The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1103 Ch.1102 Blood and Artwork
When Horn considered temporarily backing down, he saw a kind of frantic urgency in the eyes of many executives—urging him to make a decision, then ignite the war and let the vast majority of people die on this land.

This undoubtedly sent a chill down the spine of the new leader of the Great Vortex.

He will never be afraid of this group of low-level members.

But the courtroom…

It was indeed filled with truly insane people.

Maybe.

The path of "Holy Flame" is inherently problematic.

…………

……

Amidst the green-robed men's submissive demeanor, the smug executives swarmed into this sacred place of plant heads like ants—they weren't really after Fonseca or Pansec, but simply wandered around, moving things from the table to the floor, from the floor to the table, or placing things that should be on the floor or table onto the bed.

They had no interest in exploring the secrets hidden within the Great Vortex, nor did they care what kind of stigma the woman's fall into its hands would bring to the Inquisition—the old executors who survived those ten years and remained in the Inquisition didn't care about their reputation at all.

Or, could the Holy Cross withhold more of the weekly wage?

They don't live off their weekly wages.

at the moment.

Using Roland Collins's excuse, they smashed every wall, turned flowerpots upside down in the plant heads' cupboard, and reclaimed their former 'prestige' and 'honor'—that's what they wanted to do.

to some extent.

These people are not much different from the gentlemen living in the cleanest and most expensive parts of London.

'Why don't you try hitting me? My lungs are injured lately…and by the way, is this your bed? My mother's dog lives a more comfortable life than you.'

Each of the old executives put on an infuriatingly obnoxious demeanor, constantly provoking the fragile nerves of the plant with their words.

Even if it means dying in the whirlpool.

They desperately need to tear open the curtains and see the sunlight again.

Regrettably.

Having received their orders, the Tree Mother cultists skillfully suppressed the rage burning within them. As for the beast fangs…

Without Westwick, they were no longer willing to work for Horn. Even if the executive overturned his dining table and turned his wardrobe into a scene of carnage, they would simply stand outside the door with their arms crossed, watching quietly.

Horn and Trek followed Roland and Sender, leaving Theodore with nothing to do.

Nobody wants to talk to a 'traitor'.

Even those who perform rituals involving beast teeth.

"Florian wouldn't do such a thing..."

He tried to strike up a conversation with a former friend from the Beast Fangs, but the other man just gave him a cold glance, said something, and turned to follow Peter Heller.

“You shouldn’t be associating with the Burners, Thackeray. You have betrayed the goddess, your own faith, and opened the door for flames to burn into our homeland.”

Theodore roared inwardly: It wasn't me!

He wanted to tell them that Horn's green-robed followers, those Tree Mothers, had done something foolish and unforgivable to a lady. They had insulted a person, and they had insulted a noble and courageous soul…

They broke their promise and resorted to despicable and shameless means—this is by no means the path of a true believer.

It wouldn't be the image of Her child that the goddess would want to see.

Theodore had so much to say, but the green-robed men wouldn't give him a chance to speak. It was as if within a radius of a few feet centered on him, a stench of weakness, rigidity, and hesitation emanated from them, making them want to vomit the sour liquid that had fermented the night before.

He gritted his teeth, quickly turned around, and headed in another direction.

Horn and Trek followed Mr. Collins…

Then.

There's a place where there probably won't be too many people.

He almost jogged, circling the outer edge of the vortex in a huge loop, and returned to the center of the area to the left of the entrance: Horn's office, where he had met Florian and himself.

"…Feel sorry."

Gazing at the pack of wolves dozing in the shadows, the man opened his hand, and clusters of lake-green tender pods emerged from his palm.

Every Undying One who arrives at the Fourth Ring Road can acquire the power to improve and cultivate companion plants.

gardener.

This is the result of ritual and mystery; the greater the power, the higher the price the ritualist must pay.

Theodore and Trek are different.

The latter's 'Thorn Prison' can extract the 'secret' from flesh and blood through needles, allowing him to use his power more freely in battle—a clumsy imitation of the White Knight (Sacred Flame Eight Rings), but it must be said that Trek's Ross did indeed allow him to survive several battles.

Of course, the price he paid was equally staggering.

Theodore is different.

He only cultivated one "unremarkable" ability in his 'Bairot': to put living beings to sleep.

This wouldn't cost him anything too unacceptable, and secondly...

This is also consistent with his way of doing things.

"Feel sorry."

He muttered to the dozing 'little wolves' and gently blew on the tender pods swaying in his palm: they trembled and were scattered across the wolf pack's den by a sudden gust of wind.

Just half a minute.

They slept even more soundly.

Theodore weaved through the rustling bushes, circled around the back wall of the villa, and carefully crossed the territory of the wolves.

He reached out towards the window hinge.

…………

……

Horn's office fits the outside world's perception of the Green Robe Man: natural and understated.

At least on the surface, he didn't seem to have many extravagant desires, and his greedy heart only beat slowly in the shadows where no one was around.

For example, a spotless desk is like an old tree that has never been pruned. Even when you are working on it, you have to be careful to avoid the protruding burls and pitted scars.

But today.

Theodore couldn't focus his attention on the old tree.

In the corner of the room.

Inside a vertically placed 'crystal coffin' made of glass.

He saw a familiar body:

Thorns completely filled the flesh, piercing through every gap between the fingernails.

He was immersed in a dark green liquid.

The head disappeared without a trace.

Thorns growing from the neck pierced the surface of the liquid, emerged from a small hole in the top of the vertical coffin, curved, and aimed at the swan-neck porcelain pot on the oak stand beside it.

It was filled with half a sip of blood.

tick...

Tick.

Theodore remembers.

Many years ago, he led Florian on a nomadic journey: the boy was far from settled, with a chillingly withdrawn personality. For a long time, Theodore had to clean up the messes he made—

for example.

He would start a fight with people at the slightest disagreement, and would return home in the evening covered in bruises.

He never said what happened, and he wouldn't tell Theodore when asked.

But he was happy to let him treat his wounds.

That was during that period.

Theodore knew almost every scar on Florian's body: some were left by drunkards, others by street thugs. As he rapidly progressed through the first and second ring roads, the frequency of injuries decreased...

Theodore knew it all too well.

but…

Florian, Florian, Florian Westwick.

child.

tell me.

Where is your head?
The blond man stared silently at the headless body in the crystal coffin, looking at this smooth, exquisite, and even grotesque work of art that seemed to make a mad artist want to shout.

Blood is dripping.

His heart was pounding along with it.

(End of this chapter)