The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1122 (Ch.1121) Exploration
With the Elephant Gang destroyed, the Gold Tooth Gang fell into Rose's hands and continued to shrink.

London needs gangs.

The emergence of the Crimson Sons and the Savi Brotherhood perfectly filled this gap.

"If it weren't for the Elephant Gang being gone..." Rose muttered.

She was unhappy with the group's mockery of Roland, but she did not question Roland's actions or Halida and Sindel's silence—she believed she understood Roland and knew that these people had absolutely nothing to do with 'rules'.

(She considered herself slightly better than them.)
She dared to make that gesture towards her Roland.

We'll see tonight.

“The Elephant Gang is no different from them, Shelley.”

Senna smiled, unconcerned about such a trivial 'insult'—during the selection process for the saintess, she had suffered and witnessed many kinds of insults that made one wish they could die…

That's nothing.

Besides…

The ring-raising ceremony for the beagle was just a little short of being completed.

“I don’t like the smell here, Roland.”

Sender gently rubbed his nose.

From the moment they stepped into this "pocket," the roars of various "beasts" constantly filled their ears. The smells that made them blush or frown were far more unbearable than the lingering, sticky smog of London.

Halida saw a handwritten 'poster' on a bluestone wall; her sloppy knowledge only allowed her to make out half of the blurry text.

It reads:

Same house, different happiness.

Rose, on the other hand, knew more.

Here, next to each door, on the wall, or on a sign (some more respectable ones will have a new one made of nails and planks), is a description of the 'special features' of the tenant:
Some are skilled at reciting poetry with clear, melodious voices; some possess superb skills that put even seasoned riders to shame; some have such powerful voices that their whirlpools can cause the empire's newest warships to break bridges and destroy masts; and some even claim that all the money they've earned in a year has been used to maintain the walkways, having worked as grape-treading laborers for several years.

Want to maintain your weapon and infuse it with the aroma of wine?
Shandel watched with great interest, while Rose blushed.

Considering their backgrounds, this already creates a stronger sense of incongruity and absurdity than most novels on the market.

"That's...shameless."

Rose was reminded of her childhood.

Back then, my aunts didn't have so many 'tricks'.

“It seems the Savi Brotherhood has big ambitions,” the gray-haired girl commented, covering her mouth. “They aim to surpass Flower Street, and even rival Garden Street.”

Roland, however, believed that the Savi Brotherhood had no idea what they were doing or what they wanted.
"Of course, I think they'll soon suffer. Their involvement in these trades naturally gives the Secret Service a divinely granted reason to attack."

"Shandel said."

"but…"

"Does Lord Spencer understand this? Does he know what's happening here?"

Amidst the languid music, the group arrived at the very bottom of the pocket—the most unwelcome spot. After all, no one, engulfed in flames, would patiently walk a long way to the furthest place to seek out muddy water to extinguish their fire.

But surprisingly...

At the supposedly quiet end, Roland encountered even more 'guests' than near the entrance—these pot-bellied gentlemen in top hats stood in twos and threes, chatting and sipping short, thick cigars.

These people were clearly different from the people Roland had met along the way: they were dressed better and their shoes were shinier.

And cigars.

When they saw Roland and his party, they first quickly glanced at his clothes and shoes, then paused for a few seconds at his hat.

then.

He put on a smile and greeted them in a friendly manner.

If Roland got any closer, he could hear what they were talking about.

Regarding the future of the empire and social welfare, the construction of the City of London includes the recently put sewer project on the agenda.

And there's that clock that was half-built but was gnawed by rats.

Roland had no intention of approaching them for a chat; he simply stood there and waited for them to enter the house one by one before leaving after about ten minutes.

During that time, if he hadn't paid attention to the location, he would have almost thought he was in the parliament building.

A group of...

A good gentleman with lofty aspirations, concern for people's livelihood, and the people in his heart.

Their moral character is definitely higher than the cross at the top of the church.

"Something new."

The thugs guarding the door, perhaps rarely seeing a girl dressed like this, stopped listening to the councilors' discussions on politics and strolled over to Roland's side, a cigarette dangling from their lips.

He was in charge of the nearby rooms, and all he did all day was wander around when the women were free, or he would wear a robe, lean against the wall, and listen to the guests chat.

"If you want someone to watch over you, you'll have to pay extra, sir."

Compared to the men guarding the pockets, he clearly knew better what couldn't be said—a fact stemming from his position. He'd probably change his tune immediately if it were his turn guarding the lucrative side of the business.

"See?"

“That’s right, look, sir, you know what I’m talking about,” the thug said, taking off his felt hat and patting it casually on his side, chuckling lewdly as his eyes kept darting between Sandel and Rose. “I know what you’re up to…”

He approached Roland, and a strong smell of sweat hit him.

"You want to show...your prowess, don't you?"

He lowered his voice, but it still couldn't fool the ritual participants present.

Roland stroked the silver deer-head staff handle, pondering for a moment: "The Crimson Son?"

The thug was stunned for a moment.

"certainly?"

"I mean, you are different from the people I see on the street."

The thug laughed: "That's quite different, sir. We are one of the Crimson Sons... a small part. Do you think people can live without food and water?"

"I thought I'd see the police here, the ones patrolling the streets."

The thug was extremely disdainful, flicking his hat off quickly: "Those people don't have the guts, and they're not allowed into our territory."

He actually used the word 'territory'.

"The people of London have long seen our capabilities, haven't they? If it weren't for the Red Sons, how many people would have died in the mouths of rats? We saved all of London."

Roland remained noncommittal: "The girls too?"

These words put the thugs on their guard.

He took a half step back and glared at Roland.

"This isn't something a respectable person like you should be asking. Have your fun, leave the money and go, don't cause trouble—I'm warning you, you'd better know where you are…even Scotland Yard has to write proper letters of introduction…"

Sender smiled wryly.

This 'provocation' undoubtedly enraged him.

So far, no one has dared to provoke them while they are in the limelight.

"you this--"

Roland took a step to the side.

It just so happened that it blocked the thug's steps forward.

“Calm down, Grey Hat. We’re not here to fight, and I think you should…” Roland twitched his ears: “Oh, looks like it’s my turn?”

He smiled and pointed to the open door.

as well as.

A middle-aged man with a shifty, rat-like appearance peering out through a crack in the door.

"This is a big deal."

Roland lifted his walking stick, tucked it under his arm, and turned to go inside.

"Let me see what kind of merchandise the Crimson Son can find..."

(End of this chapter)