The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 948: Saints and Saints

"It's been a long time since we've had a meal together, Father."

The small table knife scraped against the plate with a squeaking sound.

A truly well-mannered person would not let the cutlery in his hands make disturbing noises when colliding with anything else - Shandel didn't care about this.

When eating with family, there is no need for so many etiquettes.

When she was cutting steak or pulling the red threads of fresh meat, she would cut from the surface of the meat, almost wishing she could cut off the porcelain plate underneath.

"I am not your father, Shandel."

The long, narrow table was covered with a white cloth, a symbol of purity.

Ankle-length golden tassels were woven into the girl's gray hair, hanging softly - similar to the folds of her sleeves and seams, which were also covered with a silk curtain of sacred gold and silver, fluttering slowly as the knife rubbed against the plate.

The girl's skin exposed to the air was covered with sacred words in bright red 'ink': sacred words about the path of the 'saint'.

There is no doubt that today is also a formal day.

Opposite her.

It's the White-robed Bishop: Gary Kratov.

"I am not your father, Shandel."

The old bishop repeated softly, and those eyes that were extremely similar and should have inherited evil thoughts now only showed pain and sadness.

There was no plate or cutlery in front of him.

Of course there was no food either.

At this 'family gathering', only one person enjoyed the meal.

"I would like to consider you my father, Bishop Kratov. Just as you showed my mother the true colors of heaven without hesitation - do we really need to delve into the origins of my bloodline?"

Gary Kratov was silent.

His dry branch-like fingers hidden in his religious robes trembled.

He looked at the girl at the end of the long table.

A cold gaze that flows slowly under the gilded candlesticks and the light of tall candles.

There was no makeup on her face that was deliberately disguised. It was the expression that only appeared when she was most relaxed, most excited, and like a young bird spreading its wings to reveal its fragile and soft belly. She was sincere, as sincere as an amorous prostitute in the rainy city of London.

Many people will be attracted by such pale, sickly, baby-bird-like beauty - who wouldn't want a 'horse' with an adult soul and the body of an eight or nine-year-old girl?
Gary Kratov felt only pain.

The pain an addict feels when he's sober for a moment.

"My childhood was very happy, father. It made me unable to tell who was the family member I should truly love and care for. I don't want you to turn your guilt and pain towards my mother into compensation and pour it on me..."

Shandel held his chin and teased the piece of meat on the plate like a cat teasing a mouse, which was trembling because its nerves were not dead yet.

She chewed with a crunching sound. Perhaps the raw feeling at the root of her tongue made her miss someone's fresh and passionate fish cake - she cried again in front of Gary Kratov.

“…We shouldn’t be discussing this.”

Gary Kratov lowered his eyes in pain.

How could a "Saint" who has the qualifications to reach the high ring only pour out his evil thoughts on the Holy Child...

Her daughter...

Her beloved...

woman…

Gary Kratov seemed to have a fire in his chest that could not be extinguished, even though he had lived in a gloomy and prosperous city for a long time, humming hymns for who knows how long while shaking his head in red wine and urine.

in the end.

Firewood still has a fatal attraction to him...

"If you were not my daughter, Shandel, you would not have lived to this age."

Gary Kratov was at a loss as to what to do with the person across the long table.

This is the last descendant of the Kratov family.

His tone toughened, but he also showed his weakness to those who knew him well enough: like a baby bird in the nest.

Shandel let out a very high-pitched laugh. In Gary Kratov's sight, the girl's red cheeks covered with biblical tattoos trembled uncontrollably, and then the words on her skin began to flow.

She grew shark teeth, a snake tongue, cat pupils, and cheetah tear grooves.

She smiled more meanly than the meanest old cousin in the whole city of London. The candlesticks, knives, trays or the chasuble covered with holy words on her shoulders around her became the manifestation of her soul and mind: a gentle spirit that turned over the flesh to find love and beauty.

"Mother is a substitute for grandmother. Am I a substitute for mother?" The girl swept the snake's tongue, and her neck seemed to be stretched infinitely in the light and shadow, and then stretched again until it was close to Gary Kratov's face, so that they could feel each other's sinful breathing: "Tell me the details of you. Mother and your voice... smell... taste... bull and it——"

Bang-!
"enough!"

The holy white flame exploded on the candle end.

It tore apart the blade that was stirring deep in its belly.

It ground the shark's teeth flat and pushed the woman, with a mouth full of blood, back into her chair.

Gary Kratov looked at the blood clots on her face and was overjoyed.

A wave of despair surged in my heart.

no doubt.

Shandel Kratov is even more "genius" than him - she is the product of sinful love, a "defective product" that should not have been born... to some extent:

Archbishop, High-Ring Ritualist, 'The Shield of the Holy' - Gary Kratov…

Fear her.

of course.

It was precisely because of fear that he knew that he had reached the end of the "road"...

"...You are almost the youngest three-ring in history, Shandel." Gary Kratov calmed down, but his eyes were only fixed on the white cloth on the dining table: "Use your power well, be vigilant about your heart - don't let evil and hatred devour your soul..."

The youngest three rings?
Shandel tilted his head, his thoughts becoming more active.

I'm certainly not...

The girl thought briskly.

Her fishy little cakes are.

The man who makes her stomach smell like the trough of a fishing boat all year round is him.

She was like a herbivore in front of him...

of course.

When being eaten, they struggle harder than herbivores...

"This round of Saint Selection has begun, Cinder. Do you know what this means--" Gary Kratov really couldn't stand this 'painful' environment: whenever he was alone with Cinder Kratov, he couldn't suppress the fire in his heart.

“Someone recommended someone to me.”

Gary Kratov said.

Shandel didn't care about the "saint" and started cutting the meat on the plate again, carefully peeling off his nails that had been softened by soaking.

"Her name is Alice," said the old bishop.

Shandel paused.

"Alice Cordoni."

Alice…

Cordoni…Alice…

The golden curtains swayed slightly, bringing out the intricate decorations.

Shandel looked up.

"That's the adjutant's friend, father. I think you should know that before asking me..."

"Adjutant?" Gary Kratov narrowed his eyes. "You should call him 'Roland'... If there is an unclean and shameless relationship between you two, why bother hiding it from me?"

"An unclean and shameless relationship?" Xiandel grinned: "Like... you and my mother?"

(End of this chapter)