The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 725 Ch.724 Jerez's Problem

No matter how expensive his wardrobe, Roland was naturally at one with this world of smoke, vomit and drunks.

Florian Westwick does not.

She lifted his chin and gently tickled the back of his neck.

He couldn't lower his head.

Nature is incompatible with the world in which these inferior people live.

Even though he himself didn't want to.

"Kid, we'd better go our separate ways," Fernandez didn't want to let the farce continue. He looked up at him and said in a bad tone: "Your father who stabbed you with a branch should have told you to stay away from us."

“I just came to say hello, Burner.” Florian showed Fernandez a little more respect—probably as much respect as Rose’s less obvious features.

The kind that is almost impossible to detect without careful inspection.

"The blasphemer should have his own end, don't you think?" He looked at the cheap wine glass on the greasy table, and a trace of sarcasm flashed in his eyes: "The ritualists from London are richer than I thought, ladies and gentlemen - aren't you the center of the world?"

Fernandez poured the tequila into his mouth and wiped his wet hands on his butt.

"Boy, if I beat you up here, guess what method will your Lord Giant Bear from Westwick use to jump out of the sleeping world to save you?"

Florian smiled and took a half step back.

He looked at Fernandez for a long while.

then.

He walked through the crowd without looking back.

It was not until the green robe disappeared completely that the tavern suddenly became lively again.

'If he looks at me again, I'm going to beat him up!'

'Come on.'

'Seriously, what are these people capable of? Not afraid of spear guns?'

Jerez stood there in silence for a while - Roland poured him a glass of wine, the strongest and cheapest kind.

"I think there's some truth to what he said... the part about the widow."

Hertz punched Roland in the chest and glared at him angrily.

A few seconds later.

He picked up the wine glass and drank it all in one gulp.

“…It seems that a handsome face does not necessarily mean a person is a good person.”

He muttered something in anger, but then patted Roland on the shoulder and thanked him and Fernandez in a low voice.

Fernandez is very satisfied——

Especially the line "A handsome face doesn't necessarily mean he's a good person".

"But the widow is really nice."

Heres said bitterly: "You don't even have a premise, Devinson."

A common little episode quickly brought the people closer together.

Westwick is not important.

At least for the executive officers present, this boring and stupid behavior of the "young nobleman" can only prove one thing:

He is saying hello.

While making Jerez unhappy, they confirmed each other's identities:

About the target on the ship that is about to dock.

The guardian, and the assassin.

"I'm telling you the truth. You're not doing very well," Fernandez smacked his lips. "In London, I have friends everywhere - the Ring of Eternal Silence, the Church of Justice, the Maelstrom. Especially the Maelstrom and Jerez. These people are easy to deal with."

Blade silently interjected, "Compared to the people of the Church of Justice, it is true."

Roland agreed with this.

"So, let's see how you got into an argument with the young master of the Westwick family?"

Jerez sighed.

Actually.

Florian Westwick did not dislike the Holy Cross from the beginning - at least as a priest of the Beast Fang faction of the Maelstrom, he treated ritualists of other sects the same way he treated mortals:

indifferent.

The two people's filthiness came from that cult case.

"He thinks my behavior has tarnished the Great Whirlpool..." Heres scratched his head, looking annoyed: "I don't know what that is, Devinson. Anyway, I gave money to those women, and he was not satisfied."

"Oh, is his lover in there?"

Jerez cursed: "It's better."

There is no need to explain the principles of animal tusks.

After the case, Jerez's actions undoubtedly caused extremely adverse effects in this small port town - on the Big Whirlpool.

“…You mean, they don’t give you money, and they don’t allow you to give them money?”

Fernandez's eyes widened.

He almost wanted to say "even more unreasonable than Enid" - but after discovering Roland and Enid's "unclean and obscene" relationship, he didn't dare to say bad things about that person in front of Roland...

"To put it simply... yes, Devinson, that's what they mean."

Jerez held his glass of wine, thinking about how to begin to describe these half-witted cultists: "They think this is 'natural selection', and the money doesn't come from the church or the Inquisition - after talking to me, I still do so..."

Roland replied softly: "It's like going against Beast Fang, or maybe Eve."

Pop.

Fernandez snapped his fingers.

"That fits my impression of those people."

So, it's as simple as this:

Herez: We should give some appropriate compensation to the families who sacrificed their lives by exposing cults.

Florian: Sorry, not a penny.

Jerez: I pay some privately.

Florian: No.

Herez: Then you, the Great Whirlpool, should pay some money!

Florian: Not a penny, they deserve it.

Jerez: I use my own salary...

Florian: No... Are you trying to go against us, blasphemer?

This conversation depends on the place, on the last name, on the ring.

If it happened in London, they wouldn't have waited until the ritualists got into conflict; everything would have been negotiated the next second after the disaster.

Cornwall...

Look at the Holy Cross here.

A priest bent over and stabbed by a horse.

A second-ring fighter who helps widows all day and watches boxing in the pub.

Who was he facing?

Westwick.

Great last name.

“To be honest, I don’t know the deal between the church and the Maelstrom leaders. Maybe they picked and chose on the map like a lady picking cakes.” Fernandez pinched the bullet cups on the table, one after another. “We want inland, prosperous and developed, and the port belongs to you… Oh, the Ring of Eternal Silence may also be involved.”

Blade said jokingly, "It's all business."

The captain took a sip of the wine, nodded, and let the bitter liquor slide down his esophagus into his stomach.

"But not the Inquisition, Herez."

He wiped away the bitterness in his eyes and said in what he believed to be the most sincere tone:

"The Inquisition is not like that, my brother. We have changed, and those who remain are those who can truly wield the blade and have enough faith..."

Jerez.

Cornish Lion.

An inconspicuous second ring...

But this was not the end for him.

If "compassion" is the qualification of the Holy Flame, then this Herrez should never stay at the second ring.

Two possibilities.

Either he is lying and is actually a cultist.

Or, in a place where such opportunities are non-existent, he has already lost his ambition.

The first point can be denied.

Just now he saw Shandel secretly pour a few drops of holy water into the other person's wine glass.

So…

He was just waiting for an opportunity.

Just in time.

The Inquisition needs such people now.

"After the mission is over, come back to London with us, Herrez."

Fernandez squeezed the other's equally rough and thick palm with force, and the sound was as heavy as a long boot inlaid with iron hitting the ground.

Jerez lowered his eyes: "I have an allowance now..."

"Come back with us, Jerez," Fernandez interrupted. "We have the Rite of the Holy Flame. Don't you want to—"

Herrez sighed.

He looked at Fernandez like an old lion that was driven out of the lion group. He felt sad, but more desolate.

"The current court..."

He said.

"Whose sword is it?"

Thinking back to the mission, Fernandez couldn't answer that question.