The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1018 (Ch.1017): The Mayor's Daughter and the Continued Ritual
When Fernandez Devinson once thought he would become Fernandez Charcoal-Grilled Devinson, the Randolph family was living in a small stone house in the backyard of the courthouse.

'Checking in' is a process.

With the incessantly grumbling Theresa leading Brontë in tidying up these rooms that "even animals wouldn't want," Randolph and Roland followed behind, picking up on Theresa's complaints one by one, and then teasing Beatrice and making a few sarcastic remarks.

For example, Theresa said: "This place is completely uninhabitable!"
Randolph was about to say: Obviously, we've already moved in.

For example, Theresa complained: "Has the court not saved a single penny all these years?"

Roland was about to answer: "I've saved it all up; it's all in the judge's treasury."

For example, Theresa muttered: "I've never seen such a loud chair in my life."

Roland then told Beatrice that there was actually a traveling band in that chair…

Beatrice was about to disassemble the chair to take a look.

Theresa was furious.

"You two! You two! What on earth has happened to me..."

Brontë was about to die laughing.

She knew that Theresa was helpless against these two people—Betrice was no good, she was too young and not good with words.

The check-in process was not smooth.

Theresa had already tidied up, but half an hour later, Fernandez, who had rushed over with his men, kicked them out again and made them stay in another stone house that had been 'inspected': they would have to tidy up again and face the ugly black mud 'patches'.

"I'm here for your safety, madam. There's been a rat infestation lately... I forgot why you came?"

Theresa dared not talk back to Fernandez, for if she offended him, her young master would suffer—she could not ruin Taylor and Collins' friendship because of herself.

“…I understand, sir.”

Fernandez didn't have time to talk to Rolando; he simply said goodbye and hurriedly led the executive away.

The blade is gone too.

Are you all always this busy?

"Not always busy, occasionally. Busy when I need to be, and not busy when..."

Randolph rolled his eyes: "Not busy at all."

It's full of nonsense.

“I haven’t seen you on the streets these days—Barton said the ritualists are all hiding, is that right?”

Roland winked at him: "You should say they are 'praying for the sick citizens'."

Randolph was utterly astonished: "My God, prayer, such a precious thing. Someone as lowly and base as me only knows how to donate money..."

Beatrice covered her mouth and laughed.

"Do you understand, Betty?" Roland patted the girl's head. "Do you know what your brother is saying?"

Beatrice looked up: "My brother said he was a lowly and vulgar person."

Randolph: ...

In short.

Many people understand why the ritual performers 'don't show up'—and there's no reason why they should.

Randolph donated three thousand pounds. At the 'masked' gathering, these wealthy and influential ordinary people maintained a certain social distance, discussing why the ladies and gentlemen who usually talked about gods and faith had disappeared—

Everyone knows why.

Not only did they not show themselves, they also saw this as a golden opportunity to preach, sending mortals from the sect through the streets, even if they contracted diseases, they claimed it was 'dying for God'—

The Kingdom of God is a good place.

At least it wouldn't leak air or water; the son had half his hand crushed by a machine, and the wife had one side of her breast cut off after being raped by the factory owner…

It's a good deal.

“Clearly, the closer you get, the clearer you can see the truth,” Randolph sneered.

Roland pretended not to hear his friend's blasphemous remarks—he didn't comment—but Theresa raised her hand and lightly patted Randolph on the shoulder, 'rebuking' him for discussing the most devout believers in this sacred place…

And the gods.

Randolph didn't believe it.

Shit.

If there truly is a God, He should first crush the believers of His own church, especially the 'Father of All Things' of the Holy Cross: His people have enjoyed the Holy Child on His behalf countless times.

"Don't be like that, Theresa, Randolph isn't wrong."

Roland's words were far more powerful than Randolph's.

Theresa was genuinely terrified this time.

"Roland! You can't—"

"Just a casual remark... but I heard from a friend that they're almost at the point of coming up with a solution."

“Don’t mention that harmful potion, Roland.” Randolph shook his head.

Randolph had no idea what the "Hope Potion" that was recently reported in the newspaper was: it was a potion developed by the "vice" dean, Bertras, and his carefully cultivated group of misfits, who claimed to have created a way to expel toxins; although it was still imperfect and might have some "mild" side effects…

Mercury mixture.

A 'method of hope' to expel disease through steaming, boiling, and fumigation...

Randolph knew exactly what mercury was. Beatrice had been ill since childhood, and he had seen more doctors than most people in London.

"If your friend is in Betless, I don't have much to say about it."

“Don’t learn from that vice-dean, Randolph. The real dean is Mr. Jenner. I’ve told you, Detective Kingsley, Nurse Florence Nightingale—two idealistic young men.”

Randolph couldn't help but laugh at Roland's old-fashioned appearance.

But the topic was the epidemic.

He couldn't laugh anymore.

"...When will this disaster finally be over?"

The businessman sighed.

Every day, he could see corpses on the street from his window.

More and more corpses, and fewer and fewer people paying attention to them.

When you eat bread every day, you stop being surprised by it: now, the citizens of London are also gradually changing, getting used to the corpses everywhere, the numb, slumped-over living people, and empty shells waiting to die...

"What exactly is the municipal government doing?"

"I guess... the Thunderstorm Festival?"

Roland casually added a comment.

As mentioned earlier, mortals replaced the ritualists. The same is true of the Thunderstorm Ritual of the Church of Justice—they are more 'proper' than other sects because key figures step forward to maintain order for them.

Irina Barton, daughter of London Mayor Marcus Barton, campaigned for the Church of Justice.

She invited many close friends, claiming that she had drunk 'the blood of sinners' and had been in contact with many sick people, yet she had not contracted the disease herself—perhaps, maybe, just maybe, the Church of Justice had already resolved the calamity in London…

It's just that no one noticed.

Randolph's only comment about her was profanity.

He would rather die than drink human blood unless you pry his mouth open with an iron bar—why is it that whenever there is a disaster, the stupid things these idiots do are more unacceptable than the disaster itself?

"It is said that Miss Barton was so captivated by Mr. Whittle's talent that she 'could not help but chase after him like an admirer chasing the stars'—don't take me that way, it's just a quote."

Randolph made a disgusted face: "You mean, that woman who presided over the beheading ceremony... Don't look at me like that, Roland, that's what he looks like."

(End of this chapter)