The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 608 Ch.607 Bellos Taylor

Miss Claudia Hayon Cavendish has brought the 'notes' Roland mentioned.

He came to my door in person and stayed only for half a cup of tea.

She didn't look well and seemed listless - probably because the Cavendish family was recently handing over property to Taylor, and because she was disappointed with the stolen mystical organ.

Randolph took Patton and questioned the servants in the old house one by one.

To be honest, there's nothing to be said about this.

Roland, on his part, was surprised by the borrowed 'notes' - the words on them were so familiar.

Thanks to the "Brightness of Everything", Roland can understand any language, but the jumping words in front of him are obviously not clear because of the ability of the mystical organ.

He had learned the language long ago.

Fuchino (the language of thirst).

A language that requires one to moisten the throat with blood before uttering rare and complex syllables.

It is also the key to his passage in that bloody dream, a sound that makes people unconsciously addicted and their stomachs rumble.

Roland handed Betty, who was leaning over to him with her belly raised, to Theresa, and told Randolph not to let anyone enter the room to disturb him until he came out.

then.

Light the oil lamp.

Spread out on the table is this parchment scroll called a 'note', which is actually half a 'book'.

This is Jocelyn Cavendish's record book.

Most of the text was written in Fucino, mixed with some languages ​​that he could understand but whose names he was not sure.

"ceremony".

The scroll does mention the ceremony.

Roland began to admire Claudia Hayon Cavendish a little.

She obviously did not learn Fuchino, but she managed to decipher some of the ritual information based on the scattered characters she collected.

of course.

Mostly wrong.

Roland noticed that there was a special word mentioned in Jocelyn's notes.

"Secret Meeting with the Key"——

Secret meeting.

Roland recited softly, and a thick white mist emerged from the leather scroll, diffusing in the room.

'Secret meeting...'

The sound faded away intermittently.

After the fog filled his vision, Roland heard the sound of waves hitting the cliffs.

It flew past my ear and was replaced by a flapping sound.

"My father wasn't as capable as I am back then."

The mist shattered into white dust, which fell on the fluffy curly hair. The man who was talking sat on a high stool facing the old sunshine, with a cone-shaped bird-beak mask covering his face, which made his voice sound dull and much more powerful.

"Yes, yes, as for last names, your generation is extraordinary." The barber patted the powder puff and 'danced' around the man like a conductor: layers of dust flew up and fell like snowflakes.

Falling on the wig.

It was choking badly.

The barber walked lightly and pushed the window open a crack as he passed by. "I can't stand those people smearing lard on their heads. Father of all things, there are people who use glue?"

The bird-beaked man muttered, and the five fingers on the armrest rose and fell one by one. Those ring faces were more dazzling than the sunlight.

"Ahem... you're right. I've seen people use glue." The barber had difficulty breathing and couldn't help coughing a few times. "It sticks to the wig, like a white pig without an owner."

"They are indeed." The bird-beaked man uttered a 'joke' in a muffled voice.

The barber followed suit, coughing and laughing.

"It seems your business is not doing well." The man with the bird's beak changed his posture and crossed his legs. "Most people don't care about this respectability. They are not smart and the things under their heads are lazy. What respectability do they still want?"

Hearing this, the barber could not help but complain: "I don't understand the various bills passed by the parliament recently. They insist on forming some kind of union and stop us from treating patients. I guess those members are not as good as me: they have little knowledge, but their knives are not sharp enough."

"What's the difference between this and hairdressing? They're both skills."

The bird-beaked man yawned.

He didn't care about those bills that were useless to him, but he was in a good mood today, so he reluctantly gave the barber some advice: "I think you shouldn't do this job anymore. Investing in something is better than running around all day."

"invest?"

The barber paused for a moment, then continued to sprinkle powder into the air: "My little money is not an investment, it's not even a fraction of yours."

The bird-beaked man laughed.

His eyes were narrowed in the dust, a mixture of light blue and shrewdness forming a condescending scrutiny.

“Sometimes, choice is more important than hard work.”

"You're right." The barber hooked his toes behind his other leg and made a strange and playful bow. "You also have a wife with a good family."

"Ah, that's the most accurate description." Talking about his choice of marriage, the bird-beaked man seemed happier than being praised for his career. "However, I would rather people praise her beauty and wisdom - her beauty and wisdom are more outstanding than her family background... Cavendish? It is the good luck of the Cavendish family to give birth to such a girl."

The man with the bird-beak became very talkative and talked nonstop.

Especially after the barber's questions hit a chord with him.

"I see you're in a particularly good mood today."

"Ha! Even though they say my career was based on marriage, and even though they know I have a brilliant mind - you're not the first person to ask me for the secret." Mr. Taylor bounced his legs happily. "They say, 'Old Taylor, what's your secret?'"

"'Is it bravery? Is it adventure?'"

"neither."

"I tell them: All they need is a smart, sharp mind," Taylor said proudly, puffing out his chest. "Nothing else is needed."

The barber tapped the base of his palms gently, went around the man's back, and fixed his wig.

"You are right, sir. Your brain is your greatest wealth." The barber tied the wig behind the man's head and trimmed it into shape. "It's a pity for those of us who don't have a bright brain. Life is hard."

"It's much more expensive to be poor than to be rich." Taylor smiled meaningfully.

The barber didn't understand: "What do you mean by this?"

"When you have money, they give you things for free... they can't wait to give them to you," Taylor shook out her curls, put down her beak-shaped toilet paper mask, and said casually, "Check out."

He stood up with the help of his hands and was about to go to the door to touch his coat.

The barber quickly stopped him.

"Oh! My sir! It is my honor to have you come to my place! Why bother about that little money?" The barber put his coat on Taylor and bowed twice with great precision. "I wish you and your beautiful and wise wife good health - and the young master and young lady too."

Mr. Taylor's face froze for a moment, then he smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and said generously, "Change your career, and I wish you all the best."

Push the door open and go out.

(End of this chapter)