The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 723: Green Robe Man

Cheers came from every drunken hand and foot and beer glass.

The crowd pushed each other out of the way, making room in the center of the pub around the wooden tables.

This is the nightly entertainment.

A less formal but definitely exciting boxing match.

Shandel leaned closer to Roland's arms and asked in a low voice, but was drowned out by the cheers.

The girl frowned.

Yelled softly a few times.

Roland heard it.

Several people at the table also heard it.

"Oh--"

The woman who was drinking with Fernandez turned around and said with a teasing look, "It seems that there are things that the Saint Candidate can't understand - especially men. They are more difficult to understand than the aliens, right?"

Shandel laughed twice, neither awkwardly nor awkwardly.

"Concentrate, Miss Kratov, concentrate on whatever you do - men care about this very much, it means dignity."

"What dignity?"

"How can I tell you?"

Blade raised his eyebrows, and his voice like chanting penetrated the cheers: "...those withered and angry ladies quietly buried their palaces in the garden behind the villa, waiting for one short-lived husband after another to dig them out, open the lock with their own polished keys, and proudly bring them into the villa to show off in front of them -"

"Then."

The blade thrust forward.

"These people who are obviously happy are about to scream in fear."

When she understood the meaning of the blade, her rich imagination was no longer under control.

"These people are just like the Thames."

Dirty, yet calling themselves great.

"I think..." The blade moved closer, and Roland could almost see the heat spreading under her ageless face: "I think the same is true for us, Miss Kratov."

After she finished speaking, without waiting for Cinder to answer, she quickly shrank back like a mouse seeing a cat, bumped Fernandez's shoulder a few times, and when the man looked at her in surprise, she whispered something to him, pointing at Cinder and Roland as she spoke.

Shandel: ...

"I don't like her very much."

"You know, Chandel. I knew you wouldn't like her, but I wasn't worried at all."

Fernandez has said that Blade has gone further than he has - so she is at least in the fifth ring.

There's nothing Xiandel can do with the Five Rings...right?

Maybe?
"You think I'm a murderer? Roland, am I? Would I take pleasure in being sadistic and wantonly hurt innocent people?" The gray-haired girl looked up with misty eyes and leaned towards his chin, "If it is..."

"Who will put an end to my sins?"

She got closer and closer, and when Roland was off guard, she bit his ear.

"Because it's not a sin at all, Roland, we all know that." When the girl's face, which was ripened by the inferior alcohol, smiled innocently, no one could refuse any of her requests. "But we can't talk about justice and evil in such a happy place...right?"

She drank the glass down, then picked up the second glass and drank that down as well.

three times in a row.

“We should be talking about the shepherd and his whip.”

Roland tilted his head and bumped into her lightly.

He recalled what happened on the train and flicked his fingers subconsciously: "I think you've been eating too much lately."

"Not much at all. I could probably live on it for the rest of my life."

"Why did you two have to do this at this time..."

In some ways, Shandel is much crazier than Rose.

She should be 'greedy'.

——And when this crazy candidate, who had never claimed to remain holy and pure, abandoned the vanity of power and more extravagant piety, and turned to praying to another equally unholy god with a more humble and more crazy attitude... I'm afraid even the saint's scabies would rot behind his back.

"Look! Today! I'm going to beat the shit out of him!"

On the stage vacated by the drunkards, the two 'boxers' had already begun roaring at the crowd - these fishermen or sailors who had spontaneously participated in the competition waved their hands at the crowd, revealing their teeth that were blacker than wild oysters in the mud, and sucked in the smell of alcohol and shouts in the sultry air.

Others toss a coin in the middle.

Herez also kept shouting.

"They have to vent their anger somewhere," the lion-like executive drank. His messy hair became even more sloppy, and his face, which was gradually turning from light pink to darker, really looked like a human-shaped beast that had finally found its own kind and was celebrating. "But there are no real bad guys."

The executives at the wooden table took out their coins one after another to join in the fun created by the alcohol.

"It seems that people from the Maelstrom don't come here often?"

Roland asked.

Neither the Beast Fang nor the Tree Mother, nor the Great Whirlpool has any doctrine of 'not drinking' or similar self-denial.

"The barbarians?"

Jerez sneered loudly: "They only go to the 'helmsman'!"

"I never thought that one day I would hear the word 'barbarian' in the executive officer's evaluation of other sect members."

"Compared to us, they are the real barbarians."

Jerez slammed the glass, threw an elbow at someone on the field, and followed the crowd's loud chant.

But within seconds.

Roland noticed that his face changed.

A table of people in loose clothing from the crowd were raising their glasses towards him.

Herez grinned, as if he didn't want to cause trouble in front of his brothers who came from afar. He took a sip of liquor and silently looked away - it was obvious that the gentlemen at the opposite table didn't want to let him go easily, or rather, they came here for this purpose.

The man in the lead was very tall.

The roots of calamus were woven into her long gray hair. The roots, soaked in morning or night dew, were stained with unwashed soil, and the slightly sloppy places stretched out like wings, embedded in the gap between her left ear and her temples.

He was wearing a moss-colored linen robe with bags for holding herbs sewn all over his body, a belt woven from willow branches and wild animal hair, and a pair of slightly cracked animal-skin boots on his feet.

When he stood up.

The three men behind him, dressed similarly, also stood up.

The pub suddenly became quiet - with them as the center, the ripples of silence seemed to spread outwards as if blown by the urchins, and continued until Tom's thumping wooden leg shut up.

Someone whispered:
'The green-robed man!'

Bad tone.

Obviously, compared to the nagging but helpful tree mother, these animal teeth are not very popular among these marine workers - even though each of their rituals costs a lot of money, even though the sailors or boatmen doubt whether the rituals have any effect...

At least it's better than these 'beast teeth'.

They don't care about anything.

almost.

Don't care about anything.

Unless you are not present at the natural temple of the Maelstrom on a day when prayer is necessary.

They would not allow mortals to claim the gifts of nature, but they are very good at depicting the punishments of nature to humans.

At the same time, some unforgettable past events also make it impossible for these sweaty and penniless men to have any good impression of this color - they are too cold.

And those who often float on the sea often deal with people of all colors. They are well-informed and know how to distinguish what is truly cold...

What a callous top-down.

They don't like them.

Squid Butt never welcomes these green-robed monsters.

“You’ve come to the wrong place…”

Some drunk people started shouting.

(End of this chapter)