The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1185 (Ch.1184) Two-way
Bruno Mondes has clearly met many people like Dave Lawrence.

They talked on and on, whether politely or rudely, with bribes or threats—there were just too many people who wouldn't give up until they got what they wanted.

It's all for gold.

He had seen too much of it and naturally knew how to deal with them.

"Seeing is believing, Mr. Lawrence. I think you'd be happy to hire some geologists—three or four for your line of work, like the frames and temples of glasses, seeing is believing. Until the professionals, those with their large glasses, tell you there's nothing here but freedom and pleasure…"

He plopped down in the suede sofa, making a few gestures as if inviting them to sit in the other one as well.

The more candid the mayor was, the less Dave Lawrence could say what he had prepared beforehand.

He had prepared a whole basket of names, including many of those whose train tickets had been stolen by the most ruthless and tough-guy thieves of the day, causing them to miss their trains—these were all well-known figures, top-tier masters who could kill without shedding blood in the name of fame.

As soon as these names are mentioned, families like the Mondes and Edes will prick up their ears and speak to him politely.

But what about now?
The other person spread his hands and said, "I don't advise you against robbing, sir. I don't have a single penny on me unless it costs me my life."

Dave Lawrence sullenly sat down on the sofa, his fat head almost falling off his neck—at which point it was possible to distinguish his head from his neck.

"So, is there anything else I can do to help you? I suggest you and your friends stay a little longer. Stay, enjoy the scenery, the local customs and culture, and chat with my interesting, kind, and morally upright residents..."

"While we may not be as good as the real 'Cornnore' here, we certainly won't disappoint your eyes."

Dave Lawrence jiggled his fat face and forced an awkward smile. "I'm swamped, Mr. Mondes. Right now, at number 18 Queen's Fountain in London's West End, my desk is probably piled high with documents..."

Do you think I'm in the mood to enjoy the local customs and culture here?

Old Mondes blinked: "A different culture and customs than London."

"My whole life's work is my motto, sir. If a person doesn't create value, doesn't work, how can they sleep soundly? We possess wisdom far exceeding that of a donkey, so naturally we must use it more diligently than a donkey..."

This statement can be made both positively and negatively; Dave Mondes himself perfectly embodies the nature of a certain type of person.

The old town mayor neither confirmed nor denied it.

He could tell that the fat merchant truly craved gold, and was also deeply disappointed.

But the other four are different.

They don't seem to be here for the gold mine.

“You’re right, Mr. Mondes. We’ve come for the ‘dragon,’ the real ‘dragon,’” Roland said.

Suddenly, Bruno Mondes's face turned extremely gloomy.

"I think you've just believed some rumors..."

Roland said that usually when a 'rumor' is vehemently denied by the locals, the story will then take the turn in the direction of 'the rumor becoming true'.

Mondes opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a word for a long time.

Until Rupert's laughter broke the silence.

“…You are truly eloquent,” the old mayor shook his head, his expression complicated. “Many young ladies and gentlemen have come here, supposedly ‘coming because of its reputation,’ only to leave disappointed in the end… If Ildor Sinser really has dragons, how come no one has ever seen one? Not even in their dreams?”

Roland's eyes flickered slightly: "Mortals rarely gain knowledge of the 'Sleep World'... 'Even in dreams'... Mr. Mondes, in my opinion, you are not a ritualist?"

The question caused the atmosphere, which had just warmed up, to plummet back to freezing point.

Bruno Mondes stared silently at Roland, his face filled with an anger that none of the others could decipher.

"...I was just saying it offhand. Sir, who doesn't dream?"

“That’s the answer. If a real mortal heard the word ‘ritualist,’ he would never ask, ‘What is that?’—Harida, look at me, Kingsley, aren’t we just a little bit closer…maybe I’m even more perceptive than him?”

Harida bent down and silently touched Roland's arm, whispering that the old man opposite her was about to grab his cane.

"My God! Old man?! I'm only fifty-seven!"

Rupert covered his mouth, his curled eyelashes trembling. "...You're completely different from those two chess players, sir. I thought..."

I thought you were at least eighty. —Aren't people in this town known for their longevity?

How come the town mayor looks like her pair of double-layered ruffled stockings that she wore once and then left unused forever?

“I told you long ago! Harida! How dare you disrespect an old man? A gentleman who runs the town so well! How could you call him ‘old fellow’? Harida, Harida…shouldn’t I, your ever-prudent, careful maid, be ashamed of my words and actions—”

Mondes was furious (as was Harida), and Rupert was even worried that he would just collapse with a 'whoosh,' shudder a few times, and never breathe again.

“How could I be angry with a servant! Sir! You are extremely rude!” He stood up, his fingers trembling with anger. “You are neither a policeman nor the sword of the empire! You want to interrogate me… even if I lived at the edge of town and was a window knocker… we don’t need that here. But even so, what right do you have to ‘interrogate’ me?”

He rebuked Roland in a stern voice:
"You only need to see and hear everything in this town; there's no need to question any 'dreams' or 'ritualists.' My grandfather was one, but what law did he break? Are you one of those black-clad crows? You have no eyes, no ears, you're completely blind and deaf, aren't you?"

"Well then, I must tell you now: things don't go well here—"

thump.

A short, stubby cigar fell to the floor.

Roll toward Bruno Mondes.

He watched helplessly as the handsome man on the sofa went from calm to grief and indignation—in just one second.

His lips were trembling, as if he had suddenly fallen into an ice cave, and his beautiful golden eyes even had some misty tears.

"...Oh God...Oh God! Rupert! Theodore! Harida! I really am blind! A cursed, unwelcome...blind...blind! Well! I'm blind! Now, even those I visit despise me...Don't stop me! Harida! I think my fate in this life is inextricably linked to these useless eyes..."

The man struggled to his feet despite the maid's attempts to stop him, speaking with a bitter and clear voice about 'weariness' and 'pain,' as if all that he had suffered had solidified into a sharp, piercing blade.

"Even someone I've only met once looks down on my eyes!"

Bruno Mondes: ...

To be honest, he hadn't really noticed the young man's eyes.

oops.

This is...

This is really...

“…That’s not what I meant, young sir. Oh…you…you mustn’t…Quick! Servant! Stop him! I…oh dear! I do have some space at home! If you insist on staying to see some ‘dragon,’ I can tell you about it—”

Before he could finish speaking, the golden-eyed man immediately sat back down on the sofa obediently.

"Ok sir."

"Harida, pick up my cigar."

Harida was 'accidentally' half a step too slow, and Rupert, with a smile on his face, stretched out his leg and 'accidentally' stepped on her with his toe, splitting her in two.

"The cigar is broken, sir."

Roland bet she did it on purpose.

Both of them.

Bruno Mondes stared at Roland for a long time before finally stammering out a question:
"Have Londoners become this shameless?"

For an instant.

The two people on the sofa moved away from Roland by a few inches at the same time.

A slight but noticeable movement.

“You probably haven’t met a real Londoner,” Rupert said, tilting his head slightly. “A real, local, born and raised in London…”

"You owe me a cigar, Rupert."

Damn it, I was talking to someone else!

(End of this chapter)