The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 311: The Winged One

night.

Fairy ring.

Temporary base.

When Roland was no longer involved in the 'construction', Rose and Chandel saved a lot of time - saving the time of dismantling.

"…'The Spinning Witch'? No, it doesn't. But the 'Silver Spindle' does."

Rose was covered in a light green blanket.

Red snow was falling outside the window and a warm fire was burning inside the house.

"They are more active in those outlying towns, where the Orthodox Church is less active, but I haven't really seen any members of the Silver Spindle since I came to London."

Rose had been to many places with Anne when she was a child and had heard some 'interesting stories'.

"…Like they sew themselves? Yes, but I haven't seen it myself."

The girl with short curly hair hugged her knees, took off her shoes, and slumped in the huge leather sofa, making her look particularly small.

——The furniture, floors, carpets, stickers on the walls and all the furnishings in the room are from Shandel.

Team Fernandez has been resting recently, and her daily "secrets" have been used in the fairy ring.

I have to say, it's worth the money.

The room was not big, but Roland felt that perhaps only in a family with an ancient heritage could one see such a complex and harmonious decoration - it was not easy to blend harmony and complexity together.

On the other hand, Rose was in charge of preparing food and drinks.

Roland...

Roland just needs to stay here and not cause any more trouble.

"What did that woman tell you?" The thief was still disappointed about not being able to participate in the adventure, and his green eyes kept blinking. If Roland really told her that she missed a thrilling adventure in broad daylight... she would definitely be angry.

"Just chatting." Roland hooked the cup handle and took a sip of coffee, smoke curling up: "She talked about some missionary knowledge..."

Roland believed that they were not a true "sect" and would not spread their teachings among mortals.

"Oh." Rose moved her knees, and a few little heads of yellow and green striped socks popped out from under the blanket.

The fire crackled.

A small space can add warmth.

"So…"

"Start?" Roland snapped his fingers.

A stone tablet condensed next to the wall.

This is the "Original Monument" (named by Shandel) made by Roland. The rules discussed this time and the names of current and future members will be recorded forever on this stone monument.

……

Roland: First of all, this should be a small, secret group that will never expand.

Shandel & Rose: Agreed.

Shandel: There is no need to set any special criteria - or the selection can be done by the leader. But every new member must be approved by all members.

Roland & Rose: Agreed.

Rose: You can do whatever you want and do whatever you want wherever you want, but you can never do anything that is cult-like - when you consider whether what you are about to do is a cultist's method, it means that it already is.

Roland & Shandel: Agree.

Three people, three proposals.

After a lap, return to Roland.

Roland: I hope our doctrine is about hope.

Shandel & Rose: Agreed.

Shandel: I hope to be able to perform the work of "redemption".

Roland & Rose: Agreed.

Rose: I hope we can help each other, blood is thicker than blood.

Roland & Shandel: Agree.

Second round, all passed.

Back to Roland again.

Roland: We bring "hope" to the weepers, but please note - we are not "saviors", we are not the so-called "reformers" of the Gray Party, and we do not belong to the "tradition" of the Secret Party.

We do not deliberately steal from the rich and give money to the poor; nor do we deliberately target the evil and give "justice" to the good.

We pursue doctrine, but we follow our heart and never be so fanatical as to be bound by it.

We are not Holy Cross.

We are not politicians either.

Shandel & Rose: Agreed.

Shandel: Our "hope" comes from our thoughts and cognition. We will act for our own benefit, do evil for "hope", and at the same time we may bring "despair" to others for the sake of hope - we are not an absolutely just organization, neither absolute nor just.

We are a loose group, but we have a goal and must obey the instructions of the leader.

--agree.

Rose: You are not allowed to tell anyone other than the members what happened at night.

If there is a traitor among us, it is everyone's fault.

The traitor must die.

--agree.

The third round ends.

It has taken shape.

The three people paused for a while, turned their heads and observed the characters slowly emerging on the stone tablet.

This is the rule set by them - the original three people.

"It's becoming more and more like a cult," Rose muttered.

--Because apart from some rules that most groups have (such as not allowing betrayal), the above text is undoubtedly repeating a sentence, or a word: 'Do whatever you want'.

Only cults are like this - although they add 'seemingly beautiful' embellishments such as hope and redemption.

But the fewer rules, the fewer edges and walls, the more chaotic and idealistic it means.

"You can't expect a leader who raises aliens to establish a legitimate sect, Vansittart." Shandel glanced at the white snake coiled on Roland's shoulder and smiled, "You can't expect the Holy Cross or the Ring of Eternal Silence to be born from the casual chat between the three of us."

Rose ignored her and asked Roland: "We are missing the most important step."

Roland: “What?”

Rose: "Name."

A sect must have a name.

Members of a sect also have names.

Just as the Executors are to the Inquisition, the Detectives and Consultants are to the Inspectorate and the Church, the Nature Walkers are to the Maelstrom.

"I thought of one that I think is suitable for us..."

"At least the three of us."

Roland lowered his eyes, put down the teacup, and supported his chin with one hand.

The red snow outside the window has grown even bigger.

"The Winged One."

The room suddenly became quiet.

"The Winged One."

"Our names."

He said.

It was like talking to the two ladies, or also like talking to myself.

Xiandel quietly looked at the black-haired young man sitting quietly in the warmth, at the black hair hanging lazily and loosely behind his back, and the amber eyes that were no longer confused.

He calmed down, and seemed to have finally made up his mind.

“I’ve been thinking about what we are.”

His voice was very soft, like copper water flowing out of amber, and every drop of it was deeply permeated with two obsessed souls.

"We grew up in dust and vigilance..."

"monster."

"Without a doubt."

"We are, Chandel, Rose."

"In our eyes, or in the eyes of others, yes, absolutely."

Just like a pauper finding a will that inherits his wealth, after the hot ashes and the scorching sun were covered by dark clouds, the cracked land finally welcomed thunder and sweet rain.

If a smile had a scent, the one Roland was emitting now was extremely fascinating.

"He is a madman who can cross-dress without changing his expression, has no 'manliness', and is blinded by a curse."

"It is the double-sided pain of piety and evil thoughts, the saint who craves thorns and suffocating disasters."

"It is a crime and adventure that can never be stopped and will never be understood by 'normal' others."

His voice slowly simmered two increasingly rapid breaths, hot and dazzling, and the gurgling streams entangled with golden threads gathered in the amber into turbulent waves.

Roland looked past Rose and Chandel and toward the rolling red rain outside the window.

"not only that."

“It shouldn’t be just that.”

He said.

“Maybe, we still love male men.”

"Still a woman who loves women."

"He is a fool who is laughed at by the public, a deformed dog with bad skin who is separated from the group and has no ominous reputation, a sick stranger who is not understood, a cold knife that looks at death indifferently, a son of suffering whose flesh and blood are torn apart..."

"We are scaly, horned, hoofed..."

"Those with wings, those with fins, those who weave webs..."

"Excluded and Hated..."

"Of the times."

"monster."

The word caused Rose and Chandel to fall silent.

The world bites them, and they bite the world.

Those pieces of flesh and blood with tooth marks provided nutrients to their bodies, allowing something called hatred, distortion or madness to thrive.

They exhale their own pain and inhale the sarcasm and mockery of the world.

Roland slowly stood up and looked at the exquisite round windows.

The red snow is all over and springs are gushing out of the earth.

Then the smile of breaking free from the shackles continued to spread across his face.

The light could not depict his expression, only a silhouette of a person with wings gradually spreading was left on the wall.

"If grapes could bring destruction, monsters would drink them."

“But now, they don’t have to.”

"Because I will tell them the difference between monsters and humans."

The shadow on the wall called out, black hair and wings intertwined into a swaying fantasy born under the light.

"Nothing is missing."

He said.

"It's just... an extra pair of wings."

(End of this chapter)