The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1050 Ch.1049 Dragon and Chains
corrupt?

Linus wagged his raised index finger: "Oh dear, you can't say that—corruption? Every day in London, holy children line up to come and empty their bowels… What are they called? They're called… Let me think…"

Old Tom, his face grim, said, "Convert."

“You’re right! Converts… This is really unfair, Mr. Barka. Children who believe in pleasure and procreation… Why are they labeled as ‘cultists’?”

"I don't think you're here to chat with an old man like me."

“Of course,” Linus laughed, “I’m buying time for my compatriots—the fruit picked by hand is the sweetest…isn’t it? Although it was a piece of cake for me…my Mr. Thomas…you have no idea…how long it took me to persuade him…to painstakingly persuade him…”

After a bitter sigh, Linus suddenly smiled and said, "Two minutes."

Old Tom's heart sank further: "You've got the wrong idea. The master is a high-ring ceremonist; no one can harm the young lady in his presence..."

“Oh, the High Ring. The terrible High Ring, the Raider, James Shelley…”

Tom Linus clicked his tongue.

"He was indeed so before you prepared to slay the dragon."

These words were like a porcelain vase that had fallen to the ground.

at last.

Old Tom's worst fears came true.

He knew that this group of cultists had come prepared.

During that greedy act, many high-ranking members of the private alliance were cursed.

This naturally includes him and James Shelley.

The cultist is right.

master…

Their situation was even more dangerous than his.

Thinking of this, the butler's blood rushed to his head, and the moment he gripped the hilt of the knife, the stagnant 'time' around him suddenly began to flow—the twisting intestinal knot, like a runaway snake's tail, flung Tom Balka away!
He was so disoriented by the constantly flipping and turning space that he couldn't even tell which way he was going, except for the knife hilt he was gripping tightly.

In the constantly shifting and changing space, only the man's playful tone steadily entered my brain.

"It seems the 'Private Alliance' should collectively apply for relief funds from the Empire."

Linus looked at the old man at the end of the 'long tail,' who was constantly being submerged and then bursting out with shockwaves again and again, and a hint of admiration flashed in his eyes.

These were the most reckless, or perhaps the bravest, group of ritual practitioners from the previous era.

At least in Tom Linus's view, those who hide behind heroes, struggling to maintain their 'superhuman' dignity, are no match for these ritualists who confront the most terrifying alien species in the Sleeping World for the 'greater good'.

You could say they were ignorant, but conversely, you could also say they were brave.

“You can’t kill me, cultist,” Old Tom’s hoarse voice came from afar.

indeed so.

'He' is merely a projection of flesh and blood. It's not difficult to trap a cursed, severely injured, and elderly ritual practitioner who's nearing the end of his life—these 'additional conditions' aren't surprising. 'Holy Flame' and 'Iron Cavalry' are thus two troublesome and 'savage' paths.

If possible, Linus would also like to include the "Horse".

Three.

He certainly couldn't kill Tom Barca, at least not without his physical body.

“Of course, Mr. Barka. I just—”

"Trying to trap me?" Old Tom tore open the shirt, which was almost torn to shreds at the chest, revealing the tangled chains binding him—chains that resembled winding, hideous scars covering his upper body, with their tails burrowing into his heart.

"You scum from the gutter..."

As the old man gripped one end of the chain, a powerful storm gradually gathered around Tom Barca.

The intestinal knots were torn apart and healed by a fierce force, only to be torn apart again after healing.

Linus raised his hands with interest: "The enraged Balka. I've long wanted to see him, but... have you thought it through, Mr. Balka?"

Old Tom, of course, was unwilling.

But James Shelley's curse was more severe than his. Sir…

They're not much better than ordinary people.

With William and Miss alone, plus the ritual guards both overt and covert in the manor, he didn't think this group of cultists who could investigate the 'Dragon Poison Curse' would be stopped by the manor's guards.

He is in a hurry.

Just like when I was young, I rushed around.

"If only I had let Miss marry Collins sooner... I could have seen their child..." the old butler muttered, gripping the chain connecting to his heart—just as he was about to exert force.

A solemn and dignified pronouncement of judgment broke through the ground—

Like a bursting torrent rushing through a riverbed, the surging tide, whether sitting on its throne or crouching beside the swamp, will be shattered by this 'never again' force.

There's no need for a 'night with howling north winds' or 'days of incessant rain'—

This breath was concise and powerful, so powerful that it completely extinguished the emotions of all the young girls who were saddened by poetry, and the young men who were indignant about politics and unfulfilled ambitions. It also rendered those fat men who were immersed in trivial matters or selfish interests powerless.

It doesn't care whose soul it has damaged, and along the stone-paved road and various faded portraits of monarchs, it is like the most domineering pen casually coloring the canvas called the world.

it says:

Since autumn hasn't arrived, then 'autumn' isn't a good word.

This is how Tom Linus felt in a single moment.

His gaze pierced through the intestinal wall, fixed on a certain direction, where flesh and blood gradually weathered into ivory-colored stone powder in the sound waves.

Not just flesh and blood.

Everything wriggling and churning within the "field" was blown into wisps of dust flying towards the future by the ceaseless pumping, polluting, and spreading power of the squeaking, bloodthirsty rat swarms.

At last.

With a continuous, crisp sound.

Tom Linus's "field" has been shattered.

"The power of the dragon..."

Mr. Gray Eyes murmured.

"You did indeed receive a reward from it..."

The old butler looked at him quietly: "You and your little bastards will all die in London."

Linus, unperturbed, bowed to Tom Barca from a distance: “I don’t think so. To be honest, the higher the rites go, the less courageous they become—rather than the path twisting the soul, it unleashes our…human nature itself.”

He said.

"This thing... is more terrifying than any 'twisted' thing in the world..."

Linus looked at his hands, forearms, and upper arms, which had been blown into fine sand, and smiled at Old Tom: "As a human being, don't you know that?"

An arrogant gale swept through.

The last grain of sand that shouldn't have stayed there was blown away.

Old Tom collapsed to his knees with a thud, a sharp, piercing air rushing through his throat.

He coughed as he forced the sword hilt to sit up, then stood up unsteadily, shouting the names of William and the other guards.

The manor was riddled with holes.

A more dilapidated group of buildings not far away.

master…

Miss…

The old butler, oblivious to the possibility that the rats in the walls might bring disaster to all of London, stumbled along, hoping only that God would answer the prayers of His devout followers and protect the two souls who should never have entered the land of the dead.

(End of this chapter)