The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1040 (Ch.1039) Genius and Monster
Green Cohen.

A sick, delirious 'puppet'.

Edward Snow said that his "mind was not his own" because of the things that doctors had done before him—bringing hope to the sick in vomit and feces, and rescuing poor, blood-soaked, whimpering lives from burning flames and collapsing rubble.

Anyone who can still be called a 'human being' should not point the sharpest part of a dagger at them.

Edward Snow caught a fleeting glimpse of the other man's eyes as he fled.

Those are no longer human eyes.

His mind is not his own.

"...Benefactor above, benefactor above. Ah, I'm afraid I'll have to keep chanting this from now on—to be honest, I never thought I was living in the same city as these 'monsters'...maybe we're even neighbors."

The 'monster' the young doctor spoke of was not a rat, but rather 'ritualists' who could manipulate rats, or those with even greater power.

This rat plague not only brought death, but also taught these ignorant mortals a complete and clear understanding of one thing: what exactly is "mystery".

What is a ritual performer?

It is definitely not some kind of 'magic trick'.

What about the gods?
“…I have a friend who is an executive, gentlemen. I’ve seen him wield power and subdue his enemies,” Kingsley said softly. “It’s a terrifying power capable of tearing the sky apart—perhaps an exaggeration, but I have no doubt that he can do it someday…”

The room was very quiet.

Everyone is pondering: the rats, the people who control them, their own future, the future of London…

as well as.

Those who once hid in the shadows, now 'revealed' and stepped into the light, the 'ritualists'.

them…

"The public should definitely not know about this."

Edward Snow adjusted his glasses.

He believes that the government, or the various religious sects, are doing the right thing—power must, and can only, be in the hands of a small number of people.

How to bring ordinary people into contact with the "mysterious"?
What's the difference between this and giving a musket to a monkey?

“What we say doesn’t count.”

Kingsley sighed.

This rat infestation will undoubtedly raise another unavoidable issue after the deaths: the ritualists.

All sorts of cults are growing wildly like weeds in spring.

He could already imagine how busy Roland would be afterwards.

"Our most important concern right now is how to save our lives—before Mr. Cohen Green finds us."

The detective put down his makeshift torch, dipped it in the kerosene can he had prepared beforehand, and handed it to Florence.

Flames can disperse a swarm of rats to a limited extent, but they cannot make the manipulated rats retreat.

They need to hurry.

"Going down from here leads to the backyard. We need to cross two wide newspaper streets and keep going until we see the sign for the gum shop at the crossroads entrance—then go straight ahead, turn right twice, and keep going until we reach the courthouse."

That's right.

Kingsley's only thought of safe place during the disaster...

This is the courtroom.

Whether Roland is there or not.

"Maybe if we just stay silent and quietly stay here... we might be able to..."

“I will not leave my fate to ‘possibility’,” Kingsley glanced at the young doctor who had spoken, “Even if I die, I will die according to my own choices…”

The doctor wanted to argue, but was stopped by his mentor.

For some reason, Williams Jenner had a particular fondness for this cold, aloof man: "You're more like a doctor than a detective, Mr. Kingsley."

Kingsley nodded slightly, accepting everything.

"To be honest, I really think I have a talent for this—haven't you noticed anything 'special' about rats?"

Edward Snow frowned, and tentatively continued, "...blood?"

“Excellent observation skills, Mr. Snow.”

"If my mind is still working... you should be praising yourself."

Amid Florence's disdainful glances, the detective subtly curled the corner of his lips into a smile.

He turned to the doctors in the room who were watching him expectantly, and held up his slightly healed finger, cut by sawdust: "When I was escaping, I found that the rats were more interested in me than you were..."

So, he conducted an experiment on the spot.

Walking on the other side of the group.

as predicted.

“Good news as bright as fire, Kingsley.” Edward Snow raised an eyebrow and pulled a gossamer-thin cleaver from his pocket.

Thank goodness.

knock knock.

"please--"

Before he could utter the word 'go forward,' Edward Snow's expression suddenly changed—

Who's outside?

knock knock.

The slow, intermittent knocking sounded as if someone was scratching at the door with their fingernails…

knock knock.

Good afternoon...

"Piglets."

Bang! ! !
The loud crash sounded as if it were about to shatter the door and smash into the room—everyone could hear it.

“Green Cohen”.

As Kingsley spoke, he calmly unscrewed the oil can and poured it onto the door, tablecloth, bookshelves, and everything else that could burn. The doctors scrambled to help Williams Jenner up, tied one end of the 'rope' to the bed frame, and threw the other end out the window.

Edward Snow took the lead, carrying an unlit torch, and nimbly flipped over.

The doctors followed closely.

The impact grew increasingly severe.

"Kingsley..."

“The person outside the door is no longer a ‘person,’ Florence. I hope you can face that—you don’t think he came to invite us to afternoon tea, do you?”

The detective who had experienced the mine incident with Roland was more decisive than anyone else present.

Florence shook her head: "I mean, if we could wait for him to come in before lighting the fire..."

Kingsley glanced at her inexplicably.

"What, what's wrong?"

“…No…no, it’s nothing,” Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “I think I can do a little—”

Bang! !

Click.

"…organ."

A hole the size of a wrist appeared in the door panel.

There was also a 'face' covered in pustules.

"We've found...you..."

Facing Green Cohen's sinister grin, Kingsley's eyes were filled with a strange, inquisitive desire. Ignoring Florence's tugging, he said calmly, "Ritual magic can manipulate a person's mind...or is this another form of...poisoning? Mr. Green Cohen, do you still remember your wife and children?"

Wife and children.

These two keywords caused Green Cohen's pupils to contract instantly.

Regrettably.

Just for a moment.

He became even more agitated, pounding on the door with his swollen, hammer-like fists.

The rats were deterred by the torch Florence had lit... but this fear would not last long.

"Since the disaster struck—animal carcasses, plague, and the constant deaths of infected people…"

He is well-proportioned, strong, confident, and exceptionally intelligent.

The man's every subtle movement and gesture revealed qualities that undoubtedly captivated the woman in the room—she should have grabbed his wrist, hugged the boy in the corner, and, like a chivalrous thief in a storybook, vanished from the room in a flash using a 'rope'.

But now she just wanted him to finish speaking.

If Florence Nightingale was mentally sound and not at all crazy, why would she have abandoned her parents and sisters and come to London alone?

(End of this chapter)