The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 761 Ch.760 Regular Visitor

This was the most undignified day for gentlemen in their lifetimes (perhaps ever).

They were pulled from their couches and from the arms of men or women stronger than themselves, and left shivering like unwanted children on the streets in winter, begging someone to give them a piece of clothing - the executioners did not care about their dignity, or rather, they came just to deprive people of their dignity.

Those "technicians" who received higher salaries had their hands tied like livestock, linked together in a chain, with Shandel pulling the ropes and walking through every long hall with a smile on his face.

There are rebels.

The floor managers of the Maelstrom, his thugs who maintained order - some were hired thugs, boxers, or wandering ritualists, and even "beasts" from the "Maelstrom": to the surprise of the executive officers.

It turned out that the ones who resisted them were not the ritualists of the Great Whirlpool.

Those wandering ritualists who were ordered to use swords and guns came from the instructions of another part of the shareholders of the Noti Golden Lamp.

"It looks like they are the ones."

Peter Heller had not been sure before, but when he met them on the spot, he immediately had the answer in his mind.

He slapped the giant in front of him who was two heads taller than him with his palm in an extremely insulting manner - his bulging muscles made his patchwork shirt bulge out, but he lowered his head as if he had just been invaded, with his hands folded at his waist.

"It's you guys, isn't it?"

The tall ritualist said nothing.

Apparently he had been warned in advance.

"Beast fang, or tree mother?"

"Fang, sir."

The sturdy man's face flushed red, and he endured this unprecedented insult, his pair of dark eyes fixed on his feet.

"For the sake of your god and dignity, why not give it a try?" Peter Heller said in a gentle voice, "It doesn't look like an animal's tusk at all."

The sturdy man gritted his teeth and clenched his fists until they turned white.

'Mr. Westwick orders—'

He had received orders from the most respected gentleman in the faction.

He is the beast tooth, not the tree mother.

Seeing his expression of "whatever you say", the old gentleman felt really bored, so he walked around him and ordered his men to separate those who came here to spend money and enjoy themselves from those who came here to make money and provide services.

"How dare you do this to me?"

"Do you know who I am?"

"Let me go! Don't touch me!"

There is no need to describe the person who shouted.

Among them are women and men.

They were all very 'primitive', and were pushed to stand on one side of the corridor, against the wall.

These people could only get a small blanket to cover the parts of their bodies that they thought were important. In addition, if they talked too much nonsense, they would be stuffed with a bunch of slimy socks to plug their mouths. According to Roland's observation, the number of blankets he got could tell the status of these people.

Some people would rather remain naked than pass blankets to those around them.

Some people would rather hang a blanket around their necks and face their other selves.

Roland couldn't understand this strange habit and desire to show off.

Shandel made a vomiting expression and accidentally lost control of the volume when speaking to Roland:

"He's not even half as good as you are, Roland. Is he disabled?"

Peter Heller: …

"I still think I should go to Marseille."

The more he knew, the more dangerous he thought he was - in Peter Heller's opinion, Cinder Kratov was more dangerous than Enid Jutia.

Almost like a knife blade.

These "saints" are not quite right in their heads.

“…Let’s go to the other side.”

Roland grabbed Shandel awkwardly, took the rope out of her hand and threw it away, then pulled her to another room - he already felt many pairs of eyes wandering around his face.

The sight is burning.

"...There are a lot of women looking at you, Roland."

"Please spare me."

"You watch them too, don't you?"

"I don't."

"oh…"

"Actually, I was just checking if they were carrying any sharp weapons or firearms."

"How to carry it?"

"What?"

"I mean, where would a woman who 'has nothing' hide her knives and guns?"

"Good question. It was only after I checked that I realized there was really no place to hide..." Roland said as he walked, and Cinder followed behind him, laughing and teasing him.

The door at the other end of the long hall was closed.

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But the revelry in the room stopped early.

When Roland kicked the door open, many men were pulling on trousers and shirts.

End of the room.

A familiar lady was reclining on a peacock-colored couch. I won’t describe her specific attire—because the current occasion wasn’t worth the effort of describing something that didn’t exist.

"I don't know who dared to kick at my door. It's ridiculous. Could it be Mr. Rowland Collins?"

Natalie Benevento rubbed half of her fan, her face full of surprise.

"Oh...you..."

She opened her mouth, but what came out was not a question.

“…Come in and let’s enjoy it together.”

Roland stared at her without saying a word.

After a few seconds, he silently closed the door.

"There's no one inside," he said to the executive officers behind him, pointing to a farther area: "Go over there."

The executives lowered their heads, seemingly not hearing any sound from the door.

After they walked away, Roland took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The lady in the room remained in the same attitude.

An indescribable gesture.

"It seems that we have no place to relax anymore." Natalie took the pipe from the man kneeling in front of her, squinted her eyes, pursed her lips, and exhaled clouds of smoke: "Does your mentor have a grudge against happiness?"

Roland did not approach, but stood far away and politely rejected the 'tea cup and teapot that crawled over automatically'...

Imagine it yourself.

"Just a routine check. Noti Golden Lantern is harboring cultists."

Natalie laughed: "I don't know your mentor, but I do know the Inquisition - you are becoming more and more like you were ten years ago. Tell me, Mr. Collins, how long will the Noti Golden Lamp disappear?"

"That's something you'll have to ask the Great Whirlpool." Roland lowered his eyes.

"Look at you."

Natalie rubbed her fat, extremely dissatisfied: "We who are enjoying ourselves didn't do anything. Can you kill each other somewhere else... By the way, did my brother write to you?"

"He didn't tell you?"

"He won't tell me anything - I've told him so much good knowledge, how to use men, women, and all kinds of things to find happiness... My brother doesn't love me, can you understand? A girl who loves her family deeply, but can't get a response from her family..."

She lowered her lotus-like hands and let the man kneeling in front of the bed kiss them gently.

"It makes me so sad..."

Roland moved the corner of his mouth: "You can put on your clothes first."

Natalie squinted her eyes, looked at the gray-haired girl beside Roland, and suddenly laughed: "I see. Mr. Collins, it seems that the reason why you were so 'reckless' last time was because you didn't have a female companion..."

She pushed the man away, sat up slightly, and let the vessels stand up and help her change clothes.

"Want to hear it, little girl?"

Shandel lifted his hair and said in a clear voice: "Roland and I don't like eating pork."