The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1055 The Gun That Won't Fire

He paused for a long time.

'I will do the same as you, hand over my "gold coins," and stay away from the decision-making level...'

'The Mystery Box, Banks, sir,' Shelley repeated. This had nothing to do with gold coins.

“Old people get long-winded,” Jeffrey Banks didn’t respond, changing the subject instead: “You really want your teeth? I could give you a suggestion—like that dragon’s most precious heart…”

James Shelley shook his head.

'Everyone knows the heart is the most important, Jeffrey. We're no longer High Ring Ritualists—I plan to find a 'craftsman' to polish this into jewelry… or something else. When I die, I'll give it to my son—he'll always stay in the League…'

Banks chuckled: "Don't be too harsh. I think young John is much more talented than you were at his age... just give him some more time."

That dragon tooth…

It's nowhere near as good as the heart.

The heart, the heart of the dragon, a secret organ formed from the most powerful alien species in the world during slumber.

but.

Jeffrey Banks knew that, just as James Shelley couldn't persuade him, he couldn't persuade the other—during the days when the league held the "gold coin," their personalities and styles were completely opposite…

But they became the best of friends.

One is aggressive and greedy, determined to devour the fattest piece once it gets its bite; the other is cautious and meticulous, even guarding a whole jar of honey, wishing to call on friends and family so it can only dip its finger a few times...

But this time...

He's being overly cautious.

Dragon teeth are no match for the heart.

He, himself, and even Mr. Barka, paid an incredibly heavy price, and they deserved more—

I still think…

“Jeffrey,” Shelley interrupted, “I have my own ideas, just like you.”

"What do you think? If you ask me, that heart—the secret organ—even if we don't use it ourselves, we could give it to Little John. Hasn't he always wanted to come and 'see things on our side'?"

James shook his head: 'It would ruin him.'

'Who has been harmed? We are the ritualists, the "gold coins" of the private alliance, who dares—'

“That’s not the case anymore,” Shelley said.

Jeffrey Banks was speechless.

Ok.

He could never persuade this overly cautious and clever man.

'All right. ’

He said.

'Dragon Fang, huh. I don't think it's anything useful—unless it's a crisis, who would pay the price of 'forever being cut off from the mysteries,' and only be able to use it once…'

But what if a real crisis occurs?

It takes ten minutes to start.

This was an absolute prank.

The dragon's curse...

'Of course I hope I never have to use it—don't you think that someone just starting out as an "apprentice," or someone with no hope of getting a higher ring, is the best candidate for this tooth?'

Jeffrey Banks suddenly remarked, "And then there are us, the cursed 'low rings.'"

'Ah, of course…'

Old Shelley patted his knees and stood up.

He naturally wanted something better from the dragon—even if it wasn't the heart, the skin, or the wings.

but…

He was cursed.

"After this, there's no need to invite me to any more league meetings. Banks, you…" James Shelley moved his lips, "...planning to stay in London?"

Jeffrey Banks remained silent.

Old Shelley knew it.

He's still eyeing the puzzle box and "fantasy".

Thirteen mystery boxes.

The ritual hidden in the puzzle box.

The possibility of immortality.

The secrets of the gods.

The truth of history.

An 'unknown race' that grants humans greater power.

The location of special variants.

A vast and golden world of sleep... all sorts of things, waiting for his hungry heart to explore.

And isn't the ascension ceremony on the path of "fantasy" the thing that should be the first to be coveted?
"I'm a legitimate businessman, unlike you who sells cheap smoking paraphernalia," Banks muttered, patting his behind and standing up as well. "I'm much more cautious than you in this regard—I'll find a 'safe' place, somewhere no one knows about it..."

'Until I find a way to break the curse. Speaking of which, Balka…'

"He and William are enough. Besides, I have some friends in London." James Shelley's words were tinged with pride, which Banksy, who knew him well, could easily detect.

'Yes, yes, you have a wide circle of friends… Cultists… Oh, those scum wouldn't dare come to London easily.'

'Unless their god lifts his skirt and comes down to the land of mortals—'

The two old men looked at each other and smiled.

The dragon's tooth from my dreams...

Now it has become a pipe in the hands of James Shelley.

He only has one chance.

ten minutes…

The creaking of the wooden planks brought the old man's thoughts back to the present.

ten minutes.

If this idiot keeps spouting more nonsense...

Time is almost here—

James Shelley's pupils dilated suddenly: in his incredulous gaze, the smiling man did not bypass him, spoke the same vengeful words to Lillian, and admired a dying carcass—he went straight to him.

Raise your hand.

He patted the old man's stiff shoulder.

then.

She gently took the pipe from his hand.

He casually tossed it into the rat colony.

“You’re not the only one with a high ring in this room, Mr. Shelley.”

Looking into those cloudy, lifeless old eyes, Thomas Terry was overjoyed—this was exactly what he wanted…

what.

It's all over.

…………

……

As the rat swarm grew denser over time, it continued to inflict new wounds on William's body.

He's just a "fourth-ring" player.

Faced with this ritual, which was no less than a natural disaster and was completed at a terrible cost by the "eight rings" ritualists, the fact that he had been able to hold on until now was already a testament to Thomas Terry's extraordinary "inaction"—if he hadn't insisted on achieving his goal in some obsessive way, William wouldn't have lasted this long.

"It seems the game should end soon."

He raised a finger and gently pushed the despairing Shelley aside, then stepped toward the girl who was sitting close to the desk.

Bend down.

Reach out.

I stirred it.

He pulled the thing Shelley had shoved back out, clutched it in his hand, and dragged it towards the center of the room as if it were a dog determined to die in the street and never go home—his back was to Rose, and he heard neither pleas for mercy nor painful cries…

Instead, I heard the sound of triggers being pulled in vain.

Click click click.

The bullet was already inside the magazine.

The gun barrels remained sadly silent.

This was Rose's 'counterattack', which she had prepared for several minutes—a perfect opportunity, the one she had conceived after thinking like Kingsley, to ambush this bastard...

But...

This gun…

How come it won't fire?

She remembered that she had loaded the bullets...?
No?
Didn't Tom say that bullets stained with blood can be fired?
As the girl instinctively pulled the trigger repeatedly, William and old Shelley both lowered their eyes in unison.

The old man struggled to lean against the corner of the wall.

A long sigh escaped my lips.

Everything…

I understand.

Tom.

The overwhelming despair left James Shelley utterly powerless, and the ever-spreading blood mist in the "field" pushed him backward step by step, into the abyss behind him.

(End of this chapter)