The Laws of Werewolf Hunting

Chapter 555 True Hatred Like Blood
Clayton had always faithfully followed the temperance plan. Temperance is a very good thing; even if it doesn't bring God's blessing, it can temper one's will, as everyone knows. But neither he nor Donna had initially imagined that temperance for a werewolf would be so difficult.

In particular, his long-held view of his ability to enjoy both raw and cooked meat as a superior quality, which he was proud of, has now been completely shattered.

Even if cooked food can fill their stomachs, the werewolf's thirst for blood cannot be quelled.

This ordeal was more unbearable than any of the injuries Clayton had ever suffered.

In reality, werewolves are almost as bloodthirsty as vampires. Because their human form has pale skin, glowing eyes, and sharp teeth, they are often mistaken for monsters.

In some northern regions, there are rumors that vampires can turn into wolves.

However, Clayton didn't need to know that at the moment; all he wanted was blood to satisfy the terrifying desire that made his bones tremble.

He wants to drink blood, preferably with some horrific screams as music.

A terrifying gaze swept over Julius, then around Joseph, before turning away painfully to where no one was.

“I believe there’s still a lot of blood in the kitchen. Why don’t you go and drink some? Anyway, Clementia isn’t here right now, so no one will accuse you of satisfying your legitimate needs.” The wizard put down his knife and fork and pushed his chair back a little, ready to escape at any moment.

“I’m not willing to give up so quickly,” Clayton said in a hoarse voice.

His answer impressed Joseph—but nothing special; whatever he said would earn the boy's admiration.

"If you keep going like this, there will be hardly anyone in this house who doesn't know you're a monster. Maybe you should pay attention to how they look at you."

Clayton, abandoning his restrained demeanor in front of Donna, said, "Let them know, what can they do to me?!"

Julius raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued again: "So painful? I'd like to know what it feels like."

The werewolf scratched his throat unhappily, making a crunching sound: "It's like being at sea. After a long day of work, you're parched, but all you can find to quench your thirst is bitter, salty seawater. There's plenty of seawater to drink your fill. But that's not what you need. You know in your heart that only fresh water can quench your thirst."

However, freshwater is seawater to werewolves; their blood is their only source of freshwater.

Clayton couldn't help but glance at the youngest lamb at the table, then lowered his head guiltily and covered his face with his right hand.

"When will the cursed doll Wahetu you mentioned be made?"

“I’ve obtained the complete recipe from Elder Cheryl, but I still need a month to process the materials,” the wizard said.

This was definitely not enough to cope in the near future. Clayton thought about his upcoming activities at Mr. Melcher's Performing Arts Club and his duties at the horse races. If he continued like this, he would embarrass himself in front of everyone. Waves of hunger surged up within him.

The hungrier he got, the angrier he became, and the angrier he got, the hungrier he became.

Even if the temperance plan is canceled now, he will still be angry at his own weakness.

“Try milk. Barbara used milk to relieve her blood addiction,” Julius said.

“I’ve tried it, but it doesn’t work at all. The substances I need from my blood must be different from hers.”

At that moment, Joseph, who was listening to their conversation, suddenly reached out his hand.

"Sir, you may drink my blood."

His behavior surprised Clayton and Julius somewhat. Clayton glared at him, his appetite quickly replaced by anger. After about three seconds, he pointed to the restaurant door and said, "Joseph, this has nothing to do with you. Finish your meal and get out of here to attend class!"

Even when scolded, the boy didn't feel ashamed or sad; he just nodded and lowered his head to eat.

Clayton stared at him the whole time until he left the restaurant, then lowered his head to face his own food, picked up the steak from the plate with his bare hands, and stuffed it into his mouth.

The medium-rare steak restored some of his energy.

"How is the barrier setup going?" he asked the advisor, chewing on his words.

Julius's plate was empty, and he was taking the white napkin off his neck.
“I’m still busy enchanting your poster; it and Vahtu are taking up all my energy. And I must remind you again, the range and duration of these posters are limited. If you’re too far away from them, you won’t receive the warning. If the portrait on the poster is damaged, your connection with it will be severed. If the portrait’s eyes are covered, it won’t function properly.” “I won’t need it for long.” Clayton didn’t care. Since he started practicing restraint, his energy had diminished, and only the horse races could occupy his attention. Now he checks on the horses’ condition every day.

The people of Sasha also value this event highly. Following the Holy Trinity, they began preparing for the event almost without rest. Festive ribbons were already hanging all over the streets and alleys, and large wooden spectator stands were erected outside the city.

The druids were a great help in the preparations, clearing the track from its year-long neglect, which had been overrun by weeds and bushes. These characters seemed unremarkable at first glance, but their marginalized nature could only be felt when they came together.

They were just as happy as everyone else when it came to the festival.

The horse racing event will last for three days, from morning till night each day, and many citizens will choose to dine outside the city with their families. As a result, sales of various biscuits, candies, and other fast food products are rising rapidly, including Clayton's canned meats.

“There really was someone rigging this horse race, and I have to find out who’s behind it. There was a dark horse named Little Freckles, and on the first day the race information was released, an unusually large number of people bet on it to win. This must have been orchestrated by someone in secret.”

"And what is its actual level?" the wizard asked.

“Not bad, it is indeed the best of all the participating horses,” Clayton replied, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, his pronunciation somewhat unclear. “But as for winning, I think it still depends on luck. There are horses that are superior in every aspect, and its rider is also a bit tall, which may slow it down.”

"Didn't you ask the people who bought it why they did?"

“You haven’t seen real gamblers. They won’t reveal their secrets to getting rich. I can’t torture someone who hasn’t committed a crime. I’m not that kind of person.”

"You're not that kind of person anymore."

The lieutenant opened his eyes: "You're mocking me."

Julius vehemently denied it: "Absolutely not. I just felt that your adaptability was exactly what I needed to put to good use, and it has impressed me very much."

“I can’t always be outside the bounds of morality and law,” the werewolf said. “I have to actively align myself with normal people in this regard to make up for my gradually fading humanity. Maybe you can’t understand, but I want my family and friends to feel that I haven’t changed much, and I want the shadow of my past to linger in me for a little longer.”

“I really don’t understand,” Julius said. “You mean you’re going to meet their expectations of you?”

"Yes."

The wizard looked confused; he didn't understand the point of doing this.

Clayton had no patience for further explanation. He grabbed a bottle of red wine and drank it down, hoping the red liquid would alleviate his blood cravings to some extent. But red wine is red wine; its crimson color doesn't mean it can replace blood. When the bottom of the bottle was revealed, he put it down, let out a sigh of disappointment, and then shook his head.

“Julius, if there are no further questions, then pack your things. We’re heading to the Northern Poor Man’s Home in the Parish of Saint Solot in an hour and a half.”

"For that Mr. Joe Manny?"

“I’m going to see Father Louis. I was planning to visit him later, but Joe said that one of their helpers seems to know Louis. He recently came back from a job and was very unhappy when he saw Louis, treating him like a slave. Louis helped me before, and now it’s my turn to help him.”

An hour and a half later, they arrived at their destination and met Louis and the helper in the backyard.

"vomit"

Upon seeing Julius, Ian Lazarus began to bend over and gag.

“Uh,” Clayton looked at Louis, who had rolled up his sleeves and was expressionless, “it seems we don’t have anything to solve here.”

If it were someone else who didn't get along with Louis, he could help them, but Ian Lazarus was obligated to do anything for Louis. Louis owed this vampire a life, and he killed Ian Lazarus, after which Barbara had no choice but to convert the boy.

This is the victim's revenge against the murderer.

"I kill you!"

After gagging, Ian Lazarus lunged at Julius.

The green-haired wizard was the person he hated the most, a position that even Louis couldn't compete with.