The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1196 Ch.1195 The Last Chance

"How did you find me?" Gale Mondes certainly didn't think it was a 'chance encounter'—as he'd said countless times, he had a shrewd mind…

Those who fall into the abyss are often shrewd.

The smarter you are, the easier it is.

"I have my own way, mortal."

The bearded man chuckled, turning a large gold pound in his hand over and over.

Mondes frowned.

He hated that tone. Frankly, in his view, this bearded man, also trapped in this 'dream,' hadn't displayed any superior wisdom—at least he was powerless to change it either.
"It seems you have some misunderstandings about the ritual performers, but we don't care about the opinions of mortals."

Ritual performers.

Mondes recalled the words from that notebook.

That's right.

Ritual performers.

This is what you call someone.

A term used to refer to a magician.

I came to you to tell you something—

“Wait a minute,” Mondes interrupted, frowning. “I think I’m doing just fine, sir.”

Over the years, he was initially puzzled, then fearful, guilty, and in pain.

A man who knows perfectly well what he has done has a soul that seems to be boiled into a pot of blood soup that is forever boiling—the steam rising from the bubbling broth is the regret he can never undo.

But now.

He can do it all.

Every day, every present moment or yesterday, he could give his wife his most complete love, a love that was honest, naked, and unwavering. Sometimes, Mondes wondered if this joyful and beautiful dream could truly heal the wounds he had caused in the past.

But he was very happy.

He met his wife in middle age and glimpsed the soft secrets beneath her armor; he carefully observed his wife in her youth and patiently listened to the anxieties and wisdom hidden in her incoherent youthful words.

He even began to think that his past "mistakes" had no "correct" counterparts at all—just like a person shouldn't be concerned about whether the roots of gold can survive after it's buried in the ground.

Gold, that boring lump, that lifeless, stupid thing, has no roots at all.

Only trees have it.

Only living things exist.

He greedily enjoyed this kind of life, doing his best to open every pore on his body that was clogged by the grime of life, accepting tranquility or storms like a piece of paper or a leaf.

then.

His wife, who was also yesterday, evaluates him every single day:
You've become so gentle, darling. Has something good happened?
certainly--

He said.

The answer is every moment of the present.

These days, the last thing Gale Mondes wants to see is this beard.

“Twilight is like embers… The last time we met was when the sun was high in the sky.” The ritualist could easily guess Mondes’s thoughts—mortals don’t know how serious the price of “mystery” is, but he could understand.

A box of old matches relit the cigarette.

The last time they met, he also gave Mondes the same box.

Listen, lost soul.

He took a drag of his cigarette and said seriously:
“My misfortune cannot be someone else’s misfortune, I think I told you that twenty years ago. Today, I have found the way back—”

The ritual master said.

"Turning Point"

This is the key to opening the door of hope.

Mondes didn't understand: "...What?"

"Turning point".

The ritual performer exhaled a puff of smoke, and the sound became clearer amidst the swirling smoke.

Everyone's fate has a turning point.

Some things are important, some are not. —And for Gale Mondes, what was his major turning point?
Gale Mondes knew it.

“…I missed it,” he said, with a hint of relief.

On one occasion, on one day.

He spent half an afternoon dominating the field—it was this kind of 'victory' that sparked his interest in the business, and he then arrogantly began to use his equally arrogant mind.

This time, he didn't leave home at all.

Naturally, they also missed the 'turning point' in their fate.

The ritual performer felt pity for the person drowning in illusions, his cheeks clenching sharply as he wasted tobacco: "Listen, lamb, you still have a chance—think about fate. Maybe you missed one, but there won't be only one."

He told Mondes that from that day forward, he needed to start thinking about an earlier "turning point"—finding that crucial turning point in his destiny, and then following it without altering the original trajectory of his fate…

“This ‘bubble’ will flip along with the ceremony…at which point everything will return to its original state.”

Looking at the man's face, which was full of rejection, he couldn't help but say a few more words:
"My 'turning point' came in Birmingham. There, I met someone who would change my life... my mentor. I will follow the path I took in my youth and become his student in Birmingham—I will soon begin this transformative process, Mr. Mondes. I hope you can catch this return journey in time..."

Mondes remained silent.

“I warn you, do not try to change your past again—especially now that I have initiated the ritual. You must never alter your past, your own ‘history.’ Otherwise…”

He finished smoking the cigarette, flicked it onto the ground, and stubbed it out with the tip of his shoe.

"Otherwise you will continue forward."

“Continue…forward?” Mondes murmured listlessly.

"That's right, keep moving forward, never turn back."

Young, young, even younger.

Go back to childhood.

child.

Swaddling clothes.

Back in the mother's womb.

until…

disappear.

"At that time, no one in the world will remember you anymore."

Can you imagine?
Your son won't disappear; he'll just have a new father, and your woman will be nestled in someone else's arms.

No one, no one will remember you, Mr. Mondes.

Do you want this kind of ending?
Do you really think you can change history? No, you don't have that much 'influence'—you've only changed your own history.

The ritual participants did not linger.

He repeatedly urged Mundes to be 'well-behaved,' to follow the path of each yesterday, and not to try to change the past or make the same choices as his younger self—perhaps he had learned something in this short but long journey, but…

Everything will have to wait until things get back on track.

Whether it's repentance, happiness, knowledge, or any other kind of insight—first, Mondes must ride his ritual back to the 'future'.

He cannot die in the 'past'.

It never even happened—according to the ritualist, his Lord would blame him.

Mondes did not speak until the ritual performer left and disappeared at the end of the alley.

Turning point.

Mondes certainly knew what the major turning points in his life were—looking back, an arrogant, intelligent, and superhumanly strong young man, a boy with a mind and soul, restless and unconventional, whose turning points in life were nothing more than written in the novelist's three stories.

He had a woman, became a father, and went on several adventures.

He has already missed his 'future' of becoming a father.

adventure?

His 'adventure' was nothing more than a boring hell filled with sour smells and smoke—he had so many plans, yet he was almost bewitched into the filthy corners that only a fool would believe could lead to the light.

He missed two major turning points.

The ritual performer's visit was probably also a reminder to him:

He has one left.

(End of this chapter)