The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 738: Each Has His Own Plans

"My Lord? Why don't we kill them?"

early morning.

port.

A tattered two-masted sailing vessel was about to leave.

Westwick stood at the front of the green-robed men, staring at the retired warship breaking through the waves.

Not until it completely disappeared over the horizon did Westwick slowly turn around and look at his subordinate who had lost his front teeth.

"There is no need for us to go against the Inquisition."

As soon as he finished speaking, he turned around and led the group of believers back the way they came.

“…But that lord said that the blasphemer should be left behind.”

Westwick paused.

Stop by the roadside.

Staring quietly at the anxious face of the man in green robe.

"Your 'which' lord, Darren?"

Darren, who was missing a tooth, broke out in a cold sweat.

He knew he had said the wrong thing.

"No, sir, I mean the one who—he said he wanted us to keep Charles Robert Darwin."

Darren hurriedly stated that he only followed the surname Westwick and swore to the goddess of the four seasons that he would not have the slightest…

Westwick didn't bother to listen to the fool's loyalty.

He started walking again and explained in a gentle voice to Darren or the group of green-robed men behind him.

"We are the Fang, Darren. Your 'One' is the Tree Mother. When are you going to switch sides?"

Darren was on the verge of tears.

"In fact, Charles Robert Darwin deserves to die. I should let him stay awake and watch the plants suck all the blood out of his body. Then, when he begs for mercy, I will force him to recite our doctrine and confess his sins..."

"You think so too, don't you?"

There was only the sound of footsteps behind me.

After all, there aren't many idiots like Darren.

There was no other reason for these ritualists who thought they had a "bright future" to serve in such a remote place, except for following the surname "Westwick".

Florian Westwick's decision is their decision.

"The Inquisition...or rather, the Holy Cross wants us to take action."

Florian's voice was teasing.

"Can't wait for us to get started."

He said.

"To fulfill their hypocritical style of tolerance and kindness - so I say that outdated old things should be buried and used as nutrients, and there is no need to cause trouble for young people in the sect."

Before.

There was considerable debate within the Maelstrom regarding Darwin.

The Tree Mother faction believes that this blasphemer deserves to die.

Right away, immediately.

It's like dying with your intestines pulled out while you're still alive.

Led by a certain lord, these 'merciful', 'kind', and hypocritical believers of the Holy Cross loudly appealed and hoped to officially send ritualists to fight against the Holy Cross and execute the targets they were supposed to protect in front of them.

This not only shows faith, but also shows the majesty of the goddess Eve - or maybe just the majesty of the Great Whirlpool.

The Beast Fang faction is mostly silent.

Westwick's ancestor was the Beast Fang. He left behind a noble surname, and among his descendants rose a descendant with outstanding talents and clear minds: the Beast Fangs would not bow openly, but they also implicitly regarded him as their leader.

That's the servant of the gods.

He started the fight without hesitation...

Just lost.

The Burner sent by the Inquisition is really powerful. Didn’t you see that his most capable subordinate, Darren, has lost all his teeth?

"Charles Robert Darwin could not have reached London alive, my friends."

Westwick said softly.

"Holy Cross fears him more than we do."

Darren was puzzled: "Fear?"

"Yes, fear. Darren. They fear an apprentice... is it ridiculous?" Westwick laughed: "His words, thoughts, his research and the evidence he brought back from all over the world - these clear and cold sea waters diluted the pus and blood of the Holy Lamb, making those undead zombies hiding in the tower tremble..."

Westwick couldn't help but sigh when he thought of the words in the book.

“Perhaps, an era is coming to an end.”

The green-robed man behind him remained silent.

“But it’s also the beginning of a new era.”

The early morning sunlight pierced through the sea mist and shone on the man's long winter hair.

"The shaky divine authority... Executioners, burners, executioners. I think this job is more suitable for them..."

A man in green robes suddenly asked in a low voice:

"You mean, the officers will kill him themselves?"

"Of course," Westwick snorted. "Once the blasphemer has landed, many things will be beyond the control of the Holy Cross. Our monarch, various parties, scattered and silent cults, ritualists with conspiracies in their hearts - like a pair of shining eyes in the dark jungle..."

"They stared, stared closely, searching for any flaws in their sacred prey..."

"The Holy Cross has been in glory for too long, Haider. They have been in glory for too long and have forgotten that their god does not have the power they think he does - to create the world? To create everything in the world? Then where did the four seasons come from?"

"So, blasphemers die at sea."

Westwick turned and looked at the silent faces.

"We don't need to go to war with the Inquisition, gentlemen. First of all, that crazy woman is not easy to deal with. Even my mentor doesn't want to have anything to do with her. Secondly, why should we be the sword of the Holy Cross? We must listen to those old guys and do such unwise and stupid things for the so-called 'dignity' and 'doctrine'..."

Westwick sneered: "They have been soaked in herbs and their brains have been damaged. They should return to nature."

Darren rolled his eyes: "…But sir, I'm afraid the Holy Cross will promote the Great Vortex…"

"Didn't I tell you so?"

"Those whose brains were damaged by the herbs will not be allowed to be killed intact by the people of the Holy Cross."

Westwick turned sideways and looked at the sea at the end of the road.

"The Mother Tree sent an answer that was irresistible..."

"But it's none of our business. Remember, we fought the Executor last night, unsuccessfully trying to kill the Blasphemer - and the rest, we know nothing. Do you understand?"

…………

…

A cabin with kerosene lamps hanging.

The smell of grease and oil was everywhere.

Blade stepped on the sticky floor with a look of disgust as he checked Fernandez's wound.

"Are you in love with that bearded guy?"

Fernandez: ...

"Listen to me, old girl. I did everything I could to let him beat me, and then..." The grinning captain shrank his neck and lowered his voice a few degrees: "...then went upstairs and did what he wanted."

When he talked about this, he became angry.

"That boy can act better than me!"

Roland, sitting on a small wooden stool, tried hard to suppress his smile, his cheeks puffed up.

"What a joke! You don't know how much of a fool I made myself look just to help him win!"

"It turns out that you just did what you wanted." Blade patted the re-tied bandage and breathed a sigh of relief. "It would be better if I did it, Devinson. Or let Collins, Kratov, or Herrez do it. You really delayed something important."

Fernandez curled his lips. "It's not a question of acting anymore, Blade. He...he was determined to 'lose to me'."

"Don't be like a child who broke a vase and explained to his mother that it was the wind that caused it. You are the captain."

Fernandez was about to explode.

But it can't explode.

etc.

Didn’t those three men in green robes enter the hotel?

"Why don't you talk about Roland and Shandel?"