The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 721 Ch.720 Squid Butt (Additional)

Life in Jerez is very monotonous.

Especially after the death of the horse-loving priest, he had less fun in his life - during the day, he would spend some time praying to the gods who would never help the miserable people, walk around the church a few times, and repair some places within his ability...

I quickly filled my stomach at noon.

At night, go to the tavern and chat with the sailors and fishermen until midnight.

Every week, give some financial help to those widowed women and play with those bastard kids for a while.

A week, a month, a year.

Like a solitary wild animal living among a crowd.

He just repeated his dull and boring days.

The only thing that increases gradually is age, apart from the hair.

If it weren't for Fernandez and his group, he could almost see his future.

Die of old age or illness here.

——The probability of death from illness is greater.

Because in the past few years, he has been suffering from pain in either his knees or ankles.

Even the ritualists cannot avoid it.

Unless he can keep going up to the place where people on earth will look up.

This is even more impossible than Beast Fang becoming kind.

Jerez has already thought about it.

If Fernandez, or this kind, handsome, and somewhat unbelievable gentleman, could help him and apply for some allowance or bring him to London, he would save some money, send some back from time to time, and use the rest to open a pub privately...

Maybe I can find a gentle woman.

A widow is fine too.

He has modest ambitions.

"Let's go. There aren't many places that can make people happy. I'll take you to see some."

The group chatted in the church for half an afternoon. In addition to exchanging information about cases in their executive careers, Fernandez also told Jerez about the details of this mission.

He didn't tell Jerez their real purpose.

First of all.

He is not qualified to know.

This is the filth between the church, the monarch and the party.

It could also be said that this was just one of the countless confrontations between the political power and theocracy - Fernandez did not want to harm Jerez, and the less he knew, the better.

Second.

He didn't have any real "use": this old lion was only a second-level lion. Not to mention Roland, I'm afraid that if Shandel was a little serious, he could be beaten down.

In other words.

Doesn’t this fit their mission requirements?
Sending a person who cannot protect the target to protect it is the best he can do.

When he returns to London, Fernandez plans to tell Enid about the story of Jerez and give this "idiot" some help...

"Let's go! Go quickly! If it's too late, you'll be standing!"

The lion put his arm around Roland's shoulders. After an afternoon of conversation, he got to know these comrades a little better:

Fernandez de Vincenzo, a generous and strict captain, a kind and talkative Holy Flame.

Roland Collins.

A genius of the Inquisition, a handsome and promising young deputy.

There are just some minor road imperfections.

Not a crowned god.

——But it’s nothing.

No one is perfect.

Next, the blade.

To be honest, some of the things this woman said made him blush. Fortunately, she was not the kind of "what's the weather like" type of lady that Jerez had seen - as for Cinder Kratov...

Jerez 'knew' her.

The famous Kratov.

From this point we can see the extraordinaryness of this team.

It’s great to have Kratov join…

"Tavern?"

Roland was embraced, and he did not forget to pick up his cane: "Difference from London?"

"No, a pub is a pub. I mean, it's a local specialty, Collins," Jerez said mysteriously, "There's a kind of wine here, it's great!"

Fernandez and Blade's eyes suddenly lit up and they asked in unison:

"What wine?"

Jerez was happy.

………………

There are many taverns in the port.

The one I often go to in Jerez is called 'Squid Butt' - it is said that the water discharged by the boat is very similar to the excretion of the squid, and it is also said that the excrement of the squid is mostly fish and shrimp debris. This translucent gelatinous substance after solidification is considered a delicacy by those who can't afford to eat...

In short, it’s called squid butt.

When the group arrived, the tavern was already bustling with activity.

The exterior of this pointed building was not very appealing, but the interior was a different world: a pair of whale ribs hung on the ceiling (or maybe not, Roland couldn't figure it out), and a copper weather vane and a rusty ship's bell were artificially placed between the huge bones.

The faded dark green wall occasionally reveals blue bricks, some of which are used as posters and have dark brown scorch marks from smoke.

Above are advertisements for ships or certain companies.

There are also some posters that simply devoutly depict women who are so poor that they have no clothes to wear - these devout painters are more popular among the people.

The bar is circular, without any edges or corners.

There are dense marks on the wooden board: knife marks, scratches and pits. The wine racks on both sides and the back are filled with bottles with or without labels, which makes people particularly eager to witness the scene of them pouring out.

Herrez pushed the door open with ease and drew aside the smoky curtain.

Greeted a lame boy.

"Hey, Tom."

The boy with curly hair had an empty left leg, which he stepped on with a not-so-sophisticated prosthesis, which made a thudding sound when he walked.

"Oh, you haven't been transferred yet, Helaire."

He was laughing and holding up five glasses of beer on a plate in one hand like an acrobat, while the tray in the other hand was filled with plates of various sizes: small shrimps to liven up the mood while drinking and chicken bones with not much meat on them.

Jerez spread his hands and made a helpless expression, while Little Tom pointed his head towards a certain place in the tavern:
"There are still two spots left, hurry up."

He glanced at the people behind Heresies, swallowed the joke he was about to make, and stepped on his wooden leg, dodging and moving nimbly among the crowd.

'Make way! Hey! Make way - get your imperial ass back!'

Roland found it interesting.

"He called you 'Helaire'?"

Jerez led them in and answered casually, "There are all kinds of names."

indeed.

When Roland protected Shandel and fell into the airtight jar, many names whistled in his ears.

Many people know Jerez.

"Look! Here comes the Dice King! Salute!"

"Helaire, when will you be transferred?"

"Don't mention it...well I want to know that too."

"Save enough money and buy a place to live! Helaier! I think you can't leave!"

"Make way! The big shot is coming!"

Of course, in response to such a cordial greeting, Herrera would respond in an equally cordial tone - such as 'fuck you', 'get out', 'your wife is smelly'... and so on.

In short, they are all very friendly.

Roland followed him and squeezed for nearly five minutes before he got to his seat.

Aged beer, grease, and oyster juice seeped into the floor, forming a slippery patina. Whenever Roland put his feet down or lifted them up, he always felt like he was bringing out a lot of sticky threads.

——The wooden table, which was not very wide, was only slightly less greasy than the floor.

As soon as he sat down, Herrera shouted at the top of his voice:
"Tom! Where's Tom?!"

Like a message, the name "Tom" was passed around from person to person.

Soon, a young boy who was not named Tom came.

He was a little short and had a large burn on his left face.

"Pickled melons? Don't you have somewhere nice to go?"

Jerez yelled.

The boy called 'Pickled Melon' also shouted:

"I won't do it. They say the sea is not peaceful these days."

"There's never peace at sea. I think you just don't have the courage." Someone cheered behind him, burst into laughter, and then changed the topic. There was no politeness in the pub. This form of communication, with people talking at the same time, also existed in the cheaper pubs in London.

The boy curled his lips: "I am just wiser and more intelligent than you."

Undoubtedly, this statement caused more ridicule.

Pickled Melon's mother was good at this, so he was called Pickled Melon. Some people also said that it was because his mother often went to the boat to "visit" secretly, and would be gone for half a month at a time.

A drunk sailor once described it as a 'flattened pickle'...

That's why he has this nickname.

Who knows?

No truth in the tavern.

(End of this chapter)