The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 341 Ch.340 Blurred Tide

"I heard that Mason Lyle lost all his savings in a previous scam."

On the way back in the carriage, Randolph teased the unfortunate guy - he was a little dissatisfied with Randolph because he brought up Victor Sara in his performance, but Mr. Merchant did not intend to go to his house to reprimand him like those blue-bloods did, standing on the moral high ground and spitting at him.

'You should have a sense of humor.'

Because if we must argue, Mason Lyle did in fact praise Victor Sala and did not belittle or ridicule his achievements and life.

Randolph planned to ask his acquaintances which bank Mason Lyle owed money to.

"You are like a hungry fox, and even the tiger dares to take a few bites." This is how Roland described Randolph. He is very sensitive now, especially in the short time since Victor's funeral, he doesn't want to hear any bad words.

"You know, Roland. Victor has done so much for the Taylor family, for me, and even for us..."

"You want 'him' to harbor the cultists?" Roland asked.

Randolph laughed. "No, of course not. A businessman has his own way of doing things. He will soon realize that he has said something he shouldn't have said."

Listening to the two men plotting loudly in the carriage, Bronte couldn't help but think of the flashy gentleman just now: she didn't like the man's choice of words either, which always gave people a frivolous and unrealistic feeling.

"Miss Halida is not doing well."

Bronte said.

"She might as well be a tramp in the city."

——At least they are free.

"If she needs help, there will be help." Roland faced the window and said lightly, "As long as she persists in watering hope."

Bronte was actually not satisfied with this answer.

You need help from friends... Do you need it?

But she also knew that she was just a maid, and "mentioning it casually during a chat" was all she could do - that poor girl was not her good friend after all...

Maybe...she should ask Roland for help?
Beatrice was probably tired from playing, and she leaned against Roland, drowsy.

The carriage became unusually quiet.

As mentioned before, people from all walks of life go to the circus in the suburbs of London - it's not a problem when the show starts, but after it ends, the roads become quite congested.

The relatively well-off men and women chose horse-drawn carriages, and most of the drivers would choose the same route back to the city.

This inevitably makes the traffic flow very slow.

Until, they were slowly crossing the Thames.

"Randolph."

The man, who was as drowsy as his sister, almost snored, and Roland called him several times.

"...Roland?" Randolph rubbed his eyes, covered his mouth and yawned, then asked where he was.

However, Roland kept staring out the window.

"The Taylor gentlemen must get ready."

The gentlemen were referring to the Taylors’ ritualists.

Gentlemen.

This word was like a bucket of cold water poured over my head.

Randolph woke up instantly, his nerves tense: "Roland?" Without waiting for an answer, he opened the last layer of the small cabinet next to him where cigars and red wine were placed.

A pistol lay quietly on the black velvet.

The magazine is full of bullets.

“Maybe there’s no need for a gun.”

Roland gently comforted the nervous Randolph and the confused Bronte, and shook Beatrice's shoulders to wake her up.

When the carriage slowly stopped and the sound of horse hooves disappeared...

They finally discovered something was wrong.

Some grayish-white mist seeped in through the crack in the door.

Like the smoke from a burning cigarette, but not choking.

Dense, scattered footsteps continued to pass through the carriage.

Soon, something knocked on the door outside.

叩…

Knock knock…

Randolph subconsciously raised his arm and pointed the gun at the door, but his eyes were on Roland - in such a situation, no one in the car could handle it as well as his friend.

'If I had to shoot...'

He spoke so softly that he only used breath.

knock knock.

The knocking sound became much louder.

And more hurried.

"Look out the window, Randolph."

Roland didn't shy away from the volume of his voice and tapped on the glass with his fingers.

Bronte turned and drew aside the curtains, only to let out a short scream, and the color instantly drained from her face.

outside the car.

Countless blurry shadows surged like the tide.

They seemed to be heading somewhere, mumbling something in their mouths, their bodies stiff, shaking, and moving forward... Behind the carriage, several carriages similar to Randolph's were parked quietly.

Their driver was also missing.

So do horses.

In fact, the word 'disappeared' cannot be used either - the torn pieces of flesh and blood on the ground showed that they had probably turned into countless copies of themselves.

Randolph felt himself sweating.

On the neck, soaking the collar.

The chest feels sticky.

The cold handle in my palm was stained with my body temperature and quickly became slippery.

"…Roland."

He is not ignorant, but...

So many ghosts -

The benefactor is above!
Half the East End is dead?!

There is no living person on the entire street!

He had no doubt that if he opened the door at this moment, the shadows would immediately rush in and tear to pieces any living creatures in the carriage.

Horse, driver.

They will suffer the same fate.

An ocean of ghosts.

What is the church doing?!

"London is becoming less and less safe." Roland murmured.

This is the Holy Cross's stronghold.

knock knock.

The knocking sound rang out again.

Noticing the movement around him, Roland covered Beatrice's mouth with his backhand.

"Shh..."

He had a gun, silver bullets, and holy water, so he could outlast the other carriages anyway.

"Where are they?"

Roland asked.

"Right in the back."

Roland immediately said: "Don't let them get off the bus."

Randolph nodded, turned and gestured to the rear window of the car.

"No good thing happens to those who draw attention first."

It's like stepping on a trap.

As for ghosts, resentful spirits and evil, one must first master the 'rules' before knowing how to 'avoid attacks' - just like the girl on the farm who was 'deeply loved' by her father.

By mastering the rules, even mortals can avoid death.

Extremely strong and extremely weak.

Once someone falls into the trap first, it will provide a lot of information to those who come after them.

Roland pulled up the side curtains, raised his hand, and opened a thin gap in the front curtains...

then.

He met a pair of lifeless eyes.

and so.

The entire carriage must be crawling with ghosts.

The eyes looked at Roland quietly.

Roland remained calm and silently closed the curtains.

Randolph: ...

Bronte: ...

"Roland..."

Randolph's wrist began to shake uncontrollably, an uncontrollable, physiological tremor.

He held Bronte's hand tightly and bit the tip of his tongue fiercely.

The pain that went straight to the brain instantly pierced through the fear.

boo.

Roland bent down and raised his finger to Beatrice, then pulled out a few sparkling glass tubes from his windbreaker, pulled out the corks, and gave them to Bronte and Randolph, asking them to press the bottle mouth with their thumbs.

"…Holy water, the power of extreme yang. It can kill the ghosts outside in an instant - but don't use it lightly, Randolph, Miss Bronte. Once you do this, we will have to face…"

Roland seemed to have thought of something.

"Perhaps, we will have to face thousands of angry citizens..."

(End of this chapter)