The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 950 Ch.949 The Holy Grail
Speaking of the 'Holy Grail', Gary Kratov couldn't help but say a few more words - after all, Shandel had also 'practiced' in the monastery for a period of time and knew what the Holy Grail really meant.

"Your collective fantasy?"

"You shouldn't exclude yourself, Shandel. We all know that once the church possesses the 'Holy Grail', it will have an opportunity to perform a 'miracle' - whether it is Enid Jutia, the Ring of Eternal Silence, or the Great Whirlpool..."

Even though the years continue to devour his hopes, the word Holy Grail can still make this old bishop, who looks almost 200 years old, regain his youth.

"Miracle…"

It was a rare moment for the old bishop to sigh.

Holy Grail.

Saint Delis once used it to perform miracles and built a ladder to face the spirit of the dome.

otherwise.

Today's human beings are probably still being kept in captivity by gods.

"That's just your imagination."

"No, Shandel, it's not." The old bishop lived many years longer than the girl, and although he also did not witness the greatness of the Holy Grail with his own eyes - but it definitely, definitely, definitely existed.

He swears on his soul.

"If you know how terrifying the gods are, then you must admit that the creatures that can create people to climb up to them step by step have such great power..."

Let's put aside the 'weak' Pus Child that Rose mentioned.

Xiandel had indeed never seen the so-called "gods".

But she is planning to grow one of her own.

It can soften her skin, tear her fur, and bite her neck anytime and anywhere.

"Ever since she gave birth to you as a baby, I have not seen the awe of the world in your eyes. Shandel Kratov. If it were not for me, you would be at the stake in the Inquisition now..."

No one knows Shandel better than Gary Kratov.

Neither can Roland (not in the material sense).

Evil thoughts come with madness.

Madness comes with destruction.

If you believe that such a person is extremely pure, you should not think that she is just a devout believer.

"…This time is different. So, if you think it over, I can exercise my bishop's authority to let the girl skip many undignified procedures - although people of this background don't have that kind of experience."

Shandel hated the word "saint", but Gary Kratov was different.

Although it will be tortured a little bit.

But after the torture, there will be rich rewards.

For a beast of humble origins, of inferior blood, who will never have noble offspring in the future, a stinking water bag that exists to irrigate white blood - participating in the selection of the saint is Alice Cordoni's only chance to change her destiny in this life.

Even if the ceremony fails.

They didn't get the Holy Grail.

As a saint, Alice will be treated no less than a bishop in this life - perhaps with less real power, but enough for her to live a rich life... including her poor parents.

This is an opportunity no one would turn down.

Gary Kratov didn't understand who would say no.

"Maybe? I'll go back and ask Roland."

The girl, having eaten and drunk her fill, put down her silver fork and knife.

At this moment.

There was hardly a single inch of human skin on her face - she was like a transparent plant, with only the sacred texts flowing slowly on her epidermis, and her body was filled with an almost dazzling glow.

Golden.

It was like a long-burning lamp covered with blood.

Amazing talent.

Highly adapted to road qualifications.

During the several ring-raising ceremonies, he never saw Shandel hesitate once.

"Boots, Nine, My Love, Frozen Springs and Dead Leaves, Sky, Glass - The letter you sent has been delivered to the little crow of the Inquisition..."

Gary Kratov stood up.

It's almost time.

It would be best if he wasn't there for whatever happened next.

"What does that mean? A little code between you two?"

The old bishop had his back to the end of the table.

The glare left a series of creeping black shadows on the wall.

"It doesn't make any sense," the voice was clear, "I just want him to think about me all the time..."…………

……

Roland faced the falling drapery.

Candle was sleeping on the other side of the pillow, holding a lock of Roland's hair in her mouth.

"What on earth does that mean..."

The morning light shines through the sky blue curtains and falls on a puzzled face.

The maid pushed open the door quietly.

Before I got close, I heard someone mumbling.

"Sir?! Thank you! You haven't slept at all?! From the time the fairy ring left... until now?"

Roland tilted his head and pulled the quilt up to cover his chin.

"how do you know."

"Because if you were resting, you wouldn't wake up at this time."

"Don't make me sound like a slob."

It's a good smelling lazy guy.

Halida glanced at the clothes piled on the chair, quietly untied the silk curtains on the bed, quickly walked to the chair and picked it up.

"...I'll prepare your clothes for today. Breakfast should be ready soon. You shouldn't sleep anymore...? You said yesterday that you had an appointment with Mr. Kingsley."

"I don't want to go."

"…gentlemen?"

"Write him a letter and tell him I've caught a cold... or sprained my ankle."

Halida held the clothes and glanced at the crack in the window.

"Looks like you'll have to get up."

she says.

A man was already walking quickly towards us in the morning breeze.

…………

……

"I found out. Roland, the name Whittle does have some different meanings... You won't snore while I'm talking, will you? That's not polite at all."

The man dozing off on the walnut table raised his eyes. Even the aroma of meat in front of him could not cheer him up: "If possible, I want to play hide-and-seek with the sun for the rest of my life..."

Kingsley looked at Roland's skin, which was much paler than when he first met him.

How did such a person become an executive.

"Mestel. Have you ever heard of that name?"

It seems I've heard of it.

Kingsley thought.

Because the cat-man in front of him has already stood up his ears - because he recently got a clock that likes to put things in its mouth, Mr. Detective has learned a little about animals:

As he clinked his high-rimmed bowl of treats, his springer spaniel dozed on the floor…

That's the kind of person he is.

"I have seen this man."

Roland half opened his eyes, resisted the urge to sleep, sat up, and yawned loudly: "...It was a long time ago, Kingsley. He died on a cold night...What does this case have to do with Meister?"

"It's something to do with Whittle," said Kingsley.

John Whittle, the doctor who issued death certificates for Amelia Orphanage.

Messert Whittle.

A detective from the Supervisory Bureau who died early.

as well as…

Francis Whittle.

The youngest of the three brothers, and the 'genius' who has become famous in the Supervisory Bureau in recent days - Kingsley is not on the other side of the world, but he has some complaints about the 'genius'.

Are they overusing it?

"Francis Whittle?"

"Francis," Kingsley nodded, "a new consultant to the Inspectorate, a ritualist approaching the Fourth Ring - I just have a question: what is the difference between a consultant and a detective?"

"It sounds different. Goodnight."

(End of this chapter)