The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 318 Randolph's Friend
"I heard your..."

The carriage drove into "Taylor" and stopped, but the two people did not leave the carriage.

The driver was very sensible and knocked on the hood gently, whispered to Randolph that he would leave first, and asked the servant to leave.

"That elusive friend said..."

Roland stroked the shiny handle of the staff.

Randolph hesitated, as if he had something to say.

"I think she will change her last name to Collins sooner or later..." The man muttered and glanced at Roland, wondering whether he should say what he had already prepared.

"Given our relationship, Randolph, unless you are performing a cult ritual in public, what do you have to worry about?"

"If that can bring me 100,000 pounds." Randolph rubbed his eyes: "...I have a friend, Roland. A very good friend. He can't help me with my business, but we have been good friends since we were young..."

Roland indicated that he was listening.

"That bastard has been...not quite right lately."

"for example?"

"He's an artist. You know, artists are always weird, just like politicians, drinking, women, cigarettes and complaining - 'the public is stupid'." Randolph joked, hooked his fingers on his collar, and loosened them left and right: "But he has been..."

He told Roland that his reclusive friend might have been infected with a curse or had come into contact with someone he shouldn't have come into contact with.

He became different from before. Not only was he willing to communicate with others, he also started to spend money lavishly.

A few days ago, he invited Randolph to his home and borrowed some money from Randolph.

Two thousand pounds.

This is not a small amount of money.

Many people never earn that much in their lifetime.

Randolph slowly described to Roland what he saw at his friend's house: "...I found some animal fur, very fresh fur. Some red animal fur whose function I don't know...or human blood? You know Beatrice's hobby, so I can guarantee that it is definitely not pigment."

He said.

"And some paper."

A heavy emotion appeared in the blond man's narrowed eyes. "The paper with the scribbled pattern. I didn't dare to touch it. I only remembered a little bit and told the ritualist at home..."

The answer is very bad.

The ritualist, who is also the guardian of the Taylor family, said: Although Randolph Taylor's description is not complete, it sounds like an illegal ritual... or even a cult...

Cult.

"How could my friend be involved with a cult?"

The carriage was not stuffy in late winter. Randolph pulled the collar even harder, as if he wanted to pull out the shirt under the collar, as well as the skin, fascia, flesh and internal organs that were stuck to the shirt.

He had few friends, and Victor Sala was one of them.

"I've known him since before I took over the business." Randolph was a little irritated: "We drank together, talked about women, and fought with drunks on the street... He ridiculed me as a greedy vulture, and I ridiculed his 'artwork' as worthless and extremely stupid..."

Recalling the time he spent with Victor, Randolph seemed to have returned to those days of obscenity and foul language.

He wasn't worthy of "Taylor" then.

But very happy.

"He has no wife, and I never heard of him having a lover. He has fewer friends than I do, Roland. I dare say no one but me would lend him two thousand pounds—art? No, no, no, Roland, though we are always different in private, but I can guarantee it."

“He’s a gifted artist.”

Randolph said.

“He has talent and a relentless heart.”

"I just gave it a little push..."

artist.

This title doesn't sound like someone who is short of money.

"Because he rarely sells his work and rarely accepts 'help' from others - yes, that's right. Aloof, mean, unkind, you can use many unpleasant words to describe him."

"But that's my friend, Roland, and I don't want to see him on the gallows one day..."

"Or in flames."

Randolph took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

After repeating this several times, he turned his head, allowing Roland to clearly hear the weakness and pleading in his words: "I'm not 'demanding', Roland, because you are an equally important friend of mine. It's just, if you can, help me take a look at him, okay?"

"Victor is a good man who never pries into things he doesn't understand - you could even describe him as 'conservative'."

"How could such a person be connected to a cult?"

Victor Sala.

No wife, no lover, no friends. A reclusive eccentric, an artist.

Friend of Randolph Taylor.

"How is his health?" Roland asked.

"He doesn't seem to have any problems...at least in my opinion. Two thousand pounds, what disease would cost two thousand pounds?" Randolph shook his head: "...He is only interested in his work. Apart from the food and water necessary for survival, there will be no other 'useless things' in his house."

Generally speaking, those who are most likely to seek out or be sought out by cultists are those who are seriously ill.

If Victor Sala had a recent doctor's appointment, it would be obvious.

Second.

There is another possibility.

"You said he had no lover?"

"No."

On this point, Randolph was certain.

If they hadn't known each other for many years, people who had just met him would even doubt whether he was the "sinner" described in the Book of Eden.

A sinner who is only interested in the same sex and has rebelled against the natural laws created by God.

"To know whether he has come into contact with cultists, there is a simple way."

Roland said.

Holy water.

A person who has performed, or been in close contact with, a cult ritual may feel uncomfortable with holy water.

This extremely yang force will harm them.

On the contrary, it proves that he has nothing to do with the cult...

Either he hasn't reached a certain level yet, or what he has come into contact with is just an illegal "invisible technique".

Then there is a chance of recovery.

Because Roland hated the cultists so much, there was a hint of coldness in his conversation - Randolph could certainly sense it.

"Roland."

"Ok?"

"If, I mean, if..." Randolph lowered his eyes and trembled: "If he made a 'deal' with the cultists...what would happen?"

Roland tilted his head to the other side and stroked the raised lines on the inside of the car wall with his fingertips:
"will die."

"Randolph."

"If he trades with the cultists, he will die."

Something happening to you and something not happening to you are two completely different attitudes.

No one is immune to this.

Randolph stared at Roland's cold profile and turned the topic back to the first topic they talked about - Lillian Rose Vansittart.

"I heard from Miss Vansittart that you were looking for something."

"A magical item, isn't it?"

He whispered, "I told you that the Taylor family had been dealing with 'extraordinary people' a long time ago. Maybe we are not lucky enough to master the real power, but we have it and know how to cash it in..."

Roland didn't look back and refused in a very light voice: "Randolph, we are friends. Let me put it this way - if Victor Sala is not too deeply involved with the cultists, or if he just foolishly tried an invisible technique, considering your relationship with him and your relationship with me..."

"He should just continue his career as an artist."

Here comes the turning point.

"But if he's in too deep..."

Roland turned his body to the side, with a sincere expression: "If you get too deep, Randolph, believe me, no one can convince a madman - maybe you haven't seen how crazy the real cultists are..."

"You know what? He might have killed you, Beatrice, Theresa and Bronte - I can't say they didn't have reason, but it was definitely not what you and I imagined."

"What are you going to do if he is?"

"Convince him?"

"Even if the Inquisition does not deal with it, the Church will not allow this situation to happen."

"No orthodox religious sect will turn a blind eye to heretics."

"If the ritual requires the use of a 'friend's head', what are you going to do?"

(End of this chapter)