The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 812: The Nosy Cult

Bertrand isn’t concerned about Jim Walker’s safety or whether he’ll speak out about what happened a decade ago.

What he was afraid of was the man who had taken Jim Walker.

A cultist wearing a mask with goat horns.

The hottest topic recently is a group of freaks who are determined to "punish evil and promote good".

If the target of this group is really the "balm"...

How could there be such a cult?
Who provoked them?

"I want to see His Majesty."

"I've seen it. Moreover, the Heiman family's high-ranking official is also involved in this matter. Mr. Bertrand, before the plan is launched, I'm afraid that you and His Majesty don't want to involve more irrelevant people... The other party is not very willing either, right?"

Bertrand's face was uncertain.

"…You know how important this plan is, my Lord Inquisitor."

He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit a match with his head tilted.

"If something goes wrong, you and I will be in big trouble. The Empire is ready. Once this chariot is started, it cannot be stopped halfway - we must do something to make up for the failure in Kabul."

"I don't think we failed in Kabul." Enid took a leisurely sip of her hot orange tea.

Bertrand was secretly angry: "More than 4,000 soldiers and more than 10,000 camp followers were captured or killed. If this is not called failure, there is no such thing as 'failure' in the world."

"I stick to my opinion, Mr. Bertrand," Enid put down the gold-painted porcelain cup and said with a smile, "At least the empire will learn one lesson from this - being too arrogant can easily lead to someone twisting their head off."

Bertrand narrowed his eyes like a venomous snake: "That's why I hate you ritualists. It always seems that the rise and fall of the empire has nothing to do with you - you enjoy the benefits, but in the blink of an eye you forget who brought all this upon yourself."

Enid smiled: "I also want to say this to you, Mr. Bertrand... Are you really going to spend a lot of time here debating with me?"

It is difficult to say who is responsible for the rise and fall of the empire.

In short, it will never be the muddy toes at the bottom.

As for who enjoyed it...

Bertrand did not intend to argue with Enid on this topic. He came to the court in his busy schedule just to get an answer about the "tea party" - whether this group of nosy cultists really set their sights on the "balm".

It was no big deal to punish a few small factory owners; London was full of these people trying to ride on the wave of the times.

But the ointment is different.

It is different from that fertile land of the Far East flowing with golden honey.

This concerns the empire, His Majesty, and whether his future continuous power, condensed by gold pounds, is truly possible.

Once the plan succeeds.

He will be invited in.

Sit down at the loom.

Take control of the power to weave the destiny of most people - that is why it is said that wealth is the only thing in the world that is most friendly to the poor, because they will never have access to power.

"I don't want to hear bad news."

Bertrand took a puff of his cigarette.

"Mr. Basotai and Cliff Heyman will be boarding the ship soon. If this group of people really intend to..."

As he spoke, he glanced at the young man who was dozing with his head down.

"Executive Officer, you have to take responsibility for your previous mistakes... I see that you rarely deal with things other than women, right?"

These half-teasing, half-sarcastic remarks did not cause the Golden Eyes executive to show any dissatisfaction.

He tilted his head lazily, like a worker whose weekly wages were regularly cut by the factory owner who took advantage of his unemployment, and looked listless.

"Sometimes with the female snake."

Bertrand stared at him grimly for a moment, then pulled himself out of the chair.

"My people will go to India. The Inquisition must send people to participate in the Empire's plan to ensure that the cultists do not cause any major chaos. Your Excellency the Chief Judge, you can stay out of it, but can this huge sword do the same?"

Enid raised her eyes slightly and looked at him with a strange look in her eyes: "Do you have to drag the Inquisition into this vortex? I remember that the son of the Heyman family has entered the high ring..."

"He has his mission," Bertrand corrected, shaking his head: "For the empire, sir. You can refuse me, and you have the right to refuse the church - can you still refuse His Majesty and refuse to move closer to the party? If so, then I will no longer persuade you." He bowed to Enid.

"You have your own ideas, and I am just a plate of insignificant, unspoiled meat on the imperial table."

Bertrand, with his belly bulging, turned around to meet the admiring look he thought he had received.

As he passed Shandel, he bowed to her.

"Give my regards to Bishop Kratov, and may he be always healthy and green."

"You too, Mr. Bertrand. The light of the Benefactor shines upon you." Shandel then stood up and knelt.

"I hope that the holy fire of the Inquisition will burn more vigorously than what the outside world describes." Bertrand glanced at the woman who was concentrating on observing the porcelain cup, snorted, pushed the door and left.

The office was finally quiet.

"Isn't this causing you any trouble?"

Roland flicked the ends of his hair.

"You've got yourself into trouble, Roland," Enid shook her head. "The Inquisition couldn't stay out of this matter. I was planning to send Peter Heller... You know what Bertrand does, right?"

"Drug dealer?"

"Not at all."

Enid didn't need to use those regurgitated clichés, she herself knew and had truly witnessed the effect of the "drug" in Bertrand's hands: tincture of opium was just a substitute diluted and diluted again.

The real 'balm', that solidified and sticky substance is the source of everything.

She didn't care whether Roland had used some sedatives that were cheaper than bread and used to treat headaches, buttocks and various other pains, but she definitely didn't want Roland to touch the "balm" - even if a high-level ritualist used it two or three times...

There is no difference between them and ordinary people.

They will long for the cool spring water in the oasis like a traveler lost in the desert with cracks all over his body.

"Originally, this was just an 'inspirational creation' of a high-ranking member of the 'Great Vortex'."

she says.

The "Immortal" of the "Great Whirlpool" can cultivate plants that are unique to it.

Similar to "herd".

The latter obtains unpredictable powers by consuming the corpses of their animal 'partners', while the former relies on plants with strange powers.

"A high-level ritualist from the Maelstrom cultivated this... or rather, it was the most primitive version of the 'balm'."

Enid tapped the china cup and pondered for a moment.

"Later, with the efforts of some cultists, it was continuously improved... Ointment led to opium and laudanum."

Roland frowned: "The Maelstrom is cooperating with the cultists?"

"Why not. If the benefits are big enough, the nobles can also bend to the workers," Enid sneered: "Our Supreme Lady has worked hard for this country and paid a lot."

This is also the reason why the whirlpool remained safe and sound after the "Golden Lantern of Noti" incident.

"You have been an executive officer for quite some time. You should understand what 'orthodoxy' is, right, Roland?"

Roland was silent.

Ever since he put on the black church uniform, many words he once knew have gradually become unfamiliar.

Orthodoxy.

The reason why Orthodoxy is called "Orthodoxy" is because it is closely related to the ruling class of this country.

As to whether it is just, whether it does good...

It does not.

They simply symbolize justice.

By the way.

The same goes for the word justice.

(End of this chapter)