods. The city also assigned people to maintain the place so that it could be used as a venue for important events.

Today, although the stable still stands here, it no longer looks the same as it did originally.

Clayton had no emotional attachment to this place, so he didn't make any comments. After greeting the riders and staff, he headed straight for the stables.

His new friend was with two young men examining the health of a white horse.

The white horse, which had been obediently accepting the stroking, suddenly neighed, shook its head, and backed away. Several horses lying on the ground in the nearby compartments all stood up, turned their heads uneasily to the left and right, and snorted at the walls that blocked their view, as if they had smelled danger.

Mr. Melcher turned around and saw Clayton standing there, and visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

“Bello, you can actually wait for my report outside.”

“I’m the referee, so I have to check the situation myself; it’s my duty.” Clayton looked at the horses that were avoiding him and regretfully withdrew his hand. “They all look good, but unfortunately, I’m not fit to ride horses anymore.”

“Perhaps you could try breeding zebras. These colony-bred wild horses are very temperamental and aren’t even afraid of lions,” Melcher said.

“That sounds somewhat feasible, and that news makes me feel much better.” Clayton turned and went out naturally, with Melcher following behind him. Once outside, the grass field became lively. It turned out that some riders had returned and were discussing the route selection for the race, which was part of Clayton’s responsibility.

Who are those two young men inside?

Melcher glanced back, then turned back: "Oh, they are my students, you can rest assured."

"What about that thing we mentioned before?"

Melcher paused before speaking, his hesitation evident: "Right now, I think there might not be any major conspiracy involved. Kules just wanted me to compile a report on the physical condition of the horses competing, nothing more. Maybe he just wants to use this information to place bets."

He also noticed how the athletes cared for their horses, and there was absolutely no problem. They didn't trust the staff sent by the City Life Committee very much, and they spent a lot of time every day checking the horses and keeping them in good condition. It would be difficult for outsiders to tamper with the horses under their careful inspection.

Clayton realized his new friend wasn't lying, which made the whole thing even more suspicious.

He had never heard of anyone arranging for a veterinarian to examine the horses specifically for horse racing betting; the process was too complicated and still fraught with uncertainty. A normal person would bribe the referee to cheat, but Kules didn't even contact him.

He told Melcher to continue monitoring the situation and to contact him if anything unusual happened.

He himself was going to check on the riders' dormitory.

Since outsiders cannot easily interfere with the fairness of the competition, there may be internal problems.

This year’s horse racing event in Sacha City had sixteen participants, with each parish contributing at least one person. Fourteen of them were locals, making it easier for Caroline Curles to influence them.

Clayton had previously told Donna that there was a drug that could temporarily increase the stamina and speed of horses when injected into them, at the cost of severely damaging the horses' health, which was of course illegal in horse racing.

But some people just want to stand out in horse racing, and their desires completely overshadow the sense of honor that comes with fairness.

Clayton walked into the dormitory building not far from the stables. Each rider had a room, but each room had two beds. If a rider brought his wife or servant, he could use the extra bed. All the participants brought servants, so there were actually thirty-two people living here.

Apart from the riders who went out for practice in the afternoon, there were still quite a few people left here.

These skilled riders were all short, in order to reduce the burden on the horses, and there were also many short men among their servants.

Many riders take pride in their size, which allows their horses to reach greater speeds. However, they also dislike being underestimated because of their height. Therefore, their servants are often shorter than them, which makes them appear taller.

Clayton produced his referee's brooch to prove his identity, and then asked the riders and servants resting there to open their luggage for him to inspect.

He appeared to be examining the items one by one, but in reality, he was using his sense of smell to search the whole thing. The result was good; at least so far, no one has tried to cheat with banned substances.

But this is not a one-time solution; another check-up is needed the day after tomorrow and before the competition.

He walked out of the riders' dormitory, and the voice behind him told him that someone was following him, so he stopped and waited for the person outside the door downstairs.

The guy who approached was a dwarf. Clayton couldn't see his expression through his beard, but his tone sounded friendly.

“Mr. Bello, I’m so glad to see you!” He rubbed his hands together for a while before finally remembering what to say next: “Do you remember Sanders?”

“Ah—the young man next to Bruno.” Clayton did indeed remember Sanders. He didn’t actually know how old Sanders was, but it was more friendly to call him that.

“Yes, yes, he’s my cousin.” The dwarf in front of him nodded repeatedly. “Sanders always said he owed you 5 pounds, but he died before he could pay it back, and we didn’t know where you lived. You have no idea how happy we were when we found out you happened to be here as a referee. Now we can finally pay off this debt.”

He bent down and struggled to reach into his pocket, but it seemed like he could never get all 5 pounds out.

With his back to the sun, Clayton sighed, "No need. Let's just leave it at that. He did his best for me, and I don't want his family's life to suffer for this little bit of money."

The dwarf suddenly looked up, and now Clayton could see his joy even through his beard.

"You are such a kind person, God will bless you!"

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now.” “Mr. Bebelio!” the dwarf called after him again: “I heard you were investigating the theft at the Dongsen Bank. Has that been resolved?”

Clayton didn't know why he asked that, but he answered him anyway.

"It's over."

The dwarf breathed a sigh of relief at the answer, but then remembered something and hurriedly said, "I just wanted you to know that we have been praying for you."

"Thank you." Clayton waved again, turned and left, and this time the dwarf did not stop him.

“We’re doomed,” the chief of the Copperfoot Clan said to the chief of the Fire-Hair Clan.

“Listen, I’d love to believe you, but if every word you say came true, the world would have been destroyed a thousand times over,” the Fire-Haired Clan chief replied to his cousin.

Chief Copperfoot shook his head worriedly:
"If a person dies, he can no longer see this world. To him, what difference is there between death and the destruction of the world?"

“Then I’ll have to die every night, and the world will be destroyed every night,” the Fire-Haired Chieftain said impatiently. He thought this exaggerated sarcasm would shut the Copper-Footed Chieftain up, but to his surprise, the Chieftain actually agreed with the statement.

"exactly."

"What's there to worry about!" The Fire-Haired Clan Chief slammed a large beer mug over the head of the Copper-Footed Clan Chief.

The Copper-Foot Chieftain remained calm and composed, still propping his head up with a melancholy expression. The beer poured over him had left his blond hair soaked and matted into strands resembling seaweed, clinging tightly to his reddened skin, making him look like a water sage—if such a creature even existed.

The other Moriel people here were all elders and key figures from the two clans, and they were used to this, continuing to eat heartily around the short table that served as a long table.

The candlelight illuminated their brass candlesticks, cutlery, and buttons, giving them a truly opulent appearance.

"After the Grey Hats were gone, the new gangs have no discipline whatsoever." After a few minutes of deliberation, Chief Copperfoot finally began to speak practically: "Unlike the Grey Hats, they don't know where the boundaries are and don't interfere with us. The Daggers are always greedy; they've taken all the benefits from the inn, and now they're eyeing our cleaning privileges."

“I miss Sanders. He was a shrewd detective who was always the first to know about any gang news and could inform us in advance.”

“Please, he’s been dead for almost half a year,” the fire-haired chieftain said in a gruff voice. “And we’re having dinner right now.”

The other older dwarves also frowned and looked over, their displeasure masking their continued chewing.

The people of Moriel do not discuss sad matters during meals; this is a custom that even the chieftain should not violate.

The restaurant door was suddenly kicked open, and a dwarf rushed in, panting heavily.

“He said no! That case is closed.”

“What do you mean it isn’t?” The dwarven elders looked at the Bronzefoot Chieftain, because the newly arrived dwarf was staring straight at him.

"That means the book Charlie sent wasn't a lost item from the Dongsen Bank, or even if it was, Daisy Jonard doesn't have the energy to deal with it anymore and won't pursue it further," Chief Copperfoot said.

The robbery of Dongsen Bank was a case of great concern to the dwarves, firstly because it was the biggest crime in recent years, and secondly because the robbers used tunneling as their method of committing the crime. Due to their trust in the Moriel people's technology, they were regarded as the prime suspects and received a lot of undue attention during this period—including from important figures. They should have been more careful in their actions.

If Clayton were here, he would recognize the dwarf who barged into the restaurant as the same dwarf who had previously stopped him from speaking.

The Moriel have a racial advantage: the vast majority of them have long beards that can cover most of their faces, making it impossible for other ethnic groups to distinguish them visually. As a result, a job is sometimes done by several people taking turns, which results in less pay but more rest and easier communication.

They all knew that Clayton Bello had handled the case for Jonrad. The Moriel people were actually very well-informed because they were so inconspicuous that many people would overlook them when talking about serious matters.

The Fire-Haired Clan Chief shook his head, dismissing his cousin's arrangement with disdain.

"What's the point of confirming this code? Even if it's his, are we just going to give it to him just because he asks for it?"

He had a lot of pomp and circumstance, but this time no one supported him, and the old people all looked troubled.

Des Joanrad was a ruthless character. Young people today may not remember him, but adults remember his forceful intervention that broke the stalemate between the nobles in Sasha City. The local church also quietly took a big step back, no longer daring to seek to profit from the conflict between the nobles.

The Bronzefoot Clan Chief, unusually, nodded in agreement with his cousin's opinion: "Even if Clayton Bello claims the matter is over, it may not be true. Besides, there's a knight from out of town looking for it, and who knows how long it will take before he leaves. Charlie must have had ill intentions in giving us this book, but so what? It would be foolish of us not to make good use of it before the trouble behind it arises."

"So what should we do now? Should we wait for Jonrad to come and deal with us, or should we take the initiative to deal with him?" the Fire-Haired Chieftain asked.

“Well—I don’t think violence can solve the problem, because we don’t have enough violence,” Chief Copperfoot said succinctly.

“Then let’s wait until we find the Child of the Ley Lines before we deal with him,” said the Fire-Haired Chieftain. He beckoned to a Zanpakuto, who held the Book of Earth in his hands: “What stage have you reached in your attempts to communicate with your mother?”

“Very smooth.” The man replied with a look of lingering satisfaction: “My dear Mother of the Rocks, I have never felt the earth respond to us so clearly. This book was born to belong to us.”

“This is a power possessed only by the original children of the ley lines,” said Chief Bronzefoot.

"The people of the plains call them nobles, but the nobles of today are not as powerful as they used to be. With this book, we are the true nobles."

The Fire-Haired Clan Chief's confident words made the man shake his head, but after glancing at the Copper-Footed Clan Chief's expression, he silently sat back down without refuting him.