The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 549 Ch.548 An Old Acquaintance of Mason Lyle

"Sir, you have to give me more."

The boy patted the wall of the car, climbed on board with a smile, and swung the reins.

A few minutes earlier, Mason Lyle had managed to catch a stagecoach.

The ship of hope that he could escape from London.

tonight.

No one except this boy could see what he looked like - that is to say...

As long as he dies.

Maybe…

The man took off his hat and peeked through the gap in the front of the car. His two bloodshot eyes stared at the back of the boy driving the car, resisting the cold wind blowing in through the gap...

As long as he dies...

Isn't this normal?
Cases like this happen every day in the City of London.

Maybe it was a robbery, or a murder of passion or revenge. Who would take the time to investigate the cause of death of a coachman?

Mason Lyle grinned, his bright red tongue brushing against the meat between his teeth.

He smacked his lips, tapped his knee with his index finger, and actually hummed happily.

Some things may seem difficult, but once you do them once, they won’t be so difficult the second time.

After a long time, it may even become your only way to solve the problem.

Mason Lyle thought this method was very useful.

Convenient, simple, and hassle-free.

The boy could have died in the East Side, the West Side, or the South Side.

No one knew that he had come here and personally sent away a massacre...

and many more.

Mason Lyle suddenly thought of something.

wrong.

Before I kill him, I need to ask...

"Yes, child. How could I not give you more? It's a very cold night—I remember it was getting warmer these last few days, wasn't it? The weather in London is as changeable as a woman's mood."

If he wanted to, he could become the other person's friend.

Mason Lyle believed he had the ability.

There was laughter coming from outside the car.

"That's right, sir. You look interesting. I've been planning to change into a thick coat for a few days, at least it will make walking easier..." From the sound of his voice, it's clear that the boy is not very old: "I was supposed to be in the South District today, but I walked around for half an afternoon and didn't meet anyone..."

He was chewing some candy as he spoke, his voice a little unclear: "Thank God, I met you!"

Mason Lyle smirked and asked, "I never noticed it, kid. I take it every day, but I never noticed it. Do you have zones?"

"My friend, sir. I have spoken to him."

the boy answered.

"He's so busy, I can't just wait there like an idiot."

Mason Lyle teased: "So you secretly betrayed your friends."

"'London will not treat anyone who works hard unfairly' - isn't that what they say?" The boy gradually opened up. He was a talkative person, and with Mason Lyle's deliberate guidance, the two of them chatted more and more enthusiastically, one in front and one behind, inside and outside the carriage.

They talked about love and rumors, everything from politics to the latest dirty words popular in a pub.

The kid loves Mason Lyle.

He was well-dressed, but not like those clothes hangers-on who look at people with their chins pointed.

"I must say you are the most respectable gentleman I have ever met," the boy cried.

They were leaving the jungle.

Mason Lyle leaned against the carriage and closed his eyes to rest: "Really? My clothes are not expensive."

"Not the price, sir," the boy said. "If you would talk to me and listen to me - I mean, real talk, not just some phlegm-filled answer."

Mason Lyle showed a hint of disgust, but his voice became more intimate.

"Oh, then you have to charge me less money."

The boy laughed and said, "That's not possible, unless you ride in my car again tomorrow."

Mason Lyle quipped that it was fine, but you were betraying your friends again.

"…Those clothes hangers-on talk about 'respectability, respectability' all the time, but if you ask me, sir, shouldn't the most respectful behavior be to treat people like us politely?" The boy complained: "Without us, they will have to rely on their feet to walk."

Mason Lyle sneered.

Isn't the world full of 'people like you'?

Decent? For a dog?

This 'politeness' will only make other people think you are crazy.

Perhaps it was Mason Lyle's silence that made the boy keenly aware of his unspoken disapproval.

"I know you think we are humble, but doesn't this show how special you are? Our queen and ministers have said: 'Struggle with the country' - sir, we are the most solid wheel of this country! The oars of the big ship! The wings of the bird!"

The boy was very proud.

Indeed, as Queen Victoria said.

If the country is a car, they are the wheels. If the country is a boat, they are the oars.

"He's not a human being anyway," Mason Lyle mocked in his heart.

To this innocent child, and also to myself.

He knew the truth all too well over the years.

In this bloody night filled with black smoke, he suddenly felt a little emotional. Facing this innocent child who had not yet fallen into the hole of despair, his surging emotions pried open the cracks in his heart, and he couldn't help but say a few words. "Child."

He sighed.

“Have you ever seen a bird?”

"Of course... sir?"

"Have you seen their wings?"

“Who hasn’t seen it?”

"Can hard work make you grow wings like them, lift your feet off the ground, and fly into the sky?"

The boy was happy.

He will not write in his newspapers, like a critic, 'Sophistry!'

But he could tell that something was wrong.

It doesn't make sense.

"Sir, I was talking about what we can do - work hard and become great people. But you talked about a bird... No matter how hard you work, who can become a bird?"

Mason Lyle rubbed his almost frozen face, and the peat that had accumulated in his heart for many years suddenly burst into a scorching flame.

He felt an inexplicable anger, which grew violently with every beat of his heart.

He snorted and said coldly:

"Kid, you haven't figured out which one is harder."

Naive and stupid.

like...

"I don't understand, sir." The boy was not afraid of him and replied firmly: "But I know that what I said is true - I saw it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears."

"Someone big enough to give us this opportunity - as long as we work hard, be loyal and don't make mistakes."

This made Mason Lyle somewhat interested.

Big man?
Could it be a patrolman who manages a public bus station?
"Our..."

The boy interrupted himself just before he was about to blurt out the words.

He was silent for a few seconds and no longer had the mood to talk.

“…I know it anyway.”

The boy muttered something and steered the carriage towards the street where lights appeared.

Mason Lyle curled his lips, lowered the brim of his hat, and dozed off amid the turbulence.

It’s a long way out of town.

It was about forty minutes...or an hour before he was woken up.

The groggy man was sweating and having an unclear nightmare.

When he was pushed awake by the boy, the cold wind was about to penetrate his long coat and rushed towards his shirt, shouting the slogan of a serious illness.

"I know... I know!" He rubbed his eyes impatiently. In the dim light, there seemed to be someone sitting opposite him playing with a black and shiny silver ring... a cane...?
This is not the boy driving the car.

Mason Lyle almost jumped up from his seat and instantly pulled out the dagger hidden in the lining!

"who!"

He was terrified, fearing that he would not be caught by the police, but instead be beheaded by a robber and die miserably in a stinky ditch.

However, when he saw the attire of the person opposite him, the panic completely disappeared.

Beautiful canes don’t come cheap.

This isn't the robber's...disguise...wait, he seems to have seen this man before.

"…Mr. Morris?"

Mason Lyle pressed the top of his hat and sat up on the board: "Maurice? Helles? Forgive me, I've been troubled recently, please don't--"

"It's Collins, Mr. Lyle." The pair of golden eyes that were particularly dazzling in the dark night stared at him quietly: "Roland Collins."

Without waiting for Mason Lyle to speak, he stood up and got out of the car first.

Outside the door was a rugged building shrouded in mist.

There was also the boy standing aside, head bowed, respectful and well-behaved.

"Say thank you to Rose for me..."

"I know she's been mad at me lately," Roland patted the boy's shoulder and stuffed two coins into his pocket. "Of course, I have to thank you, too."

The boy was flattered and hurriedly took out the coins and tried to return them to Roland: "Sir! Sir! How dare I! How dare I take your money and deserve your thanks?! No, no, no, I can't let you--"

Roland raised his index finger and pressed his arm lightly.

This unquestionable power slightly changed the color of the boy hanging around on the street.

He was known as the 'handsome Knightsbridge thug', and he thought he would not lose to this...

this…

This beautiful, elegant, and decent man is so wonderful that there are not enough words to describe him.

"Sir?" This time the boy really started to get nervous, and his waist was bent more sincerely than his belief - for these children, or people walking in blood and mud, strength is a person's best business card.

Apparently it takes the same thing to conquer these people as it does to conquer some of the long-widowed ladies.

"Take it and have a few drinks. It's my treat."

Roland smiled at him and turned to glance at Shandel, who was carrying a wide-bellied pepper box.

then.

His eyes fell on the shivering man in the carriage.

"Someone misses you, Mr. Lyle. Do you miss her?"

(End of this chapter)