The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 300 Ch.299 The so-called important...

Roland saw many women.

In this dungeon.

Like a desolate primitive village, pairs of wild eyes in the darkness stared at him.

Move as he moves.

The stale steaming pots were filled with the smell of rotting seafood. No one here used gauze or satin gloves. They bathed in sheep's blood, used animal fur, and even their own skin to wipe the necessary places.

Then smear it everywhere.

In order to prevent her mother from worrying about her, the young girl ate herself like her mother; while the mother, holding the dead cat whose mouth was ripped open by flies, only cared about kissing her "child" tenderly.

'Na…Nana…Nala…Na…'

What is vicious here is not the rumors, but the laughter; what is terrifying is not the stories, but the humming of inaudible words.

The highly decomposed and bloated corpses were placed in the cells or in the corridors outside the cells, next to the "clean water buckets" and dirty water buckets.

The nun, whose face could not be identified, sat on the ground, picking up broken insects or vague, nameless parts of other creatures from under her flat, wide feet.

Either chewing half a rat tail, or sucking the food stored in their fingernails.

Perhaps it wasn't hunger that was tormenting them.

'Come on, come on.'

A woman called him hoarsely.

'Here are beds, bile, and good nights...'

she murmured.

'The All-Father protects you, me... and shit.'

Some sit silently in the shadows, as silent as death; others accept it with relish, trying to find their once bright and beautiful selves from the bright golden eyes of those passing by.

Very few, only a very few showed an expression of embarrassment, covered their faces, or awkwardly covered their upper or lower parts, hid in the darkness, and avoided the candlelight wrapped in shadows.

The passage was hopelessly long.

There was no spiral staircase at the end, and no sunshine symbolizing hope.

It's a wall.

Behind each thick and tall stone door is another prison world.

Shandel stopped in front of a stone door, reached out and gently touched the stone surface without any patterns, stroked the keyhole, and pressed his face against the cold stone wall as if hugging a lover.

Or maybe she already considered it one of her lovers.

"plz follow me."

The nun holding the lantern suddenly spoke, waking Roland.

"Ms. Menzi," she held the lamp to her chest. Next to the stone wall of the 'embrace' of Shandel, the keyhole was made of brass with a number engraved on it: two hundred.

"Ms. Menzie is right here."

Roland subconsciously looked at Shandel.

But she just smiled foolishly: "That is the path you have to choose, Roland. The gods have no faith, and never expect believers to predict the future for them."

"Ms. Menzie is right here."

The nun repeated stiffly, pulling out a brass ring of similar color from her pocket.

One of the keys is the longest and thickest.

Put it in the keyhole and turn it a few times.

"Ms. Menzi is right here." She repeated for the third time, and under the dim light, she suddenly moved closer to Roland. Her voice fluctuated slightly: "...The self-righteous kingfisher fell into the trap first."

She said something unclear, pulled out the key, and pushed the stone door hard.

Contrary to Roland's expectations, there was no sound at all.

The stone door rotated inward, revealing a gap for people to pass through.

"See you later, Shandel."

Shandel did not answer.

Until his back disappeared into the passage behind the stone door, until the stone door rotated again and closed into the shape of a stone wall.

"I miss it here, Mary."

The nun bowed her head respectfully.

Shandel brushed off the dust on her palms and long skirt, then walked into the light.

Stand in front of her.

"…You don't like this name?"

The nun shook her head.

"I am at your service."

"Is Mary all right?"

The nun said nothing.

Shandel groaned, turned around with his hands behind his back, and asked, "How many Marys are there?" "You have named twenty-three women 'Mary'."

"Which number are you in?"

"The twenty-third."

"The twenty-third..." Shandel raised his heels and looked around, as if he was a countryman who had just moved to the city and was full of curiosity about his surroundings: "So, what about the first twenty-two?"

"Except for the other Mary, all the rest have gone to heaven."

"Are you anxious?"

The nun said nothing.

"Otherwise, why are you talking to my friend?" Shandel turned back and walked to the nun, gently stroking her dry and rough face with his palm, along her neck, all the way to her shoulders, upper arms, and forearms - until he took the oil lamp from her hand.

Hold it in your own hands.

"Why are you talking to my friend?"

creak...

creak...

The oil lamp swayed back and forth.

The shadow swayed from side to side.

It was swung up, and the light and shadow were reversed in an instant.

Bang-!
Click.

Metal and glass, mixed with blazing flames and wax, all hit Mary's face - or rather, her mouth.

The sharp blade of the broken sword immediately cut her lips, and countless long wounds oozed blood.

She screamed, threw herself to the ground, at Chandel's feet, and never dared to look up again.

The owner of the sheepskin boots was still holding the half-broken and creaking lamp.

Crunch.

Only sharp glass was left swaying back and forth.

"Tell me, Mary. Why are you talking to my friend?"

"You're reminding him, aren't you?"

The trembling woman let out a cry mixed with blood from her throat: "...He, he will die at the hands of Ms. Menzi..."

"That is his fate."

Shandel touched his face, and the blood had created shallow pits on his face that had been patted with powder. "Blood flowed out of the lime wall, and the Holy Child cut off his own roots... This way, the wound is enough."

Just like burning cow dung dispelling the sacred, when the beetle opens its elytra to reveal the protected membrane, the beetle named "Xandel" reveals its true body:

A mad body made of evil thoughts instead of flesh and blood.

"Died in my 'home', died next door to my home."

"It's like dying in my memory..."

"In my arms."

"I want to be one with him forever..."

"Mary."

"How can you stop a pious person from hearing an oracle?"

Crunchy…

The broken and rusty oil lamp flickered.

The wailing and crazy laughter echoing from the corridor made the gray-haired beetle feel very at ease.

Who would be anxious at home?

"A man full of hope." She pinched her bulge and pulled it hard, as if she wanted to pull out the beating heart underneath it: "A man full of hope, a blasphemer who is preparing to welcome his bright future..."

"Will he live? Or will he die?"

The nun covered her mouth with her hands, and blood was oozing from the gaping wounds on her face, making her look more terrifying than a demon.

"If he survives, if he wears the veil, if he lets me worship his spear like God the Father, if he rides like a horse...if..."

As Shandel read and spoke quickly and hurriedly, his chest heaving like a bellows being pulled faster and faster, blowing out scorching sparks from his nostrils.

She threw away the oil lamp and strangled herself. The desperate sinner had eyes the color of forget-me-nots that feed lake monsters.

"If, if, if..."

If he dies.

After the moon melted, the sparkling lake light opened its eyes.

If he dies.

That is not my salvation.

My thorns.

(End of this chapter)