The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 343: Knight without Armor

Roland was thinking about something.

If "horses" and "humans" are different, then maybe dying makes sense...

So, how did the driver die?

There must be something that caused their deaths.

"Watch him carefully."

The brave gentleman was getting down from one of the carriages in front of Randolph's.

Throw a hat first.

After a few breaths, the door opened.

Another leather shoe was thrown out.

There was no movement.

Next, a foot.

Another one.

The middle-aged man with sparse hair was sneaky. He was probably not this careful when having sex with his cousin. He leaned back, with only one foot on the ground outside the car, and half of his body was hanging high in the car with the help of the handrail. It seemed that if he noticed anything wrong, he would use his arms to pull himself back into the car...

Calm and calm.

The ghosts just stared at him quietly.

It's like watching a pantomime.

He got down completely - without announcing the good news to the people in the car or taking anything of his own, he first picked up his leather shoes and put them on, then picked up his hat and put it on, straightened his trouser legs, and the collar that was torn due to his big movements.

He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time.

"Heroes must also be respectable."

Randolph scoffed.

His understanding of the behavior of a certain type of people can be said to be profound.

"He's dying," Roland said.

These slightly cold words also made Bronte quietly grasp the folds of her skirt around her legs.

She is not Randolph, nor is she Roland Collins' friend. From the perspective of a stranger or a bystander who only stays at the level of "knowing", Mr. Collins' attitude towards life is extremely contradictory.

This calmness and indifference made her a little scared, but also reassuring.

As she thought about it, she suddenly realized that she was also caught in a "contradiction" and couldn't help but sigh.

She witnessed the true extraordinary today, and recalled what she had said to him before about the topic of 'who doesn't allow' - this made her feel sincerely ashamed.

It's like discussing how to boil an egg with the Queen's chef.

He would probably think I was an ignorant fool.

She saw Beatrice again, with her arms around Roland's waist and her face pressed against his chest, and saw Mr. Collins gazing through the glass into the distance, with one arm around the trembling blonde in his arms...

Where is Mr. Randolph?

How will you look at me?

Randolph…

兰…

The young lady suddenly looked up and found that her 'Mr. Randolph' was leaning on the back of the sofa, staring at the 'dying man' with an expression of watching the fun.

Then look at Roland hugging Beatrice.

Bronte: ...

"He's going to die."

Bronte turned around subconsciously and followed the sound.

When the well-dressed gentleman tidied himself up and was about to speak to the people in the carriage, an arm was placed on his shoulder.

A shadow appeared behind him and whispered something.

The man was so frightened that he almost jumped up. He waved his hands hurriedly, shook his head, and was about to retreat into the carriage - he seemed to have heard something and said something, which immediately angered the ghosts around him.

They swarmed over him, tearing at his clothes, his hair, and the skin beneath his clothes like hungry hyenas.

Blood soon appeared.

His arms and thighs were torn off, just like the wooden dolls collected by Beatrice. All he had to do was slowly turn the joints in the opposite direction, and they would snap and break cleanly.

Of course, that gentleman's cut was not very clean.

Roland covered Beatrice's eyes and held her tighter in his arms. Randolph watched the whole process calmly until screams came from the car, attracting more ghosts to inquire, and then two more thin arms with leg-of-mutton sleeves were thrown out...

He slowly sat back in his original position, tore the hand that was struggling with the pattern on the skirt apart from the skirt, and grabbed it and held it tightly.

"Don't hold me like my skirt, Bronte."

"…gentlemen."

"We won't die here," Randolph whispered soothingly.

What’s interesting is that when Randolph witnessed the scene of flesh and blood being torn apart, an unnatural red color actually spread across his pale face - the unknown is terrifying, and once it is no longer mysterious, it becomes a slave to courage.

"We're not going to die here."

Bronte subconsciously clenched the larger hand and repeated it silently.

Broken limbs and blood plunged the long street into a long silence.

But as mentioned before, when the unknown is no longer unknown, there will be people with the courage to stand up, follow the ancient traditions, and lead their people onto a golden road - at least, that's how the young man who got off the last car imagined himself?
He had side-parted brown curly hair, and the gold tassels on his collar and the cape embroidered with gold thread all indicated his extraordinary status - including the two gentlemen guarding him, who had muskets on their hips and daggers inserted diagonally on their chests.

"…Listen to me, ladies and gentlemen." He miraculously passed the ghosts' 'torture', and after giving the correct answer, he and his followers moved freely in the vague gray ocean.

Then, he knocked on the door of each carriage.

"listen to me."

"They won't rush over, tear open the carriage, and pull you out like a cat biting through the vertebrae of a mouse and then yanking you around - if you don't want to, listen to me."

His voice was loud, but the ghosts around him ignored it.

"'We are with you', just tell them, it's simple, isn't it? Just a little courage, a little courage to stand up for your family, for your partner!"

He raised his arms and shouted, and the golden sunlight shone on his angular face.

"Gentlemen! Show your courage!"

"Come down!"

"We can't wait here forever, until everything is irreversible!"

"Get out of the car!"

"Deal with this like a man, or die like a man!"

"Like a man."

These words had the effect of pouring cold water on a hot frying pan, like putting your head in the open mouth of a crocodile and poking its throat with your hand - few men in the carriage could withstand such provocation.

'Like a man'.

If a man says: You should act like a man - then you'd better prove to him that your fists are hard enough and that you are more manly than him.

And if a woman says, you should be like a man...

It's a sad story then.

Generally speaking, sad stories have the same ending, but each has its own wonderful process.

'Like a man'.

It's like a spell too.

It will soon replace 'Charge' on the battlefield.

"It's a pity that the horses are dead. A knight without a horse is not a knight." Randolph teased. Seeing that the team was gathering more and more slowly, he asked, "Should we respond to the master's call?"

"Randolph."

"Roland?"

"Did you bring any money?"

"Of course? How could the Taylors go out without money?" He kicked open the cabinet door on the right.

Roland: ...

Why would anyone keep a box of coins in a carriage?

"Then ask my sister why she's been obsessed with it lately." Randolph patted Bronte, bent down and took out a box from the cabinet - three boxes stacked up, each filled with coins of different denominations:
There were sovereigns, and there were shillings and pence.

"I still have quite a few bank notes on me, but the amount is not large."

Randolph stirred the coins in his hand, then took out a stack of yellowed bills from his pocket and stroked them in his palm.

"How much in total?"

"Not much, maybe just... a few hundred pounds? I left it for Betty to go shopping... what do you want it for?"

"Survive." Roland glanced at the gradually expanding team: "Most of the knights without horses and armor did not have a good end."

(End of this chapter)