The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1049 (Ch.1048) Playing Tricks

A dense swarm of rats burst through the wall.

These little devils, unable to wait for delivery, burst into the uterus, overwhelming everything, and the once spacious corridor instantly became crowded.

Like a bloody miracle from hell.

“...cult members.”

Tom Barca staggered backward, grabbing the gleaming knight's armor beside him.

Under the influence of the "field," the corridor began to become "soft": like the knotted intestines of a restless child. It began to knot and twist, each twisting in a different direction than the previous one—no one but the master of the "field" could stand steadily.

There are also rats.

Old Tom drew the longsword the knight had been holding to his chest with a backhand motion, and with a 'whoosh' of snow, the semi-circular light peacock tail that had spread out in front of him sliced ​​up a swarm of squeaking rats that pounced on him.

The blood lines extend to both sides along with the "secret".

Flesh and blood were split in two.

“I thought that once we reached the higher rings, most ritual practitioners wouldn’t be so foolish… Mr. Balka. I have no intention of fighting you—frankly, if it weren’t for the repeated pleas of my family and friends, I wouldn’t have set foot in the Shelley’s house…”

The white-haired man sighed.

"The land of merchants..."

He said.

"When I get back, I'm going to cut off my feet..."

The butler's face was ashen, and a thick, long sword was held up in front of him: "Cradle of Flesh and Blood".

The high-ring ritual performer came before him…

Then.

The young lady and the master are in danger.

Without waiting for the other party to say anything more, he charged forward with his sword!
"Conflict!"

He roared!
Accompanied by an invisible armor, a layer of snow-like flames seemed to ignite beneath the old man's skin!
'Rage' from the Fourth Ring "Soldier": Instantly enter a state of rage. Strength and mental barriers are greatly amplified. The ritualist is almost unaffected by ritualistic forces such as inducement/suggestion. After all... who can lure a madman?

Clang——!
The swarm of rats, made of flesh and blood, actually produced a metallic clang as they clashed with the broadsword!
They rushed forward one after another, trying to 'stick' themselves to that invisible barrier, using their dense, swirling teeth to devour their destined feast—with each triggered shock, the rats peeled away layer after layer, only to be covered again and again.

Old Tom got stuck in a quagmire.

“Burning, sacrificing, toward death…” Tom Linus stared at the old man wielding a blade amidst the rats, gesturing wildly as if he had never been more joyful. “Struggling… and struggling again… the world and the gods… mortals and ritualists…”

Click.

A crisp breaking sound.

Old Tom used the opportunity of catching his breath to quickly retreat, drew the broadsword from the other knight's hand, and thrust his arms forward like whips, smashing the double blades down!
Amidst the mournful cries, a fan-shaped, blooming blade pierced through the waves ahead in an instant.

"The Sixth Ring Road".

Tom Linus was initially surprised, then immediately applauded: "It's an honor to fight a 'Weapon Master'."

"Weapon Master", Sixth Ring.

They are proficient in almost all weapons in the world; anything in their hands becomes the deadliest blade.

"But... how many 'weapons' do you still have at your disposal?"

The ever-shrinking 'intestine' became increasingly narrow, leaving less and less room for Tom to maneuver.

Amidst the eruption of crimson mist, he glimpsed the oil lamps nailed to each other at either end of the corridor—

laugh.

The moment Tom's gaze fell upon the oil lamp, a swarm of rats extinguished the last flame of hope in the corridor.

The old housekeeper's heart sank lower and lower.

How many more cultists have infiltrated the manor? He sprinted forward, the explosive power of "Superman" and "Battlefield Messenger" ensuring that no rat would linger on the armor for even half a second. He pulled out the broadsword from the armored man's hand along the way, like a meat grinder that never stops, crushing everything in its path towards the end of the corridor.

The writhing intestinal knots, a hell of flesh and blood.

Clang——! !

The two swords clashed again, exploding into a forward-moving metal storm!

He leaped forward, breaking off his knight's breastplate to use as a shield, and drew his last broadsword with one hand. His withered chest suddenly swelled violently—a roar like that of a pride of lions came from his dry, bloody old throat, and the earth-shattering shock sent all the bloodthirsty monsters within twenty feet flying.

It was like a huge rock falling into a lake.

Battle Cry: Unleash a massive amount of "Secret" centered on yourself, knocking enemies away and capable of attacking spirits.

“I like the ‘Iron Cavalry,’ Mr. Barka. These men seem to have no fear of death—you’ve used it all up as you climbed, haven’t you?”

Tom Linus waved his finger.

The gray monsters that never played music in the tide froze instantly: they understood their master's command, and like a school of fish in a frozen lake, they stopped biting in an instant.

The butler, unsure of what the other party wanted, took a few deep breaths during a lull—his bones creaked, and his once steadfast supporters, those "secrets" that were as easy to use as his arms, had somehow become unfamiliar…

He's too old, and he's been living a life of ease for too long.

Humanity's eternal perseverance is vividly displayed in Tom Barca at this moment.

To stay young forever—what a touching phrase!

If he were thirty years younger…

Or twenty-five years.

Maybe it wouldn't be so difficult.

—Or perhaps he didn't go into the dream with the master, but instead, he was cursed for trying to ambush the sleeping alien with the greedy members of the "Private Alliance"...

Perhaps... just...?
Tom Barca didn't know.

The attack came too suddenly; he wasn't even prepared to activate the magical artifact within him—he couldn't die yet, at least not until he saw the master and young lady safe and sound.

Heroes don't need to consider the consequences; they can abandon their wives, sons, and daughters, and make their elderly mothers cry until they go blind.

He can't.

He was never a hero in his youth, and has spent his entire life serving a utterly shameless scoundrel.

James Shelley.

As long as he lives, the Shelley family will have one more sixth-ring member.

“The Shelley family never gets involved in sectarian conflicts. I think an eighth-ring ritualist should be familiar with the Shelleys’ style in the Private Alliance…” Old Tom gasped, trying to activate the “secret” within his body that was becoming increasingly familiar but also increasingly thin.

"Eight rings?"

The white-haired man raised an eyebrow.

“Of course, to maintain such a massive ‘field’…” Tom Barca exhaled a long breath, his expression growing increasingly calm: “No cult would allow High Ring cultists to run rampant in London—do you agree?”

Tom Linus laughed. “They’re too busy with their own problems. But I agree, Mr. Barka. I think my men are already on their way…”

The old butler frowned.

“It’s a real pity. I’m a man of my word. A child is determined to seek revenge at the Shelley’s house… Mr. Barka, if someone were to kill your daughter… what would you do?”

Tom Barca shook his head: "I can assure you, the Shelleys never...from..."

He couldn't speak anymore.

He remembered.

“Madeline Terry…” Old Tom gritted his teeth: “The Church of Justice…you have corrupted the arbitrators…”

(End of this chapter)