The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1080 Ch.1079 London Under Disaster
It must be said that the deeper one's understanding of the rules of the game, the more likely one is to make the right choice at unexpected times—like the citizens of London who are usually not even considered supporting characters.

After the first wave of disaster, the surviving citizens made two completely opposite choices.

Some young men with elderly parents or living parents were instructed to smash every piece of furniture in their homes that could be set on fire, braving great risks and the ridicule from neighbors behind their windows, and traversing treacherous streets toward the largest theater in the West End.

of course.

Young people are naturally unhappy about this.

He might be a junior manager in a factory, or someone who's just gotten his foot in the door at a bank counter. With a respectable position, he's naturally exposed to a world he wouldn't normally encounter—they simply can't accept the foolish decisions of their incompetent parents.
Escape to the West End, escape to the largest theater, or go to the Royal Palace, or to the Ellette Society of Arts.

Are you kidding me?
If they said, "Quick! Our whole family should go to the police station to save our lives"—that would be a necessary measure in a disaster.

Heading to the theater?
Young people felt it was too undignified.

Just some rats.

Will their great and infallible Majesty allow these monsters to wreak havoc in London?

Before dusk, a line of soldiers carrying torches, their ever-victorious army that has seen half the world's dismembered bodies, will likely march into the city to collect the tails of the gray monsters from house to house—the young man doesn't support his parents' decision, but he understands them from the bottom of his heart.

Because they lack knowledge and experience.

Not good enough.

The world 'above' cannot be seen.

They also could not comprehend the fervor and grandeur of this empire that slowly rose toward the heavens.

If he escapes to the theater, how will he live his life from now on? He'll probably be laughed at by all his friends.

They'll laugh at them for a lifetime.

'Do you really have to listen to the violin at this time?'

They will definitely say that.

The young people believed in their emperor, and they also believed that neither the Grey Party nor the Secret Party would stand by and watch citizens die in the mouths of rats—if you really wanted to ask, half an afternoon had passed, where was the army?
Young people should jump up and tell you: Perhaps some wicked seed has misled the party's messengers, misled his most beloved, respectable, and dear queen, misled the soldiers, delivered the wrong message, and delayed the opportunity to save them...

There's definitely a bad seed among them.

Or a bunch of bad seeds.

But it would never be the Secret Service gentlemen with pure blood, nor the shrewd and mercenary Grey Party bastards—no matter how you look at it, they can't bear the consequences of inaction, can they?

and so.

After the first wave passed, the surviving young man planned to dismantle the furniture and seal the doors and windows in preparation for rescue.

Until his elderly father, who had to rely on a cane to walk, stormed over like an ape and gave him a solid slap across the face.

You're not as important as you think.

He asked him to continue with his work, but not to close the doors and windows, but to make torches from the wooden strips.

then.

Taking the whole family on an adventure.

Utterly absurd.

The house was teeming with rats, yet his father wanted him to lead them out of the house.

Go to the West District?

'You're getting old. Honestly, I've said it so many times—I've seen too many big shots, Dad. They can't just stand by and watch us get eaten by rats…they…can't afford that.'

The young man covered his face, pushed away his mother who was trying to gently dissuade him, and muttered under his breath:

'They can't afford it. Maybe you're right, they don't like us—but with a disaster like this, they'll have to grit their teeth and send people to rescue us—I mean, door to door.' He spoke with conviction and told his parents that leaving now was definitely not a good option.

This place is quite a distance from the West District.

If you get into trouble with rats on the road, or encounter a second wave...

Why not stay home and wait for rescue?
'Rescue won't come.'

The father glanced at his wife, whose face was filled with sorrow, and slowly lowered the hand that was about to be raised again.

He grabbed his walking stick and shoved his son with the end of the stick, making him stumble.

'Get to work! We need to get to the West End before nightfall—at least to the theater…'

He spat on the dusty floor, muttering something about growing up to be more and more like a stupid pig, something he would never have done when he was young…

All kinds of swear words.

The young man felt extremely wronged.

He tried turning to his mother, intending to persuade the most soft-hearted person in the family—if his mother made a decision, his father would probably have to listen too.

'I have many friends, Mom. But once this little trouble is over, I'll become famous… and maybe I'll never be able to go to the bank again.'

"A little trouble? You might not even live tonight, fat pig. Aren't you overthinking things?" His father turned and sarcastically remarked.

The mother embraced her son, pressing her palm against his swollen face, to stop him from arguing with his husband.

'Your father is right, Ron. Listen to him, the sooner we get out of here, the better…'

The young man protested: 'I should have the nickname "Coward Ron" now... Mom, can't we just stay home and wait for the police?'

The mother touched her son's face.

'No one will come except the mice, darling.'

she says.

"Are you going to bet my life and your father's life on this?"

The young people fell silent.

'He doesn't bring home much money every week, but he speaks with the air of an earl—I told him long ago, I'd make him work as a tobacco worker with me…' the father said angrily.

'Workers?! If I really agreed to be your worker, who would rent you such a big house today?! In the East District, we're already incredibly wealthy—'

The young man couldn't resist and retorted.

"Where's the wealth?" the father asked sarcastically. "You spend all your money on prostitutes, while your mother and I have to buy expired drugs—"

"That's necessary socializing!" the young man exclaimed, his face flushed. "You have no idea how important friends are!"

'All I know is that your foolish queen and that damned party aren't going to send soldiers to rescue us anytime soon. This is the East End! Fools! Even the people in the West End are fleeing for their lives! Don't you know how they treat people infected with the plague?'

That idea is so outdated.

The young man chuckled: 'You're out of touch, Father. I've met many important people—you know, for them, the common people are the most important. The plague? You're probably wrong again. Those people received the best care and treatment—the doctors at the Royal College of Physicians of Beatrice were all mobilized—'

"Either you get to work now, or your mother and I will leave," the old father said, too exhausted to argue with his stupid son any longer. "I should have had more children with your mother back then."

The young man pursed his lips and silently lowered his head to chop the chair.

Old thing.

When His Majesty's soldiers arrive in the East District, he'll have a good laugh at him in front of the neighbors for days...

(End of this chapter)