The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1150 Ch.1149 Lulu of Benevento

Roland and Rupert Benevento's correspondence never ceased. Even in the later stages of the rat infestation, despite the considerable value of a single letter, the wealthy Benevento family would still send their loyal servants—seven or eight fully armed men driving steam-powered carriages—to deliver messages for their young master.

Ms. Natalie was very grateful for everything Roland had done for her brother: Roland didn't think it was anything outrageous.

"You mean, a 'woman' inside a man's body?"

The Benevento family, unsurprisingly, remained unscathed from the rat infestation. Apart from the two rows of linden trees leading deeper into the estate, riddled with holes, there was almost no visible damage to the naked eye—even the linden trees were now surrounded by groups of gardeners discussing how to deal with them.

“That’s right, Cinder. The body is that of a man, but the soul is that of a woman.”

The gray-haired girl looked at the eager man beside her with a complicated expression.

Even though she herself is somewhat 'abnormal'.

They still couldn't understand the 'interesting things' that Roland paid special attention to on a daily basis—dirty, unclean, and twisted souls were everywhere, so what made Rupert Benevento 'special'?

"She identifies as a girl. So, I need to remind you beforehand..."

Crossing the short bridge with its wooden railings, I stepped onto the newly widened wooden platform. Beneath my feet lay the green lake, unwilling to turn yellow with autumn.

Following the curve of the river, Benevento Manor sits in this 'natural' place that shouldn't be in one of London's most bustling areas.

I think you don't need to.

Shandel adjusted her expression appropriately: as a candidate for sainthood, she knew how to maintain her dignity even when facing the most filthy and vile things in the world.

—filthy, dirty.

This is Sender's opinion of Rupert Benevento.

No wonder his father and siblings always kept his existence a secret from the outside world, speaking vaguely about this unloved youngest son, claiming he had a strange disease that made him "unpresentable"—if their offspring had such a "terminal illness," they would probably have to drown in a latrine...

Yes.

Like the vast majority of Holy Cross believers or those who follow the Crown, she could not accept this 'impure and twisted feeling'—and even less could she tolerate a man becoming like a woman…

Just thinking about it makes me feel uncomfortable.

“I’m not much different from Mr. Pink Bert, Sender,” Roland said as he walked, disregarding everyone else and offending Benevento’s guide by belittling himself.

The young servant kept his eyes straight ahead, wisely refraining from participating in this topic that he felt he 'shouldn't know' about.

"Roland? Of course not. I'm not talking about appearance."

Sender shook his head.

"Yes…"

Humans cannot control their appearance, height, voice, or fate—but whether or not to wear a corset and a flowing dress is not in the pocket of 'uncontrollable' circumstances: that is a personal choice.

Roland thought for a moment.

"It's more like a 'qualification'."

Sender glanced at the servant and said gently, “Perhaps, Roland. But we all respect Benevento, and that’s enough.”

'Hypocritical, saintly bitch.'

If Rose were there, she would definitely be whispering something similar.

Rupert Benevento's letter was straightforward. He had discussed with Roland 'why urine is sticky after eating too much candy,' 'why teeth smell bad,' 'whether the sun was created by the Father God,' and 'why some clods of soil near tree roots taste like mint when held in the mouth'—incidentally, a few days later, Rupert wrote back vehemently denouncing Roland as a notorious fraudster who would become infamous sooner or later.

In short, during their whimsical conversations, Rupert's letter truly made Roland marvel at the wonder of fate.

He 'found' a semi-conscious man covered in blood.

It was during his nighttime "appearances" that the fence behind the well next to the row of stables near the west back gate of the horse farm was broken, as he passed by on the garden path. The letter said that the man was sometimes unconscious and sometimes awake. The periods of unconsciousness were long, and the periods of awakening were short. His arms and thigh bones had varying degrees of blunt force injuries, and his skin had also been scratched by some kind of sharp object resembling "fish scales".

When he found him, he was almost dead.

But he was still muttering the name 'Floren' (probably).

later.

During his brief moment of lucidity, Rupert learned his surname and heard the name 'Roland Collins'—which completely dispelled his idea of ​​reporting the matter to the church: the 'Great Vortex' traitor case was making headlines, and he was certainly aware of the characteristics and surname of the 'sinner'.

and so…

"What has Mr. Thackeray done now?"

"What else could it be?" Roland stepped over a small ant colony carrying fruit scraps, without harming them in the slightest, but kicked the fingernail-sized scrap a little further away with the tip of his shoe. "It's probably related to the knight..."

Xander blinked.

He glanced at the young servant who was leading the way.

“I think we need to talk about the weather, Roland… Is the road ahead still long, young sir?”

The servant, overcome with gratitude, his voice trembling with emotion, cried out, "It's almost time, Miss! It's almost time! Less than three minutes..."

Please have mercy.

Please stop saying things I can't hear.

How about we talk about the bad weather?
…………

……

The master, George, and his eldest son, Greck, were not home (Natalie did not live in the old house), and Roland thought that this was probably why Rupert had made the appointment for today.

They were led through two living rooms the size of the Collins Twin Houses, wandering for several minutes through maze-like corridors, climbing several flights of stairs, and then turning into a quiet corridor covered with a light beige carpet.

The servant handed the two men over to another, older servant.

He knocked on the door for them.

Rupert Benevento, the boy who looks even younger than Roland, is dressed as 'appropriately' as ever today: a champagne-colored leg-of-mutton sleeved dress with tapered diagonal folds at the ankles, and a checkered pigeon-blood prism necklace around his neck.

Her white hair was styled into a small bun, and she sat in front of the dressing table, her light pink eyes looking at Roland in the mirror…

And the gray-haired woman who came with him.

Shandel Kratofer.

"...Good day, Judge."

"I didn't know we had a new nickname?" Roland smiled at the retreating valet, knowing no one would serve tea in the room. He took off his hat and leaned his cane against the sofa back. "This is one of my best friends and teammates, the executor of the Inquisition: Xander Kratofer..."

“The famous,” Rupert said, without a clear smile, setting down the gold-stopped perfume bottle, “'Judging the guilty and the innocent,' isn’t that the very right you exercise over and over again?”

“The Benevento surname, when it comes to power, is as amusing as the fat gentlemen of London always accusing the poor of eating too much…” Sandel curtsied. “By the way, I like your voice.”

The two girls looked at each other.

The left and right sides are divided by Roland's non-existent line of sight.

Like the clever cherry-leaf oleander and the eight-legged red-spotted widow, they seem different, yet they are each other.

The Persian poison powder cloth is nimble, and its brown thorny claws sway in the wind.

(End of this chapter)