Chapter 397 Coming From Afar

What happened to Clayton Bello was far more serious than robbery.

But Sheriff Albert didn't know this.

"Sorry, we have very urgent official duties to perform now. If you want to report a crime, please wait here for a while, or go to the police station where we met last time." He said and was about to leave.

"Are you going to deal with a group fight at the dock?" Clayton asked.

Albert's face that had turned away turned back again: "Exactly, I rushed to deal with it as soon as I heard the news."

Clayton's eyes scanned the police team. There were seven people in total, but only two were armed with guns. The others only had wooden sticks: "I suggest you leave it alone."

"Why?" Albert asked in shock.

"I just passed there, so I know how fierce the battlefield is there. You don't have enough people, and you don't have enough weapons. Those people are so hot-blooded that they may attack you too. When I left there, there were already dead people on the dock. Several people.”

"That sounds more time for us to intervene," Albert said.

It seems like there's nothing he can do to help me now, Clayton thought.

Out of good intentions, he reminded Albert: "Then at least walk a little slower, so that you can conserve your energy when you get there, and those people should have had enough trouble. It is easier to deal with exhausted people."

Albert's face changed slightly, but he didn't look like he was grateful.

"It's a good idea, but I don't need such a tactic." After saying that, the police chief greeted the other police officers. Not only did they all move into action, but they also sped up their pace, as if to make up for the time wasted talking to Clayton.

"Then at least bring an extra gun."

Clayton shouted, and as soon as the sergeant's footsteps stopped, he threw the shotgun and a bag of ammunition.

After getting these guns and ammunition, Albert looked at him in surprise, and his face showed a bit of emotion. The misunderstanding that the other party was indifferent just now disappeared.

A man who had just been robbed actually took out his self-defense weapon and shared it. Who could not be moved by this noble character?

"But maybe you"

"It doesn't matter, it's not mine anyway." Clayton said.

Albert's expression turned strange. He thanked him briefly, handed the shotgun to a subordinate, and led the team away quickly.

Seeing them leaving, Clayton also turned around and walked in a secluded direction. He originally wanted to ask Albert to help him, but he didn't expect that when they met, he wanted to help him instead.

But with his hands empty, he felt more at ease.

This does not mean that his body has recovered. On the contrary, the feeling of illness is still getting worse in him, but his heart is as light and as clear as crystal, and confidence emerges, as if he can understand everything thoroughly as long as he is willing to put his mind to it. , figure it out.

This feeling is actually very slight, it is just a kind of unfounded confidence, but it has a huge impact on Clayton.

Because before he even thinks about it, he acts on this confidence and feeling, as if it replaces a part of his instinct. And the guidance this confidence gave him was not correct. For example, he shouldn't have let his enemies go before, but he still let them go. He shouldn't have given Albert his only weapon of self-defense, but he did so anyway.

The last thing that caused him to have a similar change was called a curse.

"Looks like I'm really sick," he thought worriedly.

The foul smell of the river covered up his smell, and the river was full of this smell. It was impossible for the Black Claw clan to continue to track him based on the smell. He was safe now. Maybe he should do as Albert said, first Go to the police station in the West District to have a rest, and then see a doctor if possible.

He couldn't name the river here, but his illness was probably due to the pollution of the river water. The toxins from some industrial wastes can cause people to have hallucinations or lose control of their emotions, and he drank a lot of industrial wastewater last night.

"Sir, are you happy now?"

Someone on the street called out to Clayton.

He stopped, and several thin men and women with fanatical faces gathered around him. They held cards with magical symbols of unknown meaning on them, and seemed to intend to preach to him.

A section of the road ahead was filled with workers' gangs fighting to the death, and here someone was preaching. Clayton suddenly felt an absurd atmosphere.

"I'm very happy." He said sadly.

The group was stunned, but had no intention of leaving: "Really? You don't look happy."

They reminded Clayton that he didn't look good right now.

"It's none of your business, get out of the way!" He reached out angrily to push them away. He was very weak, but he could easily deal with these people.

Behind him, those people were still shouting: "It is our mission to make the world happy. The end is approaching. Only human joy can fight against the great terror. It is Heavenly Father who wants us to sow the seeds of happiness in the world. Anyone's Happiness is all important!”

Happiness was of course crucial, but Clayton thought it would be better if they fattened themselves up a bit before saying that.

How can a hungry person bring happiness to others?

He walked dozens of steps, and his extraordinary hearing heard them entangling another person. He couldn't help but stop and look back, and found that it was a man with a numb face dragging his luggage passing by. The man was surrounded by them, and he didn't know what to do. Listening calmly to the poor preaching words, his face gradually relaxed, showing a sincere smile, and finally stood in their queue, the expression on his face was assimilated into the same fanaticism.

"This is crazy." Clayton couldn't understand what was happening here.

"This is the drawback of urbanization. People are blinded by steel and cement. They can't get close to nature or each other. So they don't know what the real blessings of this world are to all souls. In the past, they surrendered to gold and silver. They worship colorful paper, and just the coaxing of words can make them sell their souls to the devil."

Very radical remarks came from the side. Clayton turned his head again and saw an old man wearing a white linen robe and a dead leaf crown standing there. He had a pair of black eyes and his silver beard and hair were naturally long. The beard hangs down directly to the crotch, and there are no shoes on the feet. A pair of very large bare feet are on the ground. The foreign accent showed that he, like Clayton, was not a local.

Is this a Druid?

"Then how to solve this phenomenon?" Clayton asked in a strange way.

The old man raised his right hand with exposed veins: "It's very simple. As long as we go urbanization, all problems can be solved."

This person is also crazy to say such things on the street. Clayton thought as he turned his head back, intending to ignore the old man and continue walking his own way, but the old man did not let him do so. He took the werewolf's arm. .

"You saw this, don't you think so?"

"You're too extreme." Clayton wanted to pull his hand back, but the opponent was much stronger than he thought. He kept applying force, hoping to strike a delicate balance between just pulling his hand out and fighting with the opponent immediately. .

"Extreme?" the old man asked.

"Of course, cities are the crystallization of civilization. Without cities, civilization will regress. Small scattered settlements will not be able to unite their forces, let alone carry out trade activities efficiently."

There was a look of disappointment on the old man's face: "So that's what you think. No wonder it's like this."

Clayton stopped: "Us?"

"What? Aren't you a werewolf from the Conglione family?" the old man asked again arrogantly: "You have violated your own nature, worshiped gold and silver, and taken more than you need. That's why you are always controlled by others and unable to achieve status. . Don’t you realize the root of your decline now, and you have to wait until disaster strikes to repent?”

Clayton raised his right hand and scratched his face tiredly.

"That's fine, but what color do you think my eyes are?"

The old man stared into his eyes: "Tawny brown, people in some places also call this color dirty green."

"But the werewolves of the Conlione family have bright green eyes. They are completely different from me." Clayton tried to take out his right hand, and he did it easily this time. He pointed to the north. "They are all in Boda Rabick. There is a castle there and they live in it. If you are not afraid of death, go and preach there. I wish you good luck."

He didn't know who this old man was, but if the other party could convince the Black Claw clan to retreat to the mountains and forests, then it wouldn't hurt if Clayton treated him as a saint.

"So that's it, I will go there later." The old man didn't show any embarrassment at all. He still stared at Clayton: "Maybe I recognized the wrong person, but you should think carefully about what I said."

"I will," Clayton said, walking away faster and faster.

Shortly after the werewolf left, the old man in the white linen robe continued his original behavior. He walked around this chaotic city, observing all the elements that degenerate people here, until it was approaching night, and it was dark, and he walked to a patchwork of streets. A block made of black iron railings and clean marble tiles.

Many gunmen patrolled here carrying lanterns, but they did not stop the old man from passing here.

He walked in front of a luxurious mansion. Every window in the building was shining with light. The sound of musical instruments and melodious singing floated out with the light. The aroma of food and wine also followed him, as if it could bring this kind of happiness. The feeling also spread to the doormen and guards standing guard.

A young woman with silver hair and purple eyes was not affected by this feeling. She stood at the door anxiously. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the old man and immediately came over to him.

"Elder Gregory, the dinner has started for a while, and Mr. Busby is waiting for you."

"Don't lie to me, girl." The old man said coldly: "I know that you only talk about business at the end of the banquet. I came quite early, and there will be no one waiting for me. Let me, let me Let your father rest for a while."

"Elder, Mr. Busby is not my father."

"Why? Get your mother pregnant because he's not married to her?"

Morgan smiled awkwardly. She stopped talking and turned around to signal, and the doorman opened the magnificent door for them.