The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 333: Dreamland
Victor Sala is dead.

Die on the knees of your own work.

When Roland remained calm, asked the servant to inform Randolph, and quietly welcomed him into the house - Randolph thought Victor was just asleep.

He was so peaceful, like a child sleeping in his mother's arms, no longer afraid of the storm that threatened to destroy the world.

Like the lake found its afternoon boat.

When a talented stonemason dies, all the stone sculptures in the city should commit suicide.

Unfortunately, this is just Roland's imagination.

In fact, even the crows outside the window did not realize that the owner of the house had already broken free from time and headed for eternal stillness.

Like a statue.

His funeral was simple.

Because he was suffering from "white earth disease" or "petrification disease"... no high-end cemetery was willing to accept him: even if the undertaker used the thickest makeup to cover it up, the grayness caused by petrification was different from that of a normal corpse.

The most upscale cemetery in the Ring of Eternal Silence would not accept a corpse that was cursed or infected with an unknown disease.

They didn't burn him on the spot because of Taylor's last name, but they would never accept him.

Finally, Randolph could only find a place for Victor that was not very scenic, narrow but quiet - a sparsely populated cemetery on the outskirts of the city, guarded by an organization affiliated with the Ring of Eternal Silence.

The funeral was simple and the stone cave was ready.

There are two lines of words engraved on the monument:
'Here lies a sculptor of great skill.'

'He took away the friendship of his friends, the art he loved, and eternal regret.'

In the tomb, next to the dark coffin, stood a stone sculpture of a woman.

She just stood there quietly, with her head down, staring at and stroking the coffin lid. When Roland asked this new alien, her answer was simple and firm.

'I am the creation of my Creator and I should stay with my Creator.'

Roland said that would take a very long time.

Statues, she said, have eternal life.

Roland said that the human world is colorful.

She replied that the statue had no colors.

Roland told her that it was not allowed to hurt the innocent person.

She asks what is 'not innocent'.

"I will make you fight to the death, and never give up," said Roland.

'Only the Creator,' she replied.

This was not the first time Roland had violated the executive officer code.

Thus, this immortal alien species would forever stay beside Victor Sala's coffin as a 'funerary object', gazing at its creator or child, and remaining still with him in the winter on the outskirts of London.

"I told him to wait."

Outside the tomb stands a stone sculpture of the Holy Cross, representing a man who had lost his friend and his only remaining friendship.

"You know, even if Edward Snow comes back, there won't be any good way to treat this disease." Roland tried to make Randolph feel less "blameful" - in his opinion, his businessman friend was not suffering entirely because of friendship.

The part that turned into a sharp sword was actually the ship that never returned.

Victor Sala's father died in a shipwreck, a journey he should not have taken but took at Bellos Taylor's request.

When Victor dies, Randolph will blame himself even more.

Because after his father's death, the Taylors were unable to save his son - the surname Sarah ended.

"It's not your fault, Randolph."

"I don't know." Randolph shrugged and pretended to be relaxed: "I always think that if I were not so busy and talked more with Victor, maybe my fate would be different. If he hadn't set foot on this road, he wouldn't have come into contact with the white soil, wouldn't be paranoid and willful, and wouldn't hide in the house forever like a mouse, never seeing the sun."

"If I had come earlier, everything would have been different."

Randolph spoke lightly, but his words were heavy with a lingering sense of oppression.

He was wearing a brown wool scarf, and his frozen face seemed to be lifeless like a statue in a tomb. The silence that once rang in my ears, when the "ding-dong-dong" disappeared, created a new silence.

"Ugh."

Randolph just sighed deeply. There were too many complicated words that he couldn't and shouldn't say to Roland.

Those were the only memories he and Victor had.
-
Death is so cruel, yet we seem to be accustomed to it.
-
Is this the case only in this era?
"Every one of them is the same, Roland."

"The more sensitive you are, the more painful it is; the more dull you are, the happier you are."

"Would you rather be a well-fed sheep or a hungry tiger?"
-
I want to make an awl.

“…?”
-
You are the wrench and I am the awl, and we can stay together in the toolbox all day. The fire in my sight was silent for a long time:

"I'm not buying that now."

Roland curled the corners of his mouth.

His eyes passed through the cross carving and the iron bars in front of the stone cave, and he seemed to see the woman in the dark tomb with her head down and smiling.

This will be a long and lingering gaze that transcends time.

"You should kill her."
-
Alien species?

"Of course, this is a species you've never seen before. If you catch it, the big bat will give you double the reward; if you kill it, there may be rare ritual materials... or even mystical organs."

"You should seize every opportunity to become stronger."

Roland didn't reply, but twisted the handle of his staff.

"Randolph."

"Ok?"

"Victor Sala won't be alone. He has company. It's you who should be sad now."

"Of course?" Randolph was stunned for a moment: "Because I lost a friend--"

"Because you have not succeeded to this day in making Miss Brontë love you. You are lonely, my friend. As lonely as a wild dog shivering in the cold wind at night."

Randolph: ...

"Damn it, Roland. You have to joke in such a serious place..."

"If you die, I will dance at your funeral." Roland patted his shoulder with a smile and turned to walk out of the cemetery: "If I die, please crawl around at my funeral."

Someone laughed in anger: "That's really 'fair', Mr. Collins."

Roland: "Friends don't talk about fairness, they talk about friendship."

"Our friendship isn't strong enough for me to crawl at your funeral...why don't you do it at my funeral?" Randolph cursed as he quickly chased after him.

Roland: "If you die today, I will do this immediately."

"If you can promise me that, I will be less afraid of death."

The two people, talking back and forth and hammering each other, walked slowly out of the cemetery.

got windy.

Randolph suddenly turned around and looked at Victor's grave.

Several crows perched on the cross carving to preen their feathers.

He pressed down the brim of his hat.

'Good luck, my artist.'

…………

……

Victor Sala left no legacy, but interestingly, the artist left a message to his only friend, Randolph Taylor.

Yes, just a note, one sentence.

"Please take back all the works I have given you and display them in your salon at dusk."

Randolph didn't understand what the note meant.

"If Victor wanted fame, he should have told me how to do it earlier, and there wouldn't be such a joke as the art exhibition..."

Randolph was skeptical.

Victor Sara would never ask his friend to make him famous after his death.

Victor wouldn't do that.

Randolph was absolutely sure.

If he wanted to, he would have piled up gold pounds to the sun long ago.

"Why don't you do it?" Roland put his hands behind his back and looked around the empty room. "Hold a salon, Randolph. At Taylor's house. Beatrice and I will be there."

Randolph: ...

My sister would have been there anyway, so you didn't need to tell her.

"Besides, I haven't decided whether to invite you, Roland." The failed brother who lost his sister and then his friend had a dark face, "I haven't thought about it yet."

"I can come here on a dragon," Roland tiptoed, turned around lightly, and said proudly, "Beatrice said she bought it for me... with your money."

(End of this chapter)