The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 156 Ch.155 Louis Hyman

The wine cellar seemed to be washed by a waterfall flowing with red wine. The huge whirlpool was like a turbulent storm passing through, smashing everything in the wine cellar that displeased it - limbs in the mud, broken bones, and some "organs" that were still beating but could not be described.

The fierce torrent tore Roland's hairband apart.

He supported himself on the ground with his hands, and drops of red wine dripped down his black hair.

"…Roland."

He heard Chandel's voice.

The weak girl leaned against the wall, and at this time, there was almost no barrel rack blocking the two of them.

“Kill her, quickly…quickly…!”

Shandel's lips turned pale.

Temporarily consecrated wine is not enough to kill a cultist who has entered the circle.

She paid a high price, but only managed to "injure" it, and during this period of time, she sanctified this place into an extremely yang place - this suppressed the feminine forces to a certain extent.

One ring faces a two ring...or a three ring.

Shandel Kratov did a good enough job.

"My injury is not fatal. Go! Roland!"

"Go!"

"Low-ring ritualists don't have many means of combat! We have enough bullets for victory!"

Roland drew out his dagger, held the gun in his other hand, and staggered towards the pile of limbs.

Melting skin, crispy bones.

Before these "foods" died, they still retained the silly smile on their faces at the top of the mountain. Then, the next moment, their flesh and blood were blown to pieces by the extremely yang tide.

The guests were mostly unharmed.

That's what happened to Andrew Heyman and her sister.

The same is true of old Benevento.

These people were lying in the mud in all directions, and perhaps they would have to sleep in the hospital for a long time.

boom--!
Silver gunfire shattered the skull of a still struggling "humanoid" creature - she was wearing a maid outfit, and her four twisted limbs looked like a bloody tall spider.

She was trying to get up.

Then Roland shot him in the head.

"One."

Roland waved his hand, and the wheel of the pepper box moved a fraction to the left.

Click.

boom--!
"two."

Ms. Jasmine did not faint.

She was covered in burns and lay in the mud.

This extremely yang realm made it impossible for her to sense any "mystery" at all.

What's more, a second-ring ritualist, a second-ring of the Cradle of Flesh and Blood, is not good at frontal combat.

"Skin Changer."

Shandel Kratov walked over unsteadily, his arm covered in blood.

Skin changer.

Roland had seen similar knowledge in the library.

Cradle of Flesh and Blood, the Ninth Crown God: Mother's ritualists possess the power to shape flesh and blood, replace skin, and even temporarily bestow flesh and blood (abilities) on others.

Just one ring of "heartthrob" can make the ritualist full of temptation in every gesture. At the same time, they also have a deep understanding of the human body structure and are good at extremely subtle and precise anatomy;
The second ring is what Shandel Kratov said: "Skin Changer".

They can use knowledge and "secrets" to peel off other people's skin and replace their own epidermis in order to confuse their identities.

This is very scary.

The Inquisition had a whole set of methods for dealing with these people—but from what Roland understood, they were almost all like what Wrench had said:

"Using a cannon to kill a mosquito."

Unless it is a place like the Inquisition or the Church that maintains extreme sunlight all year round, it is difficult for the ritualist to tell whether a person is "his own" just by looking at the eyes.

Sprinkling holy water is one way.

But it also depends on the occasion and timing.

It's not as easy as I thought.

“Traitor!” The woman with twisted limbs no longer had a pretty face. Her bloody, burnt face revealed an extremely ferocious hatred: “Traitor!”

She cursed Roland and Cinder viciously.

He spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm at them.

"You, just like your false 'father', are shameless sinners..."

The angry scolding seemed to reverse the situation:

She looked like an executive of justice.

"Honestly, I've never seen a cultist as ignorant as you. Holding a "flesh and blood feast" in a cellar full of red wine - no one told you this knowledge, right? The cultists are like a group of primitive, unintelligent beasts. How do you decide who has the final say?"

"toss a coin?"

Shandel leisurely combed his blond hair - or half-blonde hair.

The ends of her hair seemed to have been soaked in red wine for a long time, and their original color had already been revealed:
Light grey.

They were curled up in clumps, like octopus tentacles that were caught and worn on the girl's head before she had time to grow up and travel to the deep sea, and they surrounded her face in some exaggerated arc.

"You look like a girl who secretly took a bath in her parents' red wine."

Roland didn't know why he said this, but Shandel was very happy to hear it. The girl smiled at him with her lake blue eyes: "You are like my accomplice, Roland."

This kind of contempt without regard for others undoubtedly made the cult lady in the mud even more angry.

"You guys-"

"We will tie you up and take you to the Inquisition. And then, when we can't get any information out of you... we will burn you."

Shandel interrupted her, looking pleased.

"I'm curious, are the cultists of the Cradle of Flesh afraid of pain?"

"When you are burned by the flames..."

When Shandel uttered the last character, the entire space lost its color for a moment: in Roland's eyes, a straight and sharp line suddenly appeared in the white flames.

It was as thin as a hair and blew across Ms. Jasmine's neck like a gust of wind.

then.

Her head just completely fell off.

Dark brown liquid spurted from the neck.

Roland subconsciously hugged Shandel, raised his hand and pulled the trigger!
boom--!
The flame did not explode, but the bullet hit an invisible steel wire and split in two.

Falling into the bloody mud.

Then, a line appeared in front of them.

Like a shaking sound.

"Good day."

day--

install--

The word expands the line, causing it to swell into a larger form;
Then, it coalesced into black leather shoes, trousers, a suit and a bow tie.

He wore a black top hat, had burgundy curly hair, and had a delicate treble clef hanging from his left ear.

"Good day, both of you from the Inquisition."

He dodged his feet, rubbed the muddy soles of his shoes on the face of the skull with disgust, and rubbed it again.

"Next time we meet, I'd prefer to be in a clean and tidy restaurant, or have a couple of drinks while listening to Schubert... Of course, I also like the other one, and I like his phrase 'every note must be sung'. It's a very high standard, isn't it?"

“We use our ears to read the whisper in each note, or their calm passion.”

The man looked very young, with a tall figure and extraordinary looks, and his dark brown eyes glowed slightly in the dark environment.

Even more special: his voice.

It was like the sound of a gurgling stream in Roland's ears, dancing flexibly in the flames of his eyes.

As beautiful as a song.

"Ah, I haven't been introduced yet."

He took off his hat and pressed it against his chest, revealing more of his red curls.

He bowed slightly towards Roland and Shandel.

"I'm Louis."

"Louis Heyman."

(End of this chapter)