The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1015 (Ch.1014): The Coffin and the Mirror
After all the servants in the house had gathered in the living room.

Blade did something so stupid that even Randolph would be furious: she first greeted the sleepy Beatrice with a smile, and then announced to everyone that only Randolph, Theresa, and Beatrice could go to the courtroom.

No one else would have such permission.

These words almost made Randolph burst into a rage—and almost did.

"If you were a man!"

“I didn’t agree to let the servants go either,” Blade said, swirling the champagne glass, his voice unusually lively. “Quick, Mr. Taylor, explain to them—where are you, as the master, going with your sister?”

Roland forgot.

The blade is "Saint".

Saints who followed the same path as Sunder.

"Or shall I relay your message? It's no big deal, is it?" The brown-haired woman's voice was cheerful, but her face remained expressionless.

She was so eager to see what Randolph was going to say.

Only fools can tell lies that can't be hidden.

And the truth is...

What will these servants think of Randolph Taylor in the future? What will they think of someone who is invincible in the business world, steady and shrewd, and absolutely generous...?

What about their master who abandoned them and fled in panic...?

Because of rats?

Because of some rats that burrowed into the wall?

"He's my friend."

Roland whispered side-by-side in a voice only he and the blade could hear: "Madam..."

Blade squinted as he sized up Roland.

Sometimes…

It's hard to say whether the path twists the souls of the ritualists, or whether they are born that way.

Obviously.

The blade didn't take Randolph seriously, just as Sandel wouldn't either.

“The courtroom isn’t a place anyone can go, Roland,” she said, gripping the champagne glass by the rim like a restless megaphone, her hot breath drilling into Roland’s ear. “Besides… how do you know… if the enemy… isn’t among these people?”

She was indeed asking something of Roland.

But Roland knew the truth.

It wasn't the fruit with the darkest color or the strongest smell.

"One small condition." The woman held up one finger.

Roland nodded: "Deal."

"Your master is coming to the courthouse—frankly, I should talk more to you lowly people, though I'm reluctant and have no need to. But considering my friend, Roland Collins, the most outstanding clerk in the courthouse in recent years, the heartthrob of London, the gentleman that young ladies would love to invite to trample on their carefully tended gardens for years…"

Blade crossed his arms, looking impatient.

"I'll only give you a brief explanation to avoid any complaints... This is just an invitation."

Then he turned around and walked out the door down the corridor.

Roland: ...
-
I think I've been scammed.

"She did explain."

Randolph glanced at the door that wasn't closed properly and asked Roland in a low voice what was going on—was this woman out of her mind?
“Most ritual practitioners have some mental issues… I suggest you keep that mindset, and you won’t be surprised when you get to the trial court.”

“I didn’t notice any difference when I went there last time,” Randolph muttered.

He last saw Enid Juilliard.

This highest-ranking official in the court was gentle and courteous, unlike the vicious woman from before.

Roland was still pleased that he praised Enid like that.

But let’s be honest.

In the courtroom, Enid was probably the most abnormal person.

Brontë, with Betty by her side, listened as Theresa casually fabricated lies to fool the servants—saying there was an invitation to a banquet at the courthouse, and that the servants would be given a long vacation upon her departure. Brontë listened, pondering the situation…

The lady with the long brown braid just now…

How did you find out your name?

They were meeting for the first time, and no one had called her by name throughout the entire process. Soon.

The group of people, having packed their luggage, went out the door.

The blade leaned against the carriage of the courthouse, a thin cigarette dangling from his mouth: "What lies did you tell?"

Randolph frowned and stepped forward silently: "This is not interesting at all, ma'am."

He said.

"I respect you, and I expect to receive the same respect in return."

“My personal advice is that you shouldn’t have that hope, Randolph Taylor. Especially in the courtroom—and by the way, your little ritualist can’t protect you… If he really had that ability, your sister wouldn’t be friends with a faceless 'woman'…”

She stubbed out her cigarette with the tip of her shoe and glanced at the girl hiding behind Brontë, only her head peeking out.

She had noticed it just now: while the girl was 'sound asleep' upstairs.

Because of her personal experiences, she is particularly sensitive to the power of a particular path.

This girl…

Is it lucky or unlucky?

…………

……

half an hour ago.

The princess, who should have been soundly asleep amidst the curtains and clouds, quietly jumped out of bed early, replacing herself with a pillow and going barefoot.

She whispered an apology to the little lion with golden eyes on the bedside table: she hadn't slept much today and hadn't cuddled it to sleep yet—like Roland's eyes, right?
The girl tiptoed out of the bedroom, peering through the doorframe: Brontë wasn't in her room; in fact, the tablecloth on the walnut wooden table had just been changed, and the candlesticks and silver pot hadn't been rearranged yet.

'Feel sorry'.

Betty said to the table.

Xiaxia told her to sleep more, and she also talked to the little lion on the bedside table.

However, she had an appointment with a friend.

The girl with messy blonde hair rummaged through a small leather suitcase under the bed and pulled out a bottle of viscous mercury, a small candle, and a tin can of paint—but it didn't contain paint; it contained the corpses of beetles that had died on a specific date.

In addition, she found a long needle sewn into the corner of the curtain.

In front of the largest floor-length mirror in the room.

The porcelain bowl was filled with mercury, the corpse of a beetle, and drops of blood from being pierced by a long needle.

As the candle was lit, a wisp of damp steam began to rise from the tip of the flame.

Beatrice picked up the porcelain bowl and splashed it onto the full-length mirror.

"I am the reflection of the stars on the water."

The smooth, flat mirror surface rippled like soft satin being caressed by the wind.

In no time.

Someone spoke in her ear.

"It seems my little warrior has already passed the secret on to his older brother?"

It was a woman's voice.

Gentle, vibrant.

It's as if she knew all along that Beatrice would succeed.

“My brother is very angry.” Beatrice squatted on the carpet, quietly staring at her reflection in the mirror: “...We’re moving out.”

The woman in the mirror was happy for her.

"You kept the family away from danger, little Betty, it's all thanks to you."

Beatrice shook her head: "...It's a coffin."

She didn't call her lady or madam, but simply 'coffin'—which is probably why they became friends.

Since a certain full moon night.

Beatrice stammered out the story to the coffin, glossing over certain parts. The woman in the mirror knew she was shy.

"The court doesn't help mortals for no reason, little Betty. I think this is just what you want, isn't it? This time, you'll go to your Roland and be closer to him... all the time."

Beatrice covered half her face with her arm, a silly grin escaping from her eyes.

(End of this chapter)