The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1124 Ch.1123 Hamilton
The light blonde girl, Little Hamilton, the Child Sacrifice.

She was not only tormented by guests, but also whipped by her father—regarding frequency, Miss Hamilton said she could not remember the intervals.

But every time a scar fades, a new one appears.

Rose nearly jumped up from the brick floor, flapped her wings, burst through the door, and went to settle scores with the old man who was keeping time outside—she vowed to smash his old face to pieces with her fists, like smashing a tomato.

Sender looked at the timid girl thoughtfully.

"Roland! I have to teach him a lesson! This is abuse! She's not even eleven years old! The government will not allow this—"

Roland rubbed the scars on little Hamilton's arm with his thumb a few times.

"Mr. Hamilton...why did you get whipped?"

The girl was still at a loss.

Because Roland and her group's actions completely deviated from her usual pattern of behavior—normally, it should have started the moment she bent down to lift it up.

then.

Some scored three or five points, while others scored seven or eight points.

of course.

They would also inquire about the origin of her injuries after the event, or in the middle of it, and kiss her tenderly and gently, blessing her and saying that the benefactor would surely protect a troubled and suffering soul—some of the kinder ones would even give her a few coins before leaving.

They also brought her some food.

They are all good men.

but…

The element of 'pity' never occurred at the very beginning.

At the beginning.

No.

This threw Hamilton Jr. into a panic.

Why doesn't this handsome, golden-eyed gentleman follow the proper procedure?

"I...I need to remember..."

"Remember what?"

“Remember, it is, it is the new…new plague. Sir, I have indeed been infected with the new plague.”

The girl gritted her teeth and refused to let go.

"Oh, so this new plague has given you new abilities? Like the man who lights fire in the street and can summon birds?"

Roland released her, crossed his legs, and pulled a cigar from his inner pocket.

Seeing this, Halida quickly conjured up several long matches.

The smoke dissipated quickly.

"...No, sir."

The girl lowered her head and tugged at her cloth skirt.

This dress was a gift from a gentleman.

"It causes you pain?"

The girl's eyes lit up: "Yes, it makes me suffer, sir. I'm in so much pain all the time."

Rose silently exchanged a glance with Xander.

A naive girl, a naive lie.

She was clearly forced by her father to tell such a lie. And this 'harmless' lie, with its harmless consequences, would undoubtedly bring more benefits to the Crimson Son—there are probably too many lying women in this 'pocket'.

Now, Rose certainly understood why Xander had said the leader of the Crimson Sons was somewhat cunning.

Roland then asked a question that put the girl in a difficult position.

"Do you hate him?"

"...Who? Sir?"

“Mr. Hamilton, your father.”

The girl pursed her lips and remained silent.

Her feelings toward her father were complicated.

Indeed, he often beat her. Whether she didn't serve the guests well, said something that displeased him, or he was simply in a bad mood—he used whips, fists, and the soles of wooden shoes.

He insulted her and her mother with words beyond the girl's comprehension, abusing her heart which should not have been tormented in this way.

but…

It's not just adults who are good at pretending.

Children's lack of knowledge and experience does not mean they are stupid. Clearly, Miss Hamilton had her own thoughts—those whips could not completely erode a daughter's love for her father.

At least in the eyes of outsiders, he ensured that she had enough to eat and wear every day.

“Because he still needs you to make money, silly girl,” Rose said indignantly. “The law doesn’t allow someone your age to…” Roland stared thoughtfully at the whip marks on her arm.

Between the two towers, the Crimson Tide must make a choice.

He whispered.

…………

……

Roland didn't stay in the room for long. When they opened the door, old Hamilton was pacing anxiously back and forth, his ten fingers twisted into a knot.

When he saw Roland, his face darkened for a moment, but he quickly forced a smile.

"Oh, sir! You look exceptionally energetic!"

He picked up the hot towel that had been prepared sometime earlier, ignored his anxious daughter, and quickly went to Roland, handing the towel to him.

“…Young girls always make people feel young again…but in my opinion, you don’t need that at all.”

Roland did not reach out to take it.

“I would like to speak with you alone, Mr. Hamilton.”

These words stunned old Hamilton. He believed that his daughter had not served the young master of the West End well enough (their attire could not fool him), and had angered the normally mild-mannered man.

Old Hamilton was furious.

She has always done a good job.

What's going on today?

"You little bitch! You childish slut!"

The middle-aged man's face instantly contorted into a hideous grimace, and amidst the girl's uneasy gaze, he raised his hand high in a slap.

"I warned you! If you don't listen to me, you'll get a beating—"

“Mr. Hamilton.” Roland did not stop his usual violence against his daughter, but simply looked quietly into the man’s dark eyes, which were devoid of any anger.

"I'd like to speak with you alone... alone."

"Sir?" Old Hamilton hesitated, "You see..."

He pulled a pocket watch from his jacket pocket—the watch's exquisite design and its original location both proved that this man's status was not suited to owning it.

"Of course, I think some gold pounds can make up for the time lost."

Roland opened the girl's bedroom door and gestured for her to enter.

Old Hamilton pursed his lips, glaring fiercely at his daughter, hoping to glean some clue from her eyes—the girl simply lowered her head, clutching the pale blue handkerchief in her hand—the one Harida had just given her to clean her wounds.

"Once I find out what happened, you'll have a good time!"

He uttered harsh words, then, with his neck locked, he bowed obsequiously to Sandel and Rose, carefully avoiding the noble ladies, and slipped into his daughter's room.

Roland whispered to young Hamilton to wait a moment, and then followed him inside.

Close the door.

It was a bit odd for two men to be in a room that should have been filled with some kind of smell (though perhaps not so odd for Londoners).

Once inside, Roland didn't rush to say anything to him. He simply ran his palm across the wall, feeling the dust and plaster clinging to it.

He could vaguely hear some screams.

Sobbing.

A murmur that sounded like talking to oneself.

There was no curse.

it's great.

Both father and daughter.

In the whirlpool of sharks, even losing a leg is considered an extraordinary blessing from fate.

"Mr. Hamilton."

"Yes?"

The middle-aged man forced a smile: "Sir, I must apologize on her behalf. She's just a child, how could she understand such things..."

"Fortunately, you are not, Mr. Hamilton."

Roland rubbed the plaster on his fingertips, turned around, and saw fire in his golden eyes.

“I have always thought that ‘sacrifice’ is an extremely foolish thing, but today I can no longer say that.”

Old Hamilton was stunned.

He almost realized who this person was.

"That letter of denunciation was concise and clear, Mr. Hamilton. Why won't the court send someone? You don't believe the Benefactor would send any messenger to relieve the suffering on earth, do you?"

(End of this chapter)