The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 330 Ch.329 Randolph and Victor

“Clay…molding.”

"The embryo...is formed into a mold."

"Little color draft...cough cough cough..."

cough.

The gray-covered man shook off the white dust on his head like an old dog walking in the snow, muttered a few words to himself, compared himself to the plaster statue on the left, and raised the hammer.

Ding Ding Dangdang ...

Ding-ding-ding-ding.

The cold stone may also be mixed with white soil. The delicate, moist touch spreads from the fingertips to the eyelids, and drops of spring water from the mountain stream fall into the dry and tired eyes.

Not light enough.

Not heavy enough.

Not clever enough here.

That's not rude enough.

Since I was a teenager, I have been lifting hammers and chisels, and when I put them down, I didn't realize that my back and waist are no longer straight.

So Victor Sala is willing to sit and walk hunched over. He does not need to avoid the sun and the sight of others, but he just spends a little more effort when observing his own works.

But every time he touched the stone texture, he felt the cold vitality.

He regained his youth.

“…cough cough cough.”

The stiff limbs almost cracked as they moved. The movements became slower and more precise.

“The work is alive.”

he murmured.

The straight nose divides two compassionate eyes, and the hard stone is turned into soft long hair under the gentle chiseling and grinding.

The veil covers its affectionate eyes.

The affectionate eyes hidden by the veil stared at the man who was chiseling it.

then.

There was a huge explosion.

The door was kicked open.

"Victor Sala! You bastard who never listens to advice! Do you really have to act like a child?!"

Since a certain artist was not happy to have a stranger in the room 'watching' him...

The servants arranged by Randolph had no choice but to set up a temporary shelter in the withered garden outside the door - but he could not stop a second-ring ritualist who was very good at climbing walls.

and so…

His act of raising the hammer privately was exposed.

Roland did his duty.

"I should take all your tools and give them to those thugs in the South Side, right?"

"What did you promise me?"

Randolph pulled out his handkerchief, put it under his nose, and cursed as he walked.

The hall, which was previously empty due to the smashed sculptures, is now filled with new works of various postures.

Randolph kicked one of them down.

The woman holding the flowers fell straight to the ground and broke in two at the neck.

"You want to die, don't you? You take my fucking money and don't give me anything in return?"

Randolph was furious.

He rarely loses his temper, really. But his friend is really too stubborn - is this a small matter?

"You're going to fucking die, you know that?"

He stopped and looked down at the gray-haired man sitting cross-legged without saying a word. Then he looked up at his friend's latest masterpiece.

what.

again.

"You must, don't you?"

He kicked the chisel off the ground, and the metal head hit the wall and bounced off, making a clanging sound.

"If this continues..."

No sound.

Randolph's chest heaved, and the anger almost burst out of his eyes, wanting to burn to death this bastard who was not as obedient as Betty.

He received no apology, or even the slightest word of remorse.

Victor scratched his head and fiddled with the badly worn hammer in his hand.

"Is she pretty?"

Refers to the stone sculpture behind him.

Randolph snorted, ignored the dust and waste on the ground, cleared a space with his shoes, and sat cross-legged like Victor Sara. The handmade casual trousers worth dozens of pounds will end their short life today.

The blond, blue-eyed man took off his coat, pulled out a flat leather bag from the lining, and pulled out two cigars.

Cut and light.

Throw one to the other side.

The cigar rolled several times in the ashes and came to the tip of another pair of shoes, where it was picked up by rough, hard hands and bitten by yellow, crooked teeth.

Saluted by a dry, dusty tongue.

Then get sucked.

The cigar head was facing another cigar head that had fallen into the dust, and the firelight flickered like breathing in the dark room.

Randolph uttered the words along with the smoke: "...Not bad."

Victor smiled.

It was exactly as Randolph had described.

Smile like a child.

"I knew she was gorgeous."

Randolph tugged at his collar impatiently, then used force to pop the buttons open, leaving it open.

"I told you, if you touch this thing again, you might..."

"Then why did you come?" Victor asked.

"Because I'm a moron, how about that?"

Victor just laughed.

"Listen, Mr. Pacifier. I know a knowledgeable and skilled doctor. When he comes back, maybe everything will be back to normal..."

"I'm in a hurry, Randolph."

Victor held a cigar in his mouth and gently pushed his bent cuffs up a few inches.

then.

Pull open the clothes at the chest.

Randolph moved his lips, but only short, shapeless sounds came out.

"This disease is spreading faster than I thought. You shouldn't go near this house, Randolph."

He said.

"You seem to have a younger sister."

This sentence will undoubtedly push those who are close away.

Randolph smoked quietly, and from time to time he looked up at the silent sculpture lying in the dust.

The woman lowered her head with a compassionate expression, looking towards her creator.

"No, Randolph."

Victor's voice was quiet.

"If you don't listen to me, then..."

"you can not."

"I should be able to." Randolph held up his cigar, with ashes half a finger thick on the butt. "For example, sending people to break in and smash your new works every day... You want to compete with my gold pound in patience?"

"Randolph Taylor." Victor was a little dissatisfied.

That was his hard work, how could he——

"I'm almost like Randolph Sara! Please, Victor! I'm not your father! Can you please stop acting like a child?!" Randolph pointed at the sculpture, throwing off the hat full of cigar butts with his outstretched arms.

"Wait until you are cured, wait until you are better, wait until it is over, why can't you wait?!"

"The statues won't run away like your mother! Do you understand? You have plenty of time to face them!!"

Victor stared at Randolph. "She died of pulmonary edema."

"She ran away, idiot. She abandoned you and her husband! What's wrong with your fucking brain?! A whore would despise the man's morality when she saw him! Benefactor, can you please shoulder the responsibilities that you should shoulder like a man!"

Victor sucked on his cigar in silence.

"I have fulfilled my duty as a man, Randolph." There was an indescribable flash in his eyes. If an artist asks you to guess a mystery that he does not intend to reveal, you'd better choose to surrender or curse him directly at the beginning.

"what?"

Randolph really didn't understand.

"You have done your duty, Randolph, my friend. You and Mr. Taylor have supported me for thirty years. Thirty years of living expenses - art is expensive everywhere."

Randolph curled his lips: "This little bit of mud is not worth much."

Victor held the cigarette between his legs and carefully examined the hammer in his hand.

A full half hour, until the cigar burned out.

"…Thanks, Randolph."

He said.

"Thank you."

(End of this chapter)