The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 682: Old Ancher's House
Shandel had heard of similar rituals, but most had failed.

She had planned to have Roland fool the man for a bit, then send Rose to steal the two knives—she and Roland would have a whole day of sweet dating (and Miss Vansittart would have her own low-brow pleasures, too).

However, since I heard the word "lamb's blood".

"Burn to death?! Thank you for your kindness! We didn't do anything! Miss, how could you so hastily convict a kind and devout believer?"

Old Anchel was a little angry.

"My wife and I have been doing good deeds all our lives. Even if a sharp knife falls into our hands, we will use it to help people resist wild beasts. Sir, your friend really shouldn't talk like that."

Roland was not surprised at all that Shandel could make a guess based on just one piece of information. She was as knowledgeable in mysticism as Miss Delorze.

"The people of the Inquisition will not reason with you, Mr. Ancher."

"But you and your friend are not from the Inquisition!" Ancher was angry at the person who was about to offer help. "Even if you turn around and leave, I will make it clear. Sir, Miss. You can insult me ​​for being ignorant and a complete countryman, insult me ​​for being mentally ill and not as smart as young people-"

"Just don't insult my faith and dignity!"

"I am a clean and devout believer who has never made a mistake in my life! Even if the bishop himself comes, I will hold my head high!"

Roland held his chin, and the gradual jolt broke his drowsiness: "Excuse me, Mr. Ancher. Which party do you support? -"

Anchel puffed out his chest, extremely proud: "Of course it's the secret party."

"Oh, that's easy to imagine."

Only those old guys would care so much about decency and dignity.

What about Randolph?
As long as it can help your family, it's okay even if you say he is the product of frogs and bison.

But Chandel was frightened by him. She apologized timidly, forced a smile, and said that she would never speak nonsense again and provoke a truly noble old gentleman.

Anchel was satisfied.

Of course, he later apologized to Cinder for his 'impatience'.

Use emoticons.

About one second.

"You are a good girl, and you must have good parents...Excuse me?"

"They have passed away." Shandel's index finger gently stroked the end of his eye, his expression gradually becoming sad. "I was fostered in my aunt's house. She also raised me."

Anchel frowned at first, then felt a little regretful.

"You are also a poor man. I have to apologize again for what I said before."

Shandel's eyes curved with laughter, and he shook his head quickly: "Who would be angry for such a legitimate reason? Old sir, I am well educated."

Although there were some minor setbacks along the way, it was generally smooth (in Anchel's opinion).

They arrived at Basildon in Essex in the afternoon.

That is...the countryside.

Although it is adjacent to London, even if you are born in a pit two miles outside London, you cannot say that you are a 'native' Londoner when you grow up - you can say that you are a native Londoner.

"It is indeed the countryside, but the countryside also has its own advantages."

Old Anchel introduced them to his small estate, the animals he raised and the carefully tended flower gardens. It was not a deserted place, but each family name was far from each other. In other words, once night fell, it was difficult to find a second light on foot without a carriage.

"Come in, Ke..."

"Collins."

"Yes, Mr. Collins."

The location is rural, and the interior decoration of the villa is equally rural.

Roland couldn't see much difference, but Shandel was different: the rough and unruly rough wood boards, the unignorable smell of earth in the air, the pretentious sculptures, the paintings of painters who were not famous at all - and the collars of the maids that were yellowed by over-starching.

Roland thought it was good.

Old Mr. Ancher had a practical wife with a loud voice, and though she was a little rude when entertaining guests, she didn't make random comments about tongues. The servants were not as attentive as those at the Taylors, but in places like this, simple is always better than complicated.

They were invited to the large hall used for entertaining guests, and several plates of special snacks were served: some kind of green plant as a filling, mixed with butter, solidified, wrapped in flour and baked. Mrs. Ancher said that the sauce dipped in the butter balls (Roland thought this name sounded better) was prepared by her own hands.

It tastes a bit...

Like being hit in the mouth by a chilly wind?

"Please, stop eating."

"Ask them if they have any meat."
-
Don't be so rude, I'll have another one.

"I'm dying."
-
Eat two more.

"You murderer."

The couple were very talkative. They told some jokes that Roland had never heard before, and talked about everything from the sheep in the garden to the hounds, instead of politics and art, and then talked about the servants' private "stupid things" - and the pony they raised that coughed when running.

It can be seen that the Anchers are very hospitable.

Until we got to talking about John Ancher.

"…He locked himself in the house. Since what happened, his health has been getting worse day by day."

Mr. Anchel paid more attention to the "consequences of this invisible technique" and the trouble it would bring to the family, while his wife kept a close eye on her son's health, fearing that it would be too late and cause irreparable regrets.

——From the conversation on the road, Roland could find that Mr. Ancher was actually more worried about what happened to his son than his wife. After all, he understood the meaning of the Invisibility Technique better than his wife.

Perhaps it was some identity or education that was ingrained in him that made it impossible for him to express this to others while maintaining his dignity and integrity.

"Let's meet Little John."

No matter how much you hear, it is better to take a real look at it.

John Ancher's room was on the second floor.

Passing through the corridor where hunting rifles, medals and deer heads are hung, there are many handwritten manuscripts nailed to the wooden boards on the staircase walls.

"John's report card from school."

Old Anchel told Roland very 'inadvertently' that the corrections in other colors were the handwriting left by his tutor - the comments on the top few were very high.

"Of course, these are not worth mentioning."

Just as it was difficult for a sixteen-year-old boy to suppress his early morning energy, it was also difficult for the bearded father to keep his mouth straight when talking about these things.

His wife behind him wiped her tears silently, saying things like 'What a good child', 'He would never commit a crime' and so on.

Stepping onto the second floor, the temperature dropped significantly.

On the floor at the door of John Anchel's room there were two used plates.

"He won't let anyone into the house."

Mrs. Ancher mentioned.

Shandel was a little puzzled: "Why not let me go?"

The lady covered her heart and said, "God bless you! He just won't let us go! My girl! He won't let us go into the house!"

The door was closed but not locked.

It was like the bedrooms of countless ordinary people, without the smell of blood like a murder scene, without any animal or human body parts, but with candles as dazzling as daylight and strange symbols.

None of them.

Indoor shoes were placed side by side, one in front of the other, upside down, on the outside of the carpet.

Putting aside the meaningless decoration, the boy on the bed was shivering under the thick quilt.

Perhaps it was because old Anchel had informed him in advance that he was not surprised by the "strange helper", but instead felt like he had seen a savior.

“…Help me!”

He just shouted at the person who pushed the door open without any courtesy, in an imperative tone, and without asking.

(End of this chapter)