The Laws of Werewolf Hunting

Chapter 549 The Heart Thief
Taking a portrait is only the first step in creating a poster. The photo cannot be used directly but is instead processed by an artist. The artist will copy the image but remove all unnecessary lines in the process, making the person look simple yet beautiful, while still looking like the original person.

Clayton Bello's image will not only appear on the pharmaceutical company's atropine promotional posters, but will also appear on the packaging later.

When he mentioned it in the treehouse, it elicited a burst of laughter.

Clayton enjoyed his time there. He was a leading figure among veterans, not only because of his past experience and his habit of treating people to drinks, but also because of the two duels he fought in front of the Big Treehouse Bar.

Most importantly, he had many friends here. After his appearance and habits changed due to wolf blood, they didn't take it seriously. They only mentioned it once or twice out of curiosity, and then they didn't care anymore.

Here, he seems to still be a human being.

“It’s a pity Frank and Carter aren’t here. I was thinking, how about we go to the police station and bring them over later?” A drunken active-duty officer leaned over, nearly knocking over a bottle of liquor on the table.

It's 6 p.m. now, and the police's day shift is about to end.

Clayton counted the cards in his hand, not forgetting to reply, "Let's skip it. Law enforcement has its own rules, and if they get drunk and forget to wear hats when they get home, they'll be exposed to the moonlight."

Another drunk man at the next table immediately expressed his doubts: "Does menstrual craze really exist? I've never had menstrual craze in my life."

The drunkard's companions laughed and echoed his sentiments.

To be honest, Clayton sometimes doesn't even know if they know what they're talking about.

However, the atmosphere was so warm and welcoming that he had nothing to complain about.

“We all thought you would apply to be a contestant in the horse racing competition, but we never expected you to become a referee,” said Sergeant Brick, who was sitting opposite him, holding a card fan.

Clayton casually played a card: "I can't help it, I'm getting fatter and fatter."

"You're getting taller and taller. Maybe you're a descendant of giants and will grow taller than a house someday."

"No way, otherwise I'll have to walk everywhere, and the trains won't be able to fit me."

"That's true."

Without Clara's help, Clayton finished a round of cards in a relaxed mood. Looking around, he felt something was off; the treehouse was unusually empty today. Only half of the sixty seats were occupied—the first time this had happened since the wave of demobilized soldiers arrived in the city last year. Usually, it was not only full, but some people even had to stand.

Even if many people become police officers and can't come now, they don't come every day anyway. On the days when these people are not here, there will still be people to fill their vacancies.

Where did everyone go today?

"They've made their fortune," someone said. "A wealthy merchant needed guards, so Willman left with a group of about twenty people, including Boris Jr. They got drunk here before they left, but you weren't here that day."

Wellman was one of the most prestigious of the new friends after the disarmament, while Boris Jr. was one of Clayton’s old friends.

"Who needs so many guards?"

“I don’t know, maybe it’s a racehorse in the races,” Glendon, a retired sailor, replied enthusiastically to Clayton. “Perhaps it’s a racehorse with Taunton’s pedigree, those things are priceless.”

The horses of the Taunton people are of unparalleled quality, and they regard them as national treasures. To prevent the contamination and theft of these rare fine horses, the horse farms are isolated islands, with warships patrolling the area around the clock. All horses that leave the horse farms have been sterilized.

However, even with such tight defenses, there are still exceptions.

Brick disagreed with his guess: "If there were something that good, the organizers would definitely make sure the whole city knows about it."

Gladys was indignant: "You don't know this, maybe some of them are going to use this information to bet on horses."

Clayton took a swig of beer, then pointed to his eyes: "I can tell at a glance whether I have the blood of a Taunton horse. The gentlemen at the event know my skills, but no one has bribed me yet, so I'm not."

"What a pity," Gladden said, gripping his glass in disappointment.

They then discussed the shooting competition, which the bar held every month. Clayton was one of the sponsors, and even last year in Gevor, Miss Charlotte sent money to the Big Tree House on his behalf.

The purpose of holding this competition is twofold: to have fun and to keep people from getting too drunk, thus encouraging them to maintain their skills.

Here, some people found work in gangs because of their skills. Clayton knew this, but it was none of his business.

Another hour later, the amateur band hired by the Big Treehouse began to play. This band was not brought in from elsewhere, but rather was composed of members of their own band. These musicians were originally members of a military band, and their music was so captivating that it made people want to stand up and stamp their feet.

The bar door opened halfway through the second song.

A weary gunman walked in, slammed his hat on the table, and carelessly tossed his rifle aside.

"A 'Galileo' for John, please." Clayton flicked two pennies onto the counter with his thumb, the bartender expertly swept them away, and then went about his work.

The tired gunman nodded his thanks to Clayton and then sat down next to him.

"John, look at you, what a sorry sight! What happened today?"

“I’ve been fired,” John said sullenly.

“I remember you worked for the church, and it was a low-paying job.”

"I'm so idle I can't be more so. I'm in charge of guarding the Church of the Remains in the Parish of St. Alvin. It's even more deserted than a cemetery. If there are five visitors a year, that's considered lively."

"Then why didn't the church continue to employ you? It can't be that they ran out of money, can it?" Clayton told a joke.

“I made a mistake.” John muttered a few words in Tallinn, then cursed in Dorn: “But it was because some fool, one of the most terrible decisions ever made, that instead of visiting the houses of so many rich people in the world, he came to steal from the Church of the Dead!”

What's inside the Hall of Remains?

"Of course, it was corpses, the corpses of high-ranking clergy, and the hearts of nobles of all sizes. Oh, now all those hearts are gone." John sneered, "There's nothing of value there. I don't know why he stole the hearts. Maybe it's because those little boxes that held the hearts were pretty, like jewelry boxes?"

"Was there only one thief?" Clayton asked.

John was silent for a moment before saying he didn't know.

“I admit I was spacing out for a while, but I was standing at the door the whole time. If someone had gone in, I would have seen them. But there was nothing there. It wasn’t until dusk, when a clergyman came to check, that I found out all the hearts had been stolen. Damn it, right under my nose!” He slammed his fist on the table in frustration.

The result was obvious: the bishop flew into a rage and expelled him.

This was really strange. Clayton remembered the books that Sir Penson had kept and the missing heart.

Some people were determined to get a history book, willing to pay any price, while others wanted the heart of a dead man and looted the Church of the Dead, which was guarded by John.

Coincidentally, Sir Benson was not only the custodian of the book, but his ancestor's heart also disappeared. These two events occurred not long apart and are very likely related.

But what can books and hearts do?
Suddenly, the scene of Charlotte showing him the strange news in the newspaper flashed through Clayton's mind, and the image seemed to ring out like a warning bell.

They were indeed useless before, but what if something changed them?
For example, Dark Moon
"I have to go now." He grabbed the builder and stood up, leaving the bar in a hurry without caring about what others were looking at.

As soon as he left the building, he practically ran to the Church of the Remains in St. Alvin’s parish where John had once worked. It was already late, but the case was very serious. There was a clergyman talking to the police with a lamp, and several other policemen were checking the ground around them, seemingly looking for traces left by the thieves.

“Forget about this,” Clayton shouted. “Go guard the chapels of the dead in other parishes. That thief will come back to steal the heart again.”

The clergy and the police looked at him in surprise.

Those eyes that glowed in the night made them wary, but the police were acquaintances of Clayton, so they quickly relaxed after recognizing him.

"Who are you? How do you know about this?" the priest asked with displeasure.

The theft of the Church of the Dead is big news. Although it couldn't be kept secret, it shouldn't have spread so quickly.

“We can talk about it on the way.” Clayton waved his cane. “Believe me, if we delay any longer, no one will be able to catch this thief.”

(End of this chapter)