The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 251 Rebecca Fiennes
Father?

Roland was extremely surprised.

When he saw that scene in the carriage, he thought it was Ram Fiennes's lover - but it was his daughter?
"It is quite unexpected, Miss Fiennes."

Roland had so many questions, but he didn't know where to start.

"My father owes a lot of money, you should know that, right?" Rebecca lowered her head and fiddled with the suspenders on her shoulders, her eyebrows and eyes indifferent: "He is an old bastard, and I am the daughter of an old bastard. We are both out of tune, what should we do?"

"Do you have any good news this time?"

Roland asked her how many times she had met the executive officer before.

But she said she couldn't remember.

I only remember one man who looked very big, but in bed he was like wax, melting as soon as it got hot;
There was a serious and rigid 'Mr. Dogma' who started to criticize her mother as soon as he came in, saying that there was no cross hanging here, or that the cross was hung in the wrong place, or that someone bowed at an inappropriate degree when greeting someone - in the end, her mother had to pay him a few shillings to shut him up.

Oh, and this 'Mr. Dogma' likes to yell 'Bless the Benefactor' when he's at the top.

There was another one who was all muscled up, and his bulge was scary, but that part was like - when she said this, Rebecca shook the thin cigarette between her fingers at Roland.

Really thin cigarettes.

"I seemed to be in a daze for a while, I didn't feel anything, and I made a fortune. With the blessing of the benefactor, I hope there are more people like him, then I will be no different from the ladies of the rich families - don't they also sit and stare every day?"

"I just lay there."

These words were like pieces of a puzzle, filling in Roland's impression of the former Inquisition.

"The benefactor will protect you, but I promise not to protect them." Roland had a very bad impression of these executives.

He didn't object to having fun in the red-light district, but he hated the fact that some people had to show off their identities while having fun.

It was as if this identity could give his candle a core.

What's wrong?
"I don't know whether the benefactor has blessed me, sir, but I know very well that the benefactor has blessed them." Rebecca said mockingly, "They are all living well."

These so-called "executives" have now either gone to work in other parishes of the church, or have joined some family, working for someone and receiving high salaries.

Apart from Ram Fiennes, there is no executive in Bristol.

"I heard that Mr. Ram Fiennes has commissioned you to sell... some kind of ritual in this street."

Rebecca's face was no longer sardonic at the mention of this ceremony, and her voice rose to a higher pitch: "I'm afraid you've come here for nothing, sir. I tell you, the method is a sham, a useless, and a waste of money."

She said that instead of using that magic, it would be better to buy sheep intestines from her mother and wash them repeatedly, which would not cost too much money.

Make ewe tooth powder arrange spell?
Do not make jokes.

"At first, many of my sisters were curious about your tricks and bought teeth and used candles. Guess what happened?"

She pinched out her cigarette and immediately lit another one.

"Nothing happened."

she says.

"Many who persisted in using this spell were unable to work after two months - they were pregnant."

The invisible art is a large category.

Complex and with varying degrees of danger.

If this is a fake, or a real ritual with a very low success rate, and Ram Fiennes got it from David Cromwell...

——Anyone who practices decent rituals knows that it is best not to let mortals touch the invisible arts, and those of the Holy Cross should be especially cautious.

After all, the Tribunal and the Supervisory Bureau are in charge of these things.

David Cromwell must have known what Ram Fiennes' daughter was doing and what he and his daughter were planning. His behavior showed two things:

First, David Cromwell's position was not what he presented himself to be (whether the ceremony he offered was real or fake).

Second, Ram Fiennes was so rotten that he had no intention of distinguishing whether the ritual was real or fake.

Just throw it to your daughter like this?

That is an invisible technique.

The executive officer must be aware of the dangers of invisible techniques of unknown origin.

Even the friendly clergyman, even the kindness shown by David Cromwell -

Ram Fiennes…

"'If you keep having children, it's because you're not pious enough, not because of the ritual,' that's what my father said." Rebecca imitated his tone, which sounded full of resentment. "He is such a 'pious' man."

But there's a problem.

If no one buys this invisible art, then what did he see through the car hood window tonight...?
Roland's answer to this question is simple.

“I told him that many people bought it.”

The bored woman held a cigarette in her mouth, her head drooping like a swan with a broken neck, her long hair hanging on one side, and she looked sideways at Roland... or some other fantasy that didn't exist at all.

Or just daydream.

"I told him that this ritual was very useful to us who worked, and we no longer had to work hard, or quarrel and get beaten for letting customers wear the sheep intestines - I told him that he helped us a lot and many people spent money."

Rebecca sounded like she was telling someone else's story, and there was not a single color in her gray tone.

"I gave him money and asked him to..."

"Business."

When she said this word, it was as if she was talking about some humorous joke, and her eyes showed the depression of someone who knew the ending but pretended not to know for the sake of effect.

"He said he would soon be able to make more and more money with the money I gave him."

"Then, he won't have to dig holes everywhere and be looked down upon. I won't have to keep giving birth to children here - sir." Rebecca hesitated when she said this: "He..."

She hesitated for a moment, then asked Roland:
"He didn't owe any money, but saved a lot, right?"

It was somewhat embarrassing for a prostitute to talk about serious matters in this place, which was supposed to be a place of joy.

She could almost smell the stench beneath the cheap perfume.

Roland's silence didn't last long.

He knew that the longer the calm lasted, the greater the power accumulated beneath the surface of the sea.

It can even drown people.

"He did make some money, ma'am. But I have to remind you," Roland pretended to be relaxed and shrugged, with a trace of distress on his face, "remind you not to do this again, even if it is fictional - I would rather you find another reason. Mortals are contaminated by the invisible art - if they encounter an unreasonable executive, do you know what the consequences will be?"

Rebecca flipped her hair.

"I know." She shrugged like Roland. "Burning. That's what my father did. I know it very well—"

She said it and emphasized it again.

"I know exactly what yours, his, and the so-called Tribunal are."

Her views on the Inquisition were the same as her father's.

(End of this chapter)