The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1011 The London Plague
The second week of the outbreak.

It was as if a giant, uncleaned chamber pot had been overturned over the entire city.

A faint stench permeated the air: whether at home or on the street.

If the city were a living person, it would be bored right now.

Shaking off the skin flakes from their bodies like shaking off lice—the streets were littered with corpses covered in straw.

These corpses, whose parents and children were unknown, rotted in the sweltering summer heat, giving rise to flies and mosquitoes even more repulsive than the politicians giving speeches along the streets—citizens could avoid the speakers, but they couldn't avoid the flies.

They are everywhere, densely packed like clumps of bacteria visible to the naked eye in the air, and together with the newsboys who come and go like the wind, they are the only two things on the streets of London that never rest.

The newspapers were buzzing with it.

Some self-proclaimed conscientious commentators expressed their hope that residents who contracted the disease would voluntarily move out of the city center to avoid polluting the originally clean air.

Some are urging the sick to seek medical attention at hospitals and avoid crowded places. They hope that the citizens of London can unite and, as they have overcome countless disasters in the past, deliver a resounding victory over this one.

of course.

Many people also hold a pessimistic view.

Newspapers published many discouraging comments, and some tabloids bravely and inappropriately speculated about the origin of the disease, full of absurd and unfounded rumors—such as that it was related to animals, to people, or to the relationship between people and animals.

These vivid words are like two outstretched fingers, tugging at the nerves of every reader, and then they flick them with another finger.

For the first time, the suffering citizens genuinely wanted to rush into the streets and smash the tabloid newspaper office to pieces.

They said this angrily.

The more they talked about it, the better the tabloids sold.

—I'm afraid these newspapers have been completely consumed by the toxins in the wind, and when the newsboys hold them up and wave them, they only pick out the unethical ones.

of course.

Besides newsboys and flies, other people occasionally go out on the street.

This includes: workers who have to go out to work, women going to the street to buy food, bird-faced people coming and going in a hurry, and all kinds of believers.

The last type of people deserves to be discussed.

Roland observed it.

The believers wandering the streets are a motley crew: whether they follow Eve, the Hand of Strife, or the White Crown of the Wasteland—they all have one thing in common.

We are all just ordinary people.

This is very interesting.

Where did the ritual performers go?

Roland didn't know.

The believers of the Ring of Eternal Silence are happiest when they see these fanatical followers spreading their faith everywhere, annoyingly knocking on every door, and gesticulating wildly as if asking for a beating.

They believed this was yet another 'end'—their invisible spirits passed through the human world, leaving behind flowers of death.

of course.

If you open the door, listen to his whole story, and agree to spend a few coins to buy a small 'white bone dove' statue that looks like a bald sparrow, you will receive the most sincere blessing: 'May I be with you at the end of the world.'

If you are unwilling to spend money or listen, you will be cursed by these people, who will curse you to never be able to go to the White Crown Lord's land of death.

Unless you happen to have a shotgun at hand and say you can deliver it to them right now—these people will definitely not bother you again.

Even more annoying are the followers of the Great Vortex.

This group caused the most trouble. They drew flags, and some carried banners, and at certain times, they would march through the streets in groups.

'One-time screening.'

It says above.

They urged the public not to interfere with the poison that has swept through London:

Whether it's bloodletting, going to the hospital, or using mercury to steam her—no excuse or pretense should be used when Eve is gazing at the earth.

We should face the challenges that nature presents to us.

These mortal believers of the Great Vortex not only say this, but also practice it in their own way... and 'help' their parents, husbands, wives, and children, no matter how old, who should be drowned.

They believed that as long as their faith was firm enough, they would surely pass this selection and get closer and closer to the great god they had never met in their lives.

These people are giving the supervisory bureau a real headache.

Because the followers of the White Crown Lord of the Wasteland were merely selling trinkets, they were disrupting order in London. In the last two days alone, thirty-seven citizens have died from the stampedes and subsequent infections during the protests.

They claim that their strong physique is immune to toxins, and that if you get sick, it only proves that you have blood that should have been eliminated long ago.

soon.

The protest was dispersed by bird-faced men from the Inspection Bureau using lime powder.

Aside from the desolate, almost inaudible footsteps of the shadow that pounded heavily on one's heart, Roland could hear every night the moon's hurried, intermittent, mournful sobs, the sighs of shoulders unable to bear the pain, and the occasional, but no longer startling, gunshots.

The executives consistently followed Enid's orders, 'shrinking' into the courtroom or their own lairs. The younger ones didn't understand, but the older executives comprehended it perfectly.

The more disasters you encounter, the clearer you become whether the world is a giant machine made up of tightly meshed gears, or just a rickety tower of books casually built by a child.

The church and the oversight bureau were unusually active.

He seized the opportunity to preach, even at the cost of his life, to force those pagans who refused to believe in God the Father: in front of his wife's rotting face, her breasts hollowed out by poison and her ankles with exposed bone, in front of his empty swaddling clothes and his mother's cane.

'You mean, if I believe in God the Father… I can see them again after I die?'

The ordinary pastor responded compassionately.

The man burst into tears, neither believing nor denying it.

He kept shouting that he wanted his wife, children, and mother right now; he wanted them back.

—Like a child who hasn't grown up.

The pastor thought.

These poor people always have such a narrow and short-sighted perspective. Just like those mothers who don't know how to educate their children, they need their fathers to kick them a few times before they can move their sucker-covered feet away from the dazzling shop windows as if they have received a military order.

No wonder they're poor.

But thinking of God the Father, the pastor had no choice but to patiently repeat the words of the Book of Eden in a gentle and kind voice.

As for Roland...

He's always going out.

He went out when there were few or no people on the streets. Harida draped a cloak over him, covered his face with layers of thick cloth, and sprinkled lime powder on the outside of the cloak. Like the other 'White Whirlwinds,' he left trails more visible than moonlight as he moved like a butterfly.

He visited Randolph and Beatrix, met Delos, talked with Darwin about the coming months he wasn't optimistic about, listened to him and Babbage arguing, and sneaked into Benevento's house, where he was invited in with a forced smile by the ritualists guarding the area—he observed each of his strange new friends he had made since he emerged from the mire.

This activity was both tiring and dangerous, but he enjoyed it immensely.

(End of this chapter)