The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 619 Ch.618 Hard-core

Randolph decided to bury his father in Porto Porto.

he thinks.

This is probably what my father expected.

The heart-breaking days of pain are finally over, and what will replace them will be permanent, everlasting pain.

The rest of Bellows Taylor's life proved one thing.

Proving the wrench wrong.

When dealing with funeral arrangements, Randolph showed some dissatisfaction with his mother and that organization, and also extended his emotions to the "primitive people" - a race of people who were arrogant and full of fantasies.

Although he also has one.

Roland consoled him, saying that he shouldn't be too harsh on a person who pursues ideals and beliefs. In just a few months of his career as an executive, he had seen many believers who were even crazier than Jocelyn Cavendish - even if he didn't count the cultists of the Cradle of Flesh and Blood.

Aren’t the followers of the Maelstrom annoying?
Mr. Merchant couldn't understand.

He believed in the All-Father, but only slightly—probably no more than he believed cats could bring disaster.

He just believed in the truth he learned in life, followed the majority of currents, and took the broadest and least criticized right path - if one day everyone converted to the Cradle of Flesh and Blood, then Randolph Taylor would instantly change his position and become the most loyal supporter of the Mother of Abnormality.

This is also the reason why many ritualists, even those in upper-class circles, hate businessmen.

They believe that these people have no real faith.

Only see interests.

In other words, taking interests as faith.

Such people are undoubtedly terrible, slippery, and should not be respected.

in turn.

Randolph didn't understand this group of people either.

"At least I won't give my sister mercury for the purpose of 'purification' and 'exorcism'."

He found it difficult to understand his mother's pursuit, as well as the pursuit of the ritualists and nobles - in Randolph's view, nothing in the world was more important than these two things.

One, yourself and your family.

Second, make money.

"They spread rumors that we would sell our mother, sister, and daughter for profit. That's ridiculous, Roland. Is it our decision whether a noble should marry a merchant?"

Randolph, dressed in black, leaned against the side of the carriage with his arms folded.

He and Roland came to the Ring of Eternal Silence in Porto Porto to choose a tomb.

"Our own country... oh, how incompetent and stupid."

Since his father's death, his hatred for the 'primitive people' has risen to a level that cannot be raised any higher.

He couldn't imagine what a brainless and ignorant group would emerge if the "Secret Society of the Hanging Key" grew and expanded among mortals. The ignorance of the ignorant lies in their belief in themselves or in some wisdom that does not actually exist, just like the past...

"Like the Inquisition once was, Randolph."

Roland took over the conversation softly.

“But it’s fundamentally different.”

Randolph nodded: "At least the monks of the church don't keep saying 'We are the Creators'..."

The person in charge of the Ring of Eternal Silence received Randolph and Roland.

Because someone was so rich, this second-ring ritualist in charge of the 'worldly' world, when selling the tomb, also sold his second and third daughters - this servile appearance made it difficult for Randolph to overlap his figure with Hayan's.

Same ritual.

But it is very different.

Later it became clear that the locals preferred to bury the bodies of their relatives in the cemetery of the "Great Whirlpool" - rather than the Ring of Eternal Silence, they believed more in the goddess who controlled the four seasons of nature, whether they relied on the ocean for a living, or simply had to sway on the sea all year round.

The Great Whirlpool is to Porti what the Holy Cross is to London.

As a result, the "business" of the "Ring of Eternal Silence" is not very good.

The low-end cemeteries were empty, and the high-end tombs were seldom visited - after finally waiting for a death in a wealthy family, one discovered that the tomb had already been taken away by the whirlpool.

As the person in charge was talking, his shrunken face showed an expression of "We have never suffered such injustice before."

But just as Randolph wished.

The highest-grade cemeteries are "clean and tidy".

Better to just bury his father.

"Fifty-eight pounds, sir, and the grave is under the protection of my Lord..."

He hunched over, revealing a mouthful of black teeth that were excessively corroded; the bone pendant hanging from his waist and the wine jug collided with each other.

"Fifty-eight pounds?"

Randolph paused.

The person in charge was stunned for a moment, then quickly changed his words: "No! There are cheaper ones -" "I mean, they are too cheap."

Randolph interrupted with a wave of his hand, breaking off the white ash, revealing a handful of red-hot cigar butts.

"How much does the highest-grade tomb in the Maelstrom cost?" he asked.

The person in charge hesitated for a moment: "... One hundred and twenty pounds, sir. But I promise! Their false gods do not have the power of my Lord! After the living leave this world, my Lord will protect their fragile souls and lead them into the pale and eternal kingdom..."

"The Great Whirlpool doesn't have that ability. Their false gods..." The person in charge looked around and lowered his voice: "...the false gods won't put in a lot of effort, and there's no way to guide every soul that leaves..."

Randolph frowned: "I want the best."

"Yes! Yes! Of course! It must be the best! The most sophisticated!" The person in charge smiled, bent his waist a few degrees, and said in a lower voice: "...How much do you plan to donate?"

In the end, Randolph decided to bury his father in the Ring of Eternal Silence cemetery.

But he requested that there should be sculptures of a large whirlpool and a holy cross in front of the tomb, and that monks from three sects should preside over the ceremony.

At first the person in charge disagreed.

Until Randolph impressed him with Taylor's 'piety'.

——The other two sects were also moved in the same way.

"Porto Porto is still poor. If it were in London, the price would not be this high." Randolph said casually as he left.

He had given funerals for his friends which would have cost three times as much in London.

"By the way, why don't you use it?"

Randolph was referring to the strange object.

He didn't know what it was for, but since the 'coordinates' left on it had lost their effectiveness...

"It's called 'Wave Weaver'." After getting on the carriage, Roland pulled out the crystal tube with surging waves from the lining: "It's the throat of the siren. Those who drink it have the power to control the waves..."

He said.

"Are you not going to give it to the ritualist in your family? From now on, the Taylor family's trade will not be affected by any storms."

"No. Because it's not worth it."

Roland: "What do you mean 'not worth it'?"

Randolph smiled and explained, "The annual loss will be controlled within a certain range. Even if this number is multiplied by ten, it will not be as high as the return on your investment. What's more, the part with the greatest loss is not the ocean part."

Roland rolled his eyes: "I'm glad Betty didn't learn to speak like you."

That's with you.

Randolph pouted.

When Beatrice spoke to her brother, she usually made a gesture with her palms facing up.

'I want to buy it.'

'money.'

However, Theresa secretly told him that, apart from the paints she used for painting, Beatrice had never bought any expensive jewelry or clothes - they were all picked for her by Theresa and Bronte.

Later, Randolph caught the little girl and asked her where the money had gone.

The girl pulled a suitcase out from under the bed.

It was filled with a tangled mass of bills and scattered gold pounds.

'Save it for Roland.'

Randolph spoke with a sullen face while Roland smiled ungracefully beside him.

"Betty looks too much like my father," Randolph pinched his nose and frowned, "This is not good..."

Roland squinted his eyes: "You are the same."

"Me?" Randolph raised his eyebrows and pointed at himself: "I am the same as Betty?"

Perhaps it was the inherited indifference of the Cavendish family.

He thinks he is different from his sister and his father.

He can look at feelings more calmly and rationally, weigh other materials attached to feelings, and choose the most reasonable and smooth path between pros and cons.

He cannot be said to be a complete businessman, but at least he is much better than his father and sister.

Roland nodded: "I heard that someone spent a lot of money to buy a publishing house for a writer who is not yet famous..."

Randolph: ...

Someone argued: "Actually, this is a reasonable investment. You don't understand, Roland."

Roland could certainly accept this answer and nodded heavily: "The Queen should cut military spending and invest in your mouth. It's much harder than steel. With you, who can sink our ship?"

There was a pause.

“Except for women writers.”

(End of this chapter)