The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 349 Ch.348 Key
A true hero must be a good stage actor.

In Randolph's opinion, Evans and Barent were indeed suitable for this job.

Extremely gifted.

He first led everyone to the end of the river, in front of a long blockade line pulled by ropes - and when they were about to touch the rough rope, the terrible thing finally happened.

In the entire area, all the ghosts wandering around motionlessly paused at the same time.

Turn your head in unison.

Looked at them.

That cold, lifeless look was enough to scare most people present.

Some people screamed, some hugged their families, and a few even took out handkerchiefs, covered their mouths and began to retch (perhaps they took the opportunity to bend over and hide further behind them).
In short, the scene became chaotic.

"Everyone!"

Evans again.

Heroic Evans.

"Listen to me! Follow the plan I've given you! Trust me - everyone... do you trust me?"

Yes.

Evans' goldfinch.

the crowd chanted.

"Cough." Barent coughed twice to indicate that he was ready.

then.

"My brothers! My sisters! My mother and father! Sons and daughters!"

Evans took a few steps forward, almost to the point where the ghost could reach him, and said in a loud voice: "I know your demands and have heard your dissatisfaction. Now, I want to give you an answer!"

He shouted, and the spirits began to surge like a wave.

Screams and roars came one after another.

The voices of the living, the dead, loud and out of tune, and fluctuating.

It's like a chorus with blurred boundaries, a collaboration between the living and the dead, a roulette game with flesh and blood and souls as chips.

There is always something ridiculous and absurd in horror.

"Come on, come on, Mr. Barent! Tell us what we have proposed recently, what we will pass soon!"

He said this in a pretentious manner, then took a step to the side, making way for Barent to step forward.

"cough."

Then came Barent.

Another hero.

The hero coughed a few times to clear his throat while looking at the misty layers of ghost things in front of him, and the stone-like eyeballs staring at him, following him, and moving with his movements - it made people feel goosebumps all over and break out in cold sweats.

He was even afraid that these monsters would pounce on him in the blink of an eye and tear him to pieces.

The warm applause gradually faded away, and the throbbing heart pumped cold blood to the limbs, freezing each of the hero's brave toes, making his hairy feet soaked in acid-like sweat, and making the burnt gray toenails and chapped skin scream out:
'Hurry! Run! I don't want to be here!'

He retreated.

He wiped the sweat off his face and stammered, no longer as excited as when he was arguing with others just now.

His sharp teeth and thorny tongue could not protect him from the tsunami of ghosts - the spirits did not care about the contemptuous looks and sarcastic words.

But Barent only had these two sharp claws, and he had used them to win every battle.

"I...I am..."

He was like a baby who was spanked on the buttocks by his mother. He felt wronged and wanted to cry. He was so scared that the little spider webs at the place where he was spanked immediately contracted and perked up, tense as if keeping rhythm with the woman, and like a soldier waiting for the queen, every part of his body was exerting strength.

He curled his little eyes upward, almost pushing his intestines up to his throat.

The hero's end.

"I am yes, yes, that... that... you are... I am yours..."

Ok.

He finally admitted his failure.

He used the sweaty handkerchief to paint his oversized face like an oil painter, turned his head, and gave a bitter smile to the mortals who were waiting to be rescued by the hero.

Evans also had a few beads of sweat on the tip of his nose. He cursed "noble ass" in his heart, but he still had to put on a smile and smoothly take over the conversation so that they would not drown in this tide.

“…He is Barent, my assistant.”

Evans stood back up and gave the ghosts a flattering donkey-like smile:

However, they just looked at him expressionlessly.

Waiting for the moment to sweep away all living beings.

"I know what you all want, and I have to tell you good news."

Evans was too busy with his words, too busy with his memories and imitations of the great men he had met before, and simply said:

"Holidays, mines, suffrage."

"Everyone!"

"We can all agree!"

He waved his arms, slapped his chest or pounded his fists from time to time, trying to make himself look more convincing.

"I can say without hesitation: your request has been approved! Mr. Barent and I came here to tell you this good news!"

"Requests! All your requests! Have been approved!"

He finished.

There was no movement in any direction.

"Gentlemen?"

"Ladies?" He laughed dryly, rubbing his palms together, no longer bothering to show off the goldfinch's dazzling and gorgeous feathers.

"We have done what you asked..."

at this time.

The tides around him began to 'squirm' towards him.

"Gentlemen..."

This was completely beyond Evans' expectations.

How can it be?

After cooling down, the stove suddenly realized that it was placed on a pale snowy field.

That's how Evans feels now.

He couldn't get warm.

The heroic goldfinch, the explorer of the Evans family’s mysteries, the apprentice who has just begun to touch the mystery, the keyholder with a brilliant future - each of his titles should accompany him from now until immortality, and even push open that narrow door and step into the path that few people have trodden.

His ideals and ambitions, the power of the sleeping world, the authority over mortals in the waking world...

He is hardworking and talented enough.

But all of the above...

Unfortunately.

The ghosts don't care.

“…No! This, this, this isn’t right!”

His boss, the guide who taught him, the knowledge described in those books...is not like that!

He had clearly found the key and unlocked the door...

impossible!
Reproduce, complete wish...there should be no mistakes in any link!!

These ghosts should have a pious look, or pain, or satisfaction, or laugh or cry - they should always make some expression, and then, get out!
Disappear from the waking world!
Everything is wrong...

Where did it start to go wrong...

He stood there in a daze, the cries ringing in his ears being grabbed and torn apart by bony hands.

His trouser legs became hot, and the uncontrollable warmth soaked the goldfinch in the goldfinch family, making it impossible for him to flap his wings or lift his legs.

He had no time to scream before his ears were torn off and his eyeballs gouged out. His jaw could no longer hold his tongue, and his entire face was split into two parts.

He carries a gun and a dagger, and perhaps has considerable martial prowess.

But until his death, he was unable to launch an effective counterattack and use what he had learned to save his own life.

He stood there like a puppet, allowing them to manipulate him, and then blood splashed out, and his arm was thrown up by the swarming ghosts, leaving a trail of blood in the air before falling into the surging spiritual tide again.

The creatures were speechless.

The dead sang.

The feast begins.

Since most people trusted their hero, the first to be hit was the camp headed by Evans: Roland and his four companions, including three of Randolph's friends who joined later and their families, were at the end of the team.

Last, meaning they will die last.

"Facing thousands of enemies, a gun is meaningless." Roland held down Randolph's trembling arm, and then took Beatrice, who was struggling and screaming, into his arms. With his other hand, he held down his hat in the wind: "Use holy water, gentlemen."

He gave orders to the three ritualists.

"But...Mr. Collins, that was our last..."

The leading ritualist was a little hesitant.

Because it is not a desperate situation yet and the tide has not risen to the ankles, the silver-plated bullet is the best choice in this situation.

There is too little holy water.

Although it is definitely effective, the ritualist still has some tricks up his sleeve - he wants to save them for the very end, once the "field" becomes unstable and a breakthrough is needed...

They could protect Mr. and Miss Taylor and use holy water to quickly break through the wall of spirits.

Holy water has extremely powerful killing power against ghosts.

"How many rings are you, sir?"

Roland didn't look back. He looked at the women, children, and men who were screaming and shouting and whose arms or heads were torn off by the ghosts, and asked softly, "What level are you in?"

"Three rings." The leading ritualist didn't know why he did this, but he still bowed slightly when answering: "...Three rings of the Secret Scroll Road, "Evil Party". Mr. Collins, we don't belong to the private alliance, we only support Taylor."

"Oh, so I can't order you around."

Randolph rubbed his brows and said, "Roland, you are a bit like some big masters in your weird attitude."

He turned around and glanced at the ritualist: "Do as Roland Collins says."

"Sir! But, but if we wait for the opportunity, we can..."

Randolph stared at him with a smile, but said no more.

"…Yes."

The ritualists slowly backed away.

Three people stand at the edge in a triangle.

"You have to understand that they are the ritualists of the Taylor family. Of course, they will give priority to my life and Beatrice's life." Randolph, like Roland, looked at the group of men and women struggling in the flesh and blood not far away: "...even if they have to give up you, Bronte and their own lives."

"Of course I understand. They want to save the most effective weapons for the most important moment." Roland didn't pay attention to the three people.

Loyalty is very valuable in any era.

"But we don't need to break out, and we can't fight thousands of spirits head-on."

He said.

"The key is already under your feet."

(End of this chapter)