The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 979 Ch978 The Sinner Who Should Not Die

Chapter 979: The Sinner Who Should Not Die
Theodore Gabriel Thackeray.

This is a man's name.

Kingsley nodded silently at him: "Kingsley. It seems that this is not your first time to participate in the Thunderstorm Festival?"

Theodore smiled, his voice as warm as the sun: "I have to tell you the truth. Even in London, this is my first time."

He slightly rotated his shoulders back and stretched his arms, moving from stillness to movement, like a handful of flame meeting the wind.

"It's just that I personally have some not-so-fair views on the Church of Justice..."

He turned toward the altar and stared at the woman being untied.

——The woman still had her hood on and was placed on the high-back chair covered with iron wire.

The hands and feet were wrapped with iron bars many times.

A man in a golden robe with bare forearms was hovering around her like a vulture, muttering strange scriptures to himself.

When the scorching sun was at its shortest distance from the earth, the believers on the altar bowed in one direction:

The long-awaited executioner removed the chain from his wrist.

Slowly walking out from the split crowd.

A not-too-young, feminine-looking man.

"Francis Whittle. An outstanding ritualist of the Church of Justice, a genius of the Supervisory Bureau, and a disciple of the Arbiter."

Theodore looked at the decent, polite, and even a little shy man, watching him take the golden hammer handed to him and step onto the altar step by step.

There was sadness in those clear eyes.

"She's going to die."

He said.

The words have not yet fallen.

The man holding the golden hammer came to the bound person and raised the handle of the hammer high next to the hideous chair.

Towards the top of the head.

Soak up the sun.

For a while.

Everyone's heart seemed to be squeezed by the outline in the glow.

Pulled it hard.

The golden hammer swung.

It hit the back of the woman's hand hard.

As tendons were broken and bones shattered and women wailed, the citizens watching let out loud shouts: roars without any meaning, they were the most primitive cruelty in the human blood, a cruelty and viciousness that was necessary and needed to climb to the top of all things.

They longed for such scenes of blood and flesh flying everywhere, and the rituals of the Church of Justice were just what they wanted.

"I stand on a platform built by countless people with the same faith."

Francis Whittle stood beside the woman wailing in pain and chanted aloud: His voice brought silence, leaving no breathing space for the eyes that seemed to understand but not understand at his feet.

He wants respect.

Look up.

He wanted them to expose their necks to the sun.

“But I am no better than you.”

"I just have a deeper understanding of what 'justice' means. On this high platform, every year when the thunderstorm comes -"

"I fight for what I believe in and live for the constant balance."

“He is hope that can be seen, the thunder that punishes injustice. He is the purest ideal, the innate goodness, the stars woven by faith.”

Roland curled his lips.

"Even the Holy Cross would not speak of its God in this way."

This prayer is too much.

"I can't compare with you, Roland. The whole world was created by the Father of All Things..." Kingsley caught a glimpse of a faint emerald green on the man's neck, and touched Roland with the tip of his shoe imperceptibly: "Mr. Sacre, it seems that you are also... on this side?"

Theodore did not hide his feelings, smiled and nodded slightly: "I am the ritualist of the Great Whirlpool, sir."

Roland asked him if he was the beast's tusk or the tree mother.

"Animal fangs."

Theodore was not like the other Eve believers Roland had met, who either despised the Tree Mother or stood on the side of the Tree Mother and ridiculed the Beast Fang.

"The gods created the roads and let nature run. All things grow, wither, and grow again, over and over again. In this world, there are children who eat grass, and friends who eat meat - do we have to pick out an absolute 'wrong'?"

Florence agreed with this statement.

Kingsley sneered. "You are kidding me, Mr. Thackeray. When our army arrives in India, do we have to live in peace with the locals? The world is not necessarily black and white, but fire and ice cannot show their power at the same time..."

Roland elbowed Kingsley.

"My friend has no other hobbies all day long, he just likes to find someone with different opinions to debate with - are you a natural walker of the "Great Vortex"? "

Roland meant whether he had a position.

Sacre thought for a moment and said, "I'm not sure..." Seeing Roland's doubts, he waved his hands and said, "No, no, sir, miss, this is not an excuse. I was born to be grateful to my savior and grew up under the watchful eyes of the goddess. I prayed for the Great Whirlpool, but I also maintained a certain degree of freedom...both physically and mentally."

The more Kingsley listened, the more confused he became. Roland finally understood what Theodore meant.

"You don't look like a drifter."

"Because I'm not yet." Thackeray has a smile that can dispel gloom.

He called the waiter and ordered two plates of red berry cake for Florence. He then quietly asked Roland and Kingsley about their tastes, and ordered different pastries and the shop's most distinctive feature - well, it wasn't even a specialty in London - the small liver puff pastry pies.

Then continue with the previous topic.

"I came to London with my friend. What a beautiful city. I don't think I will leave anytime soon..."

"I'm Roland Collins, and this is Kingsley, his friend Florence." Roland introduced and talked to him about the 'sinner' on the stage - although the other party came to London for the first time, he obviously knew a lot more about the Thunderstorm Festival than they did.

"Thunderstorm Festival..."

Theodore couldn't bear it: "They are all people who don't deserve to die, Mr. Collins. It's hard for me to explain it to you... That man did tell the truth... But..."

On the stage.

Whittle read aloud the crimes committed by the women:
A boy was stabbed to death with a dagger.

Escape from husband's house.

Pregnant with another man's child.

She also tried to put the blame on her husband.

"Who will give justice to the dead child and the injured husband?!"

Whittle shouted.

"Justice! Justice! Justice!"

As the citizens realized what was about to happen, their faces flushed with excitement and blood vessels bulged from their necks like earthworms.

Very lively.

"So, what did you say just now?" Roland asked again after listening.

Theodore's expression remained unchanged, or rather, it could be said that he became even sadder - it was obvious that he was very dissatisfied with the ceremony, but he also lacked the anger of a 'dissatisfied person'.

He was just sad and regretful for a life that should not have left.

"He is telling the truth. Mr. Collins, the ritualists of the Church of Justice will not lie at the Thunderstorm Festival - but I dare to swear on my honor: this lady absolutely does not deserve to die." Theodore's eyes were firm.

Kingsley noticed the other's choice of words.

glory.

as well as…

Calling a woman without a foothold, a sinner, 'Madam'.

interesting.

Kingsley tapped on his toes.

A believer in chivalry.

——So, she killed someone, got pregnant with her lover’s child, and put the blame on her husband...she shouldn’t deserve to die?

Florence suddenly whispered, "She's going to be beheaded!"

On the altar.

Whittle put down the golden hammer and came to the treasure box held up by two believers.

Inside was a shiny hand axe.