The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 732 Fitz Roy

Mornings in Cornwall are slightly cooler than in London.

When the old two-masted square-rigged ship with an ebony paint job slowly glided into the harbor, even the most imaginative writers could not have foreseen that this 235-ton nature spirit would become the fulcrum for prying the map of human knowledge.

The USS Beagle, a Cherokee-class exploration ship, carried the blessings of the gods who blasphemed their own gods and brought back a spark that had already sprouted after sailing for several years.

As it drew in its folded sails, even Fernandez was a little nervous:

He really wanted to know what this apprentice who wrote such blasphemous words looked like.

Maybe…

He really changed the times.

Even if he is a rough guy, he knows it.

Even though he was an executive he had to admit it.

This is not 'I think', 'I wonder', or 'I guess' - it is well-reasoned and a book that almost allows you to have an unbridled advantage in the debate arena.

Gentlemen who are truly intelligent, attentive to details and decent will not go to places full of ideas to act up. They are not women, nor are they men who discover that their women have twenty or so lovers secretly. Fernandez could not understand the numbers, speculations and discussions arranged between the words, but he had many friends.

There are many friends who understand what Darwin said about "evolution through the skull", "evolution through teeth", and "competitive selection", and they know what the evidence actually proves.

This is also the reason why there has been constant debate in salons of all sizes in London recently.

One side holds the principle of "no matter how absurd it is, the fact is the fact", while the other side thinks, "how do you know that gods can't do this?"

The ship docked.

The ship carried not only a blasphemer, but also its captain, Fitz Roy, a doctor, ten officers, a boatswain, his forty-two sailors and eight midshipmen, in addition to a scholar who looked after the astronomical clock, instruments and various instruments, an artist, and a draftsman.

When the middle-aged captain in a military coat stepped onto the stone shore, it was Fernandez's turn to play.

It was a tall, lanky, curly-haired rhino: curly, blond, felt-like, greased hair.

The bridge of the nose was unusually high, so high that it almost looked like a piece of bone protruding from it like a rhinoceros horn.

The chin is curved upward like the moon and the lips are very thin.

He seems to be a difficult person to deal with.

This is indeed the case.

When Fernandez approached and tried to talk to him, he was busy scolding the sailors who were arm in arm with each other, and their shouting was louder than the most demanding tax collector on the dock.

"… stinking! If you don't get the time right tomorrow, you'll have to pay for it yourself! I won't pay a penny, understand?!"

The sailors laughed and didn't take his words seriously.

——This long journey was not funded by him, nor was it initiated by him.

It's not like this standard-issue officer is talking to the shit-stained cook about relaxing or being asked to do this, and then suddenly starts shaking like crazy, slapping his forehead, and yelling, "I should take a naturalist around the world"...

It wasn't him, he was just following orders.

How clever the sailors are.

They knew who was important on the ship, who to be polite to, who to spit on, who to curse his parents and whether to wish his parents twenty or so lovers each.

Like...

People on the sea always have unique salty and fishy expressions.

"Ah, I know you, the messenger of the church. I know you, I have to take a look, first see what you brought... Yes, give me some time."

He lowered his head, took the letter handed to him by Fernandez, and roughly tore off the sealing wax on it.

Inside is the Queen's handwriting.

It was also stamped.

What Fernandez didn't expect was.

The captain actually pulled out a similar piece of letter paper from the lining and compared the blurred fields on it one by one.

"Mr. Roy, we are wearing church uniforms and are from the Inquisition. We can't be anyone else."

Fernandez was somewhat dissatisfied.

Of course.

Because notes and seals are too easy to imitate.

Even the appearance.

A mortal man has no ability to distinguish these things. In addition to wasting time, he also wanted to let this group of people know:

Who is the captain, and whose orders should you obey if you are on board?

Me, and me, and me.

This is why they are called 'standard model' soldiers.

These people fought for their country, whether the war was just or unjust, they shed blood and lost their descendants. From the perspective of the empire, it must be said that this was a "heroic act" - but these people also looked down on the ritualists because of this.

The reason is the same as the previous sentence.

—While we are fighting, you who think you have great power...

Where is it?

Fernandez did not like dealing with these soldiers, thinking that they were all a bunch of overly serious, rigid, mad dogs who only listened to the whistle (such as those in the Military Intelligence Agency).

Conversely, the military man also dislikes the Ritualists, especially those from the Inquisition, as he considers them a bunch of hooligans.

A gangster pretending to be a soldier.

They think they have faith, but in fact, they are just using the power given by God to do evil.

"I have to read every word on it, sir. My status does not allow me to be careless at all. If someone with 'evil intentions' is allowed on board, can the responsibility be placed on others?"

He spoke slowly, his voice drawn out in a long, boring line, and he put special emphasis on the word "plotting something bad".

"I have to be careful, especially when facing some special people."

He lowered his head, staring at the letter, and only when he saw the word "special person" did he roll his eyes up and wrinkle his forehead.

"Be careful." The tone was so annoying.

Fernandez silently clenched his fists and took a deep breath.

He won't be angry.

No.

Even Roland can get along with that kid - and even fall in love with Lady Enid, what else in the world is there to be angry about?

I won't be angry...

I'm not angry...

I'm not angry that's Roland Collins' son.

"Are you fucking blind?"

Roland covered his face silently.

Blade began to laugh.

"Sorry?" Fitz Roy raised his head, frowning. He couldn't believe what he heard, and repeated with his head tilted: "Sorry?"

"I wonder if your mother accidentally broke your eyes when she pulled you out of the **** - don't you know the fucking symbol of the Inquisition? FitzRoy, we come with the Queen's warrant, you'd better shut your mouth that you use for excretion!"

The captain's face suddenly changed.

"Do you know who you are talking to? I hope you have your head clear, you little rascal."

He was going to use the social etiquette of the salon to tell this rude, lowly, and impolite barbarian about his long string of titles that were as ups and downs as a beautiful piece of music, but he didn't expect that the next moment.

He was picked up.

Original place.

In public.