Werewolf hunting rules

When Clayton arrived at the Sheriff's Department, he saw a familiar figure filling out a form at the counter.

Tall and thin figure, with messy hair like straw.

It's Bruno.

Clayton had not heard of any cooperation between detectives and sheriffs;

Bruno finished filling out the form and turned around to see him.

"I have to tell you some bad news. The report you asked for may be late. The assistant responsible for your entrustment, Sanders, was reported yesterday for violating the City Public Security Ordinance and is still in jail."

"What happened to him?" Clayton asked.

"I don't know who recognized him as a detective and reported him for illegal possession of a gun. I have tried my best, but he will be locked up for at least three more days."

Bruno said this without much anger. Being reported was a common occurrence in their industry.

The "Urban Public Security Ordinance" stipulates that people are strictly prohibited from possessing guns within the city unless they have a gun license.

However, a large number of guns still flow from rural areas into cities and fall into the hands of unlicensed people.

People who need guns will not lose their need because of an ordinance, and the number of sheriffs is not enough to maintain a city of this size.

The detective industry is also a gathering place for illegal gun owners.

Of course, reputable detective agencies can obtain gun licenses, but small agencies like Bruno's are the majority in the industry. They often face dangerous people, and if they don't have weapons to protect themselves, they are in danger of losing their lives.

At the same time, detectives who can obtain guns are more likely to be trusted by their employers because they have proven their abilities - including the illegal part.

"Why don't you just pay the fine?"

"The fine is 5 pounds. After paying the fine, his work has been in vain in the past few days, and he still owes 2 pounds."

Clayton's hand in his coat pocket touched the Sheriff's Silver Star badge and decided to do whatever he could to help:

"Let me see if I can get him out quickly."

Although the St. Alvin Parish Sheriff's Department building has not yet been completed, his name is already on the Sheriff's Roll and may have such authority.

His main purpose today was to come to the General Public Security Bureau to pick up an ordinary weapon. The gun left at home was too long and eye-catching, and it had a special label that could easily reveal his experience, so it was not suitable to take out.

Bruno left soon, and as soon as winter arrived, the detective industry began to become lively.

Clayton placed his Silver Star badge on the counter to identify himself.

"You have finally decided to become Sheriff, Mr. Bello, and it is a pleasure to work with you."

The familiar usher was more welcoming than ever, as he was to every magistrate.

Once they became the Sheriff, they were one of their own - at least that's what he thought.

"Are you registered in St. Mored Parish? Because I haven't seen you coming in the past two days, I thought you forgot what you entrusted to me."

He rambled so much that Clayton had to stop him awkwardly: "I won't forget it, so when does she decide to see me?"

They were talking about Clayton meeting the surviving family of the first man he killed.

"Thursday afternoon, not sure about the time, her job is not that precise."

Clayton lowered his head and took out a ten-shilling note from his wallet: "Thank you very much, just treat me like I'm treating you to a meal."

Killing someone is an easy task, but dealing with the aftermath is stressful.

"Are you okay?"

"fine."

"Then I'm relieved." The receptionist took the money and said, "It was a misunderstanding. Don't take it to heart. I would say that crazy people really shouldn't be walking around. They are easily hurt. Others can also be easily harmed. If we release them all, our sheriff will not have to worry about other things."

He said it well, but Clayton didn't like hearing it.

In order not to reveal the existence of monsters, he said that the deceased was a madman, otherwise he would not be able to explain the fact that the deceased appeared in his home and was killed by himself.

Although the Holy Grail Society should be blamed for the deceased's death, the lieutenant was responsible for the stigma attached to him.

Whenever others mentioned the incident, he was reminded of the excuses he had made up to give the deceased a bad reputation.

"You are right. I need a gun now. Where can I get it?"

"It's at the back of the first floor. I can write an application to the warehouse for you, but the final statistics will still belong to Mr. Galeed. But if you want firearms, you can ask the director of your parish branch. It’s faster and you can bring your own gun and go on patrol.”

"I've already come to the General Public Security Bureau, and I just picked up my share of equipment."

"Okay, I also have a newcomer's manual and map here, do you need them?"

"Yes, thank you."

Clayton flipped through the manual and quickly understood the Sheriff's current situation.

The Sheriff of Sasha City cannot control the entire city in terms of numbers.

Private security was mainly in charge of the city center, with sheriffs handling the remaining seven parishes, but they had trouble sorting out the city in one night.

Because the economy of some dioceses is so poor that the council cannot afford to purchase equipment, it has to ask for help from other dioceses.

Sheriffs also have working hours restrictions. Part-time sheriffs have to work during the day, and if they spend a lot of time rushing to work at night, the places they can patrol are extremely limited, and because of the dangerous reputation of these parishes, their work Not very enthusiastic either.

This is also the reason why the Presbyterian Church can easily let its own people serve.

The presbytery financed poor parish councils and could then fill them with people when the time came to decide on the number of constables.

After putting away the book, Clayton wanted to ask Galeed about the Sheriff, but was told by the receptionist that he was on leave.

Without Galeed's help, he had to find Sanders on his own.

There is an execution ground in front of the Sheriff's Department, which has never seen a dead person. It is a symbol of the Sheriff's law enforcement power.

Where there is an execution ground, there is a prison. It's just that the prison is some distance away from the office, so visitors can't see it.

There are many prisons, corresponding to different crimes.

The most famous of these are tax evasion prisons and debtors' prisons.

If they are disturbing the public order in the city, the cells they live in are much simpler. The prisoners inside are not kept for long. They are released after sleeping for a few nights, and rarely more than a week.

Clayton showed the Silver Star badge to the guard here and received a reply that he could not be released without paying a fine.

He had no choice but to help pay the money.

Soon, a dark and sturdy man walked out, his body completely covered by Clayton's shadow.

He has short curly copper-red hair and wears a white sweater that contrasts with his own color. When he goes out, it can be seen with the naked eye that he is less than half the height of the guard. The ratio of height to shoulder width is an abnormal type among humans.

"dwarf?"

Clayton raised an eyebrow, noticing that the other man's right hand only had three fingers.

Dwarves are a very special nation.

There are many dwarves among thieves, as well as in the army. Both professions favor their short stature and huge strength that are easily overlooked.

"Are you Bruno's employer, Clayton Bello?"

The dwarf Sanders glared at Clayton with an angry look, not showing any gratitude that he should have after being saved.

"I am."

"Why are you paying the fine for me? Why do you think I am willing to sleep here?"

Clayton answered him: "Because you don't have the money to pay the fine, I heard Bruno said that."

"You know you still do this! Doesn't this make me owe you?!"

The dwarf clenched his fists angrily, and veins stood out on the backs of his fleshy hands. His muscles swelled, holding up his furry white sweater, like a puffer fish crawling onto land.

"You don't have to pay it back."

"Fuck you, do you look down on me?!"

"I didn't mean that."

Clayton began to feel lucky that he had not met such comrades when he was a soldier, otherwise he would have suffered enough.

Fortunately, most of the stubborn dwarves became artillerymen.

"Don't do anything that's not written in the contract. It's a waste of money, damn it!" Sanders spat on the ground, turned his head and ordered the guard: "Give him the money back, I'm going back to jail."

The guard looked bewildered.

Clayton coughed twice: "I think it's nothing. This amount of money is insignificant to me. I just want you to get into work as soon as possible."

In fact, 5 pounds is not that little.

The main reason is that he spent three hundred pounds in the workhouse before, and until the next time the client sends money, he will have to live frugally this month.

Antique dealers don’t live on an unlimited budget.

Sanders turned back: "You think I don't owe you anything, but actually I owe you a favor. Five pounds is not worth my favor."

"Our rules here do not allow you to return the money and go to jail." The guard finally came to his senses.

The words were ill-timed, and the dwarf glared at him.

Clayton cleared his mind: "Let's just think you owe me a favor. When I come to this prison in the future, it will be your turn to help me pay a fine of 5 pounds. This way it is absolutely equal."

Sanders looked into his eyes, then looked at the guard, muttering a curse, but reluctantly accepted the reality.

I wrote a chapter yesterday, but there was a bug in the plot, so I deleted it and didn’t upload it.

There may be another chapter today. If not, I will make up for it every day.