The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1121 Ch.1120 The Crimson Child
The thick smog that perpetually blankets London not only makes it difficult to breathe, but it also silently seeps into poorly maintained shops, staining the pristine white satin with black spots—which is why Petticoat Harbour exists.

Even poor people need to wear clothes, right?

Otherwise, if the wives of noblemen saw this and discovered that their husbands had small bellies, wouldn't their hearts become wild?

This place caters specifically to the poor, or citizens who don't consider themselves poor but can't afford expensive clothes—cloth shops scattered like chess pieces, secondhand stalls hawking their wares, and men spending their leisure time with their children and wives.

A thug with a cigarette in his mouth, a thief, and generous, kind-hearted prostitutes.

This place is not much different from the East District, except that it is much more lively.

Who is the whistleblower?

Rose waved the paper bag in her hand, which contained freshly baked fries.

It's piping hot and incredibly crispy.

"do not know."

Roland shook his head.

It was just a letter to the court, but the timing was perfect—London had just escaped the rat infestation and was now focused on the plague, with the doctors at the Royal College of Physicians of Beatrice's "Epidemic Prevention Manual" and the dithering sewer projects among the nobility…

These are the ignorant fools who are eager to die.

'Intentionally contracting the plague does not grant supernatural powers.'

It was called for in the newspapers.

result.

The public believes the problem lies in "proactiveness".

then.

The newspaper article read, "Whether you contract the plague willingly or unwillingly, you will not gain any supernatural powers. It will only bring misfortune to you and your family."

But the citizens still enjoy it.

think about it.

That's supernatural power.

“I really don’t understand how people can be so stupid,” Shandel said, turning away with disgust from a group of workers with their arms around each other’s shoulders. He frowned and raised his voice amidst the chaotic shouts, “Do they really think the disaster is a rat infestation?”

The truly incurable disease is the plague.

Aside from self-healing, there are currently no effective medications available for those infected.

This is already extremely terrible.

“I don’t know if people are stupid enough to be that stupid, Kratofer, but some people certainly are.”

Rose sneered.

"Do you really think they're after 'extraordinary' power?"

The girl, who had grown up on the streets, clearly understood the thoughts of the lower classes better than Shandel, who was born into nobility—this time, they completely understood the tricks of the Black Raven of the Inquisition, the Green Shell of the Great Vortex, and the filthy ghosts of the Ring of Eternity…

Extraordinary power means extraordinary wealth.

They need money…

ask for money.

money!
Golden! Metal coins that can be exchanged for bread!
No need to work for thirty or fifty years. No need to let your son face the same risk of losing limbs as you, no need to sell your daughter or wife, and force a smile to praise how sweet the factory owner's son's mistress's phlegm is—

Only one plague.

One week.

A fateful choice.

Maybe.

They transformed themselves into 'believers'.

"Someone like you will never understand..."

The girl's slight head-shaking gesture was noticed by Sander's lake-blue eyes: "What are you saying, Miss Shelley? Do you want me to stand with you and condemn some thieves who steal the last penny from the poor?"

Rose's face fell and she stopped talking.

This round was clearly won by Shandel Kratofer:
Rose has no right or standing to express her 'hypocritical' sympathy.

She did many bad things and stole the last hope from many poor people—at that time, why didn't she stand on the steps and look down on them to accuse them?

Roland, head bowed, led them into a maze of alleyways.

In the East End, or in areas where the poor are active, you'll hardly see any buildings that aren't part of the 'plan'... I mean, 'unconventional'.

The houses are next to each other. The left side has only one window and door, while the remaining three walls are shared by the right, left, and back houses.

One room is next to another, and at the same time, it is surrounded by several other rooms.

There was no 'diverse' here, only the 'similar' resemblance of festival palace ceremonial teams. After circling around a few times, Harida could no longer distinguish where they were or how to find her way back—

These houses were built with the cheapest materials, and the walls were only one layer of bricks thick.

They live in warm winters and hot summers, with shallow foundations, and most people don't even own a 'complete' house: instead, they share a place with many others, using a curtain to separate their 'space'.

But there's fantastic news. These dilapidated cellars, prone to dampness, mold, and poor ventilation, reeking of sweat and mildew year-round…

Yes, there are.

The poor will never have to worry about not being able to find such a house to live in.

Even when faced with a plague of rats or other natural disasters, the empire always provides them with shelter from the wind and rain, time and time again. Do people in other countries receive such treatment? Do their countries care about and value their people as much as Her Majesty the Queen does?

"arrive."

Roland stopped.

A group of children were lying on the ground playing with beetles.

Not far ahead, several young men wearing felt hats were chatting against the wall. They were just like the houses around them.

They wore very similar clothes, gray leather shoes, and the same wrinkled cigarettes; their woolen trousers were stitched up again and again.

They were using the same swear words.

They guard this alley entrance; to enter the "pocket," one must first pay a toll—the government collects it too, so why can't they?

"four people."

Probably the leader.

The young boy who struck up a conversation with Roland had a thick head of brown curly hair, with a few strands sticking out from his forehead even when his hat was pulled up tightly.

He used his slanted eyes to count the girls behind Roland, and held up four fingers.

"Four pennies, Harida."

Roland nodded naturally.

He relied mainly on following the rules when he was in the martial arts world.

“Penny?” The young leader narrowed his eyes. “I mean, shilling, handsome sir.”

He looked Roland up and down, then looked past him at Xander and Rose, his unsettling gaze finally settling on Harida's skin—even a street thug would have the right to despise this female slave with 'unclean' skin.

“Four shillings, sir,” he raised the price once, hesitated for a few seconds, then raised his hand again, adding, “four for each person.”

A group of young masters and ladies seeking 'excitement' in the shadows.

He's seen people like that before.

His mind was full of poetry and drama, and he might even have a few words about finance, war, and politics—but guess what? These refined gentlemen, who were just as young as him but whose fates were so different, all shed the same red blood.

They would also wail and beg for mercy.

Four for each person.

He grinned, having already planned out tonight's itinerary.

"Are you fucking asking for it, you little bastard?"—that's what Rose was going to say.

But she was unwilling to show her vulgar and crude side in front of the person she loved.

Moreover.

She came with Roland to investigate the case.

She couldn't let that woman, Shandel Kratofor, say anything bad about her.

She could be mischievous, unreliable, troublesome, stealing, adventurous—but she didn't want Roland to hear her swear about his mother and the missing function of his tiny, fingernail-sized lance.

“…Roland?”

Rose called her lover's name questioningly.

It's like someone who doesn't go out much.

“Of course, we know the rules.” Roland made a gesture, and soon Harida took out a gold pound from her light silver triangular purse (which her husband had bought for her) and handed it over.

then.

They waited quietly for the young leader to raise the money.

The other party clearly didn't have the habit of giving change.

He rubbed the large gold pound, revealing a set of black teeth: "The rest is just advice, pretty face." He patted Roland on the shoulder, despite Harida's deadpan gaze.

"Don't cause trouble on the Red Sons' territory, control your curiosity—and..."

"Don't teach others to..."

He made a rude gesture, then quickly turned around and sought approval from his men leaning against the wall.

The other young thugs laughed heartily, showing them respect.

Roland didn't mind. He nodded politely after responding and led the girls past him.

"gentlemen."

Harida followed with small steps, the dagger already in her hand.

"How dare they..."

(End of this chapter)