The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1189 Dragon Claw
The man with the handkerchief is indeed from London.

According to him, he studied law in London when he was young, but later developed a love for literature, so law became a nominal part of his academic career.

After his father passed away, he left behind an estate of more than 20,000 pounds.

"A meaningless life, Mr. Lawrence," the man in the turban took a sip of beer, a smirk playing on his lips, "spending the whole year fooling around with those good-for-nothing men and women, barely spending two thousand pounds..."

later.

Around 1830, the bank where he had deposited his money went bankrupt, and his wealth was almost wiped out—leaving him with only an annual income of seventy or eighty pounds.

“During that time, my mother and sister also died of the flu… No, no need, Mr. Lawrence, none of us can escape the gaze of the White Crown of the Wasteland, can we?” He was quite philosophical about it, waving his hand to excuse Lawrence's 'apologies,' and even clinking his wooden wine glass heavily against his: “I sold my property and antiques, took the money, and came from London with a servant and a carriage…”

The disheartened man, who had originally planned to die wherever he went, was now carrying a sweaty towel.

For example, to see the ocean, or a strange and tall mountain.

Before he dies, he gives his money to his old servant and hangs himself or kills himself on a warm night that isn't too cold—maybe there's a cliff for him to jump off.

Regrettably.

The old servant absurdly followed his mistress in the second week.

He was the only one left.

“I find it hard to imagine how you got through those difficult days,” Theodore wasn’t sure if Lawrence was particularly moved, but businessmen are always good at empathizing in business—he even wiped away a few tears that had been squeezed out with his fat hand: “A miracle happened, didn’t it?”

"Miracles don't happen outside, Mr. Lawrence."

The man with the sweaty handkerchief drank it all in one gulp and then brought another cup to his face.

“I wandered aimlessly, even fantasizing about encountering bandits, being kidnapped, and losing my life so I could find my sister and mother sooner—guess what happened next?” He exhaled a chill. “Ildorsinser is a good place…”

By a twist of fate, he arrived in Ildossers, and like Dave Lawrence, the man in the turban had never seen such a 'laid-back' town.

Something about this place doesn't seem right.

"I heard that there was a plague, so I came here specifically to search... I never expected that ten years would pass in the blink of an eye."

Dave Lawrence was puzzled: "Is the plague a rumor?"

"Who knows?" The man with the handkerchief smiled strangely. "I only thank the heavens for making me bankrupt early. If I had money, I would never be as carefree as I am now—I'm sure I would have drowned in gold pounds long ago, going to find my old mother..."

This argument again.

Dave Lawrence subtly squeezed his hand under the table, his expression unchanged: "Where's the gold here? Sir, is it truly all gone?"

The gold mine has indeed been exhausted.

According to his recollection, about six months (or a year ago), for a period of time, a group of "distinguished guests" came to the town—these people took away the last batch of gold.

Dave Lawrence was disappointed.

Including today's exploration, a constant stream of bad news has proven that his 'gold rush' has failed.

He patiently dealt with the situation for another ten minutes or so, listening to the other person talk about local customs and traditions before taking his leave, saying that there was still a lot of unfinished work piled up in the room—his departure finally made Rupert, who had been holding back all day, open his mouth.

"Sir, the mayor doesn't have a daughter, is that right?"

“Daughter? Of course not. At least we’ve never seen her… I haven’t seen her since I got here…” The man in the turban sighed, saying that seeing Dave Lawrence leave was like seeing his former self—living aimlessly, whether indulging in debauchery or being obsessed with 'work,' in his eyes now it was all a kind of 'waste.'

The four people looked at each other.

Since that girl wasn't a ghost, she couldn't possibly be a high-ring ritual practitioner either.

What is she?
Why can't the other townspeople see it?

—Or perhaps she deliberately didn't let them see?

Rupert's silence didn't stop the talkative man: "...I can tell you and that gentleman aren't on the same page. I think, if you don't mind, you could visit 'Dragon's Claw' when the moon comes up..."

“What is ‘Dragon Claw’?” Roland asked curiously. “Can you dance?” the man in the towel countered.

“Do you know who comes to mind first when people in London talk about ‘dance’?” Roland asked rhetorically.

The man with the sweat towel was clearly knowledgeable, laughing heartily as he clinked glasses with Roland: "Your temperament is absolutely suited to living in Ildor-Sinser—tonight, tonight… no, we'll go right after we finish eating. It's just a little to the west. Did you and your friends see that two-story villa when you strolled around town today?"

Rupert smiled unusually gently: "You call that a 'villa'?"

…………

……

Dragonclaw was clearly much like any other 'village club'—Rupert had already attended no fewer than seven or eight 'clubs' today: textiles, chess, poker, music, arm wrestling, calligraphy, storytelling…

Some are common in London, some are not.

It's called a 'club,' but it's really just groups of villagers gathering together to study some dubious and unsavory things.

"Isn't that true of most clubs in London?" Rupert was speechless at the man in the sweat towel's reply.

They are indeed absurdly similar.

Dragon Claw is located in a two-story brick building.

Every night.

Some residents who love to dance gather here after dinner—and incidentally, this is also the meeting place for the 'band'.

This saves the trouble of hiring someone to accompany the music.

As Rupert walked down the corridor, he saw some crudely made paintings. They were pieced together with cheap paint, cloth, and even mud and plaster. A few were animals or human figures, but most were bizarre depictions of dragons from the villagers' imaginations—

It is clear that everyone's imagination of a dragon is quite different.

"The artists' masterpieces, the Painting and Poetry Club is the largest club in Ildussinser... If you and your friends are interested, you could really spend a few more days participating..."

Rupert smiled and declined.

What can you talk about in a poetry club in the countryside?
Praising cow dung and horse mane?
"Here we are."

The man with the sweat towel pushed open the wooden door, and a series of off-key, erratic notes slammed into the faces of several people.

There were no tables in the room, except for a few bar stools, just empty floors and villagers twirling and wriggling on them—these disjointed, awkward, and even disjointed movements, when combined, created a strange and unusually harmonious scene.

No one paid attention to Roland Collins's attire; they were unfamiliar faces, and no one knew where they came from.

Everyone was busy with their own thing: dancing.

Men are no exception when it comes to handkerchiefs.

He grabbed Theodore's arm and sincerely invited Rupert, Roland, and Harida to go further inside, to the very center.

Rupert was going crazy: she felt like hundreds of eyes were watching her from the shadows, waiting for her to make a fool of herself.

“…I will never go, Thackeray, brother, brother. I will never…”

Theodore, of course, could not force the Benevento children to do such an unseemly thing, and politely declined the turban man's enthusiastic invitation—the turban man originally did not want to give up, until he saw another gentleman with golden eyes pulling his servant and excitedly squeezing into the crowd.

Rupert and Theodore found two high chairs and sat down.

Silently watching someone and a 'cold' maid gesticulating wildly on the dance floor.

“Sackley,” Rupert called softly.

"Miss Lulu?"

"I feel like I'm close to figuring out what 'Dragon Plague' is..."

(End of this chapter)