The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1104 Ch.1103 The Departing Birds

Theodore Gabriel Thackeray heard countless proverbs throughout his life.

Westwick, who was like a father to him, loved him, taught him, and cared for him. Theodore not only drew enough emotion and courage to confront his own distortions from him, but also built a fortress to protect his soul in his image.

But now, he couldn't find a way to deal with the crystal coffin before him. His stag-like antlers were broken, and his calloused skin could no longer withstand the biting wind.

He stood there helplessly, not filled with anger, but with an indescribable fear and bewilderment.

'If this body belongs to Florian… then what should he do, what can he do?'

however.

Another voice tells the cold, unforgiving truth.

'You know it's him.'

Maybe not...?
Perhaps he was mistaken. It was just Horn's personal collection—a cult corpse, brought from who-knows-where, lying in a corner, yet to be cleaned up…

It might even be a piece of art that was purchased.

He probably misread it.

—Dodo.

A knocking sound came from the glass.

Theodore turned to the other side of the wall, shaded by the old tree. A small moon window, protected by curtains.

A white bird landed on the outer edge of the wall and watched him quietly.

He instinctively walked over, opened the window, and a bird fluttered its wings and flew into the room, landing on his shoulder.

The bird had three blood-stained pieces of paper in its beak.

It is half a palm's width and one palm's length, with light blue patterns inlaid around the edges and specific information printed in lead at the center.

The time is five days later.

These are three boat tickets.

…………

……

The leather boots fell from the car steps.

It fell onto the slippery pebbles.

The soles of the boots carried away greasy coal dust and some yellowish-brown viscous liquid.

The air, thick enough to chew, seeped into the mouth through the nostrils. The smoke enveloping the visitors felt like a damp, cold blanket.

Theodore lowered his head and turned up the collar of his trench coat.

Welcome to Hell.

You could read that from the coachman's expression.

But Theodore thrived.

He thrived in the South District.

The towering chimneys are like the salutes of guns fired in salute, each one pointing precisely towards the sky.

In the darkness of the transition from summer to autumn, the ever-damp air, mixed with the pungent yellow fumes of industry and hope, churns over the bodies of everyone who dares and has no choice but to step out of their homes.

He looked up.

All that could be seen were plumes of smoke and a hail of gunfire.

These chimneys are humanity's answer to the gods. When they asked, "How will you live without me?"

Theodore recalled the traitor within the cult, that interesting, knowledgeable, and audacious old apprentice—who had once openly preached such things within the cult.

It's meant to be teasing, even playful.

Theodore lowered his head and quickened his pace.

His hands, tucked into his coat pockets, clutched the three ship tickets he'd repeatedly examined, nearly crumpled in his hand: the cabins weren't the most comfortable. But they were the ones Little Charles had managed to buy through sheer hard work.

At least the kind that can get them out of this place.

The boat ticket was in his pocket.

Then.

What about Little Ciel?

Theodore recalled what Horn and Trek had told him about Florian's 'gang' during the day, his gaze climbing from the grimy cobblestones to the equally gray wall, and finally settling on the white bird.

It led him through the garden.

They circled over the beast's nest for several minutes.

Theodore did not dare to step into the beast's den.

He... never once wished he were blind.

'He's not there, is he?'

The white-feathered bird couldn't understand the blond man's murmurs. It waited for him to approach before flapping its wings and heading to the next place.

Some landless young people were told that the big city held great opportunities. Big money and grand dreams. Amidst the roar of the enormous machines, they could hear loud moans, and the backdrop of sloshing glasses of red wine...

Following the truth, they slung their burdens over their shoulders and traveled from country lanes to the great cities.

But they found that there were only large ones here...

Black chimney.

For the well-dressed factory owner with a large belly, a large chimney was a symbol of wealth and progress.

But the workers clearly had a different opinion—

Just like factory owners select workers, they always have a keen eye for talent, recording the names of honest, loyal, hardworking and diligent people in a notebook, and giving them a few coins each week that are enough to eat, but not enough to fill their stomachs.

Those whose names were not recorded were lost in the thick, gray-yellow fog.

It became…

Robbers and thieves.

criminal.

In the South, they are as common as the aristocrats in the West.

Theodore pulled his long overcoat tighter, trying to avoid the sound of oncoming footsteps. It was easy to do this at night in the dim fog with extremely poor visibility—of course, there were some who simply couldn't avoid them, or who had already fallen into a trap.

For a high-ring ritual practitioner, it can only be considered bad luck.

'You really should go work in a factory, son.'

Every time Theodore went to the South District and encountered these out-of-place young people who had joined various gangs, he would have to give them a long and earnest lecture.

'This is a legal and reasonable approach. Wouldn't it be better to use it to create your own future?'

All he received in response were phlegm and profanities.

He didn't understand then—and perhaps he still doesn't understand now.

Hunger and poverty breed evil, and evil is not frightening: or... to put it another way.

Crime and poverty do not frighten rulers.

It will only bite those weaker than itself.

What rulers fear is the leisurely opening of a newspaper, dipping their brushes in ink, and writing, "Does injustice come from the factory owners tied to the lampposts, or from the monsters behind them who are dozing in parliament?"—rulers fear these idlers who, in place of the gods, give divine revelations to the masses.

and so.

These people are not in the South District.

Theodore didn't understand this principle back then, and he still doesn't understand it now, but he's not in the mood to speak anymore.

He abandoned the disorganized gang of robbers and followed the white-feathered bird, winding his way through countless bewildering turns.

then.

As expected, he arrived at a destination that was also as he had anticipated.

He had rented a long, single-story house six months in advance, a house he had intended to house the 'victims of injustice' of the Just Church.

The bird didn't use its beak or any clever method to pry open the lock, or start banging on it again to call for the man behind it to open the 'door' and let her in.

It circled the house several times.

Reduce altitude.

It increased the frequency of wing flapping.

It passed through Theodore's temples like an arrow that would never turn back, striking the earthen-gray exterior wall.

It fell into the rotten mud at the base of the wall.

Its wings fluttered a few times.

Theodore thought it must be the joy of seeing his master.

He bent down, carefully picked up the bird, put it in his other pocket, and opened the wooden door without needing a key.

By the faint moonlight.

The woman, wrapped in a thin blanket, was curled up in a chair, lost in thought.

“Ms. Fonseca…”

Theodore felt his mouth becoming increasingly sticky, making it difficult for him to open it.

“Gilce Fonseca…”

(End of this chapter)