The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1193 Ch.1192 Ildossser

Gentle in nature, loyal to friends, kind, and loves family.

He just broke his back.

—This is how Fino Mondes Jr. described his father.

The dragon didn't think so.

The all-knowing dragon obviously doesn't think so.

His two fist-sized nostrils spewed out air, making the air in the dream even more joyful.

'Your father…'

He pondered for a moment, seemingly wanting to choose a more accurate evaluation term that humans often use.

"She's a 'woman'," He said, completely ignoring little Fino's anger.

Yes.

He knows everything and understands everything; who can deceive Him?
'My father isn't! He just broke his back! Otherwise…'

'Doesn't he throw bowls at your mother all the time?' Long tilted his head and shifted into a more comfortable position.

The dream echoed loudly.

'If he hadn't gambled, he wouldn't have lost all his wealth; if he hadn't become addicted, he wouldn't have accumulated insurmountable gambling debts; if he didn't have gambling debts, his life would be much happier and freer—I don't understand why you men consider "female" such an insulting word…'

'But if that's how you see it, then this is how I would describe your father: Gale Mondes.'

Longan opened its eyes even wider.

He curiously observed the tiny figure, which was not even as long as one of his fingernails.

'Based on the "morality" and enduring "emotions" followed in your human society, you should hate your father even more—he ruined your family.'

After a while, little Fino wasn't angry anymore.

He squatted down, plucked a few blades of grass from his dream, chewed them, and muttered, 'Tasteless.'

My father was a "tough guy."

'Oh, why?'

'I thought a dragon that knows everything wouldn't ask "why."'

'I don't have your meaningless pride,' the dragon blinked. 'You went to great lengths to see me, weren't you just waiting for my 'why'?'

Little Fino pouted.

'Okay. I just heard my mother say it… Old Munger from the village said it too…'

'That pastor? What did he say?'

"Among countless possibilities, a person may be a hero or a villain. It depends on where they are born, where they live, how they are born, and how they live. A person's experiences, encounters, whether they have tasted true love—even carefully cradling 'hope' like a bird being cradled—undoubtedly influence their 'future.'"

I can tell.

Little Finno didn't fully understand what these words were saying.

It's also obvious.

He has a good memory.

The dragon understood, of course.

Pastor.

A ritual performer who has no hope of ascending to the next level, yet still possesses some knowledge.

What ring is he in again?

Second Ring Road? Third Ring Road?
He's right.

The dragon lowered its voice, but it still sounded like thunder to little Fino's ears.

'But some people are born villains, bad seeds, incurable destroyers, the scars of the world.'

After Long finished speaking, a sly glint flashed across the boy's eyes as he tiptoed and crouched low.

"Yes, Lord Long. But my father was just an ordinary man, a young womanizer, a gambling addict, and a middle-aged man with a broken back… How could he be a born bad seed? If he were, my mother would have already gotten him more money and pushed him to continue gambling!"

He said.

'My father was just unlucky! If what the pastor said, "countless possibilities"—the pastor said, his soul is good!'

The dragon teased him: 'Priest? Then why don't you pray to the "Father of All Things" to give your father a new waist?'

Little Fino looked dejected: '...He ignored me.'

"It seems even your Father of All Things thinks your father was a scoundrel." "What 'my' and 'your'..." Little Fino rested her chin on her hand, crossed her legs, and inadvertently leaned against the dragon's claw—the dragon merely glanced at her, showing no reaction: "I don't understand, Lord Dragon. If you don't grant people's wishes, why did you want to see me?"

'You are different from everyone else,' the dragon said calmly.

'My father is different,' little Fino muttered.

'He will die soon, and then your mother will have a better family—and I'm afraid you'll get to experience that for a while…' the dragon mercifully revealed the secret to him.

Little Fino wasn't appreciative; her round little face was incredibly serious: 'That's not what Mother wants.'

The dragon moved its enormous head slowly toward the tiny human.

They made eye contact.

'Foolish mortals always think they're making decisions for others—but it has nothing to do with your mother; it's just that it's "not what you" wanted…'

Little Fino understood what that meant.

Just like the pastor always secretly eats 'Holy Communion' and 'warmly invites' him to eat it every time he visits—saying it's good for his soul…

That's not what he wanted; it's what the pastor wanted.

Little Finno understands.

But this was different from what Lord Long had said—he knew in his heart that it was definitely not what his mother wanted.

He just knows.

He was their child, whispered by his naturally perceptive soul.

He just knows.

'You are indeed more perceptive than other souls… but you are still… a mortal.'

The dragon was somewhat disappointed.

This is a nice place; He originally planned to sleep for another ten years or so—there aren't many outstanding souls in the town, except for this Fino Mondes…

But he was still just a mortal.

He cannot compare to the truly gifted and exceptionally talented. For example, in recent years, within the human church, there's that young believer of a flawed god…

What was her last name again?

Kratofer?

He only saw him to pass the time while he was awake.

To relieve boredom.

'I can make a bet with you,' the dragon yawned, its mouth wide open. But little Fino only caught a whiff of spring: 'An interesting bet… let me think.'

The dream ended.

Little Fino scratched her cheek cautiously: "Please don't think about it for ten years or more."

Somehow.

He suddenly saw a kind of ferocity he had never seen before on the dragon's 'face'—a fear that came from the soul, which he couldn't explain, but was like a person seeing a lion.

That's even more terrifying.

'Let's make a bet. The wager is one wish I can grant—no, your father's back doesn't count. If you win, one wish, one back; but if you lose…'

Fino Mondes saw flames in those two blazing golden eyes.

A blazing, pale flame.

Between dawn and dusk, existing in the cracks between order and chaos.

Mortals cannot describe in words beings whose life levels are far higher than their own. When some exceptionally gifted souls perceive that narrow path and ascend as the world sinks—only they, a few, can understand what lies in the mist beyond the world.

Little Fino won't do.

He inherited his mother's gentleness, love, and resilience, and his father's courage, cunning, and madness.

He patted his knees, stood up, and looked up at the two blazing flames that seemed to burn with life itself.

'I am Fino Mondes.'

He suppressed his fear and the frantic scream of 'escape' in his mind—he was nine years old, a grown man, how could he be afraid of a dragon?
He's not even afraid of Bud's gang of bastards' punches anymore!

'Do I now know how to address you?'

The dragon, displaying its teeth sharp enough to pierce the earth, slowly approached this strange, whimsical, and time-wasting interlude.

'Ildusinser—my name, Ildusinser.'

(End of this chapter)