The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1042 (Ch.1041) Escape and Pursuit

Kingsley could come up with a dozen reasons in an instant to prove he shouldn't die, but when he faced armed bandits, all his words became mere 'advice'.

He knew he couldn't change the mind of a high-ring ritual practitioner with words...

Unless, he never intended to kill him in the first place.

Seeing Kingsley remain silent, 'Glen Cohen' was delighted: "Perfect, child. Just as you suspected—the Mother Goddess doesn't condone indiscriminate killing…at least, humans are not qualified to comment on the Mother Goddess's messengers in this regard…"

He took two steps back, his walking stick twirling in his hand.

How we pity those who suffer in this world... even though the world never understands our good intentions...

He sighed and lamented, and the "thing" inside the body of 'Green Cohen' spoke of the recent disasters, every sentence filled with compassion, waving his cane like a conductor's baton.

“Many opportunities.” His voice crackled with the euphoria of beer foam. “You see, a talented kid can take his…heart and reason back from me, can’t he?” He suddenly leaned to the side, turning toward Florence behind Kingsley…

Little Layton in my arms.

The woman pulled a dagger from her robe and brandished it threateningly a few times.

'Green Cohen' laughed.

“I am far more fair than the Just Church, child. Have you read that book about ‘evolution’? The one that caused so much trouble—I agree with the theory, evolution always comes at a small… negligible… painful price…”

"Provided they're willing." Kingsley suppressed the urge to turn his guts inside out and show them to others—an act of 'art' that he considered noble from the bottom of his heart, which naturally never received the attention of detectives.

When did he have this 'idea'?
Kingsley was able to realize that he was being 'influenced'.

No way.

His reason was like a lone willow branch in a storm.

High-ring...

Ritual performers.

This is completely different from the impression Roland Collins gives off...

"'They're willing'? Did humans get the animals' consent before eating meat?" The smiling 'Green Cohen' shoved the cane back into the hand of the terrified man before him. "Of course, I'm not speaking for the ritualists of the 'Great Vortex'..."

The spiderweb-like mass of flesh resembled soft ripples on a lake that barely reached the ankles, pushing along an alluring scent that made one's brains suck, fully displaying its unparalleled love amidst the chaos—just before Kingsley was about to tear open his throat with his fingernails and reveal to the world a true work of art—himself.

'Green Cohen's' smile paused for a moment.

His outstretched arm toward Kingsley—starting from his fingers—was as soft as ash, enough to turn even a twelve-year-old girl's bored, friendship-like sigh into dust.

In the blink of an eye.

He lost a finger, his flesh and bones, and even his wrist dissolved in that brief but fatal pause.

'Green Cohen' looked out over the day-to-day clouds and smog over London.

Someone somewhere is getting caught up in a destiny that wasn't planned for him.

but…

It doesn't matter anymore.

'Green Cohen' simply opened his arms and took half a step back.

It was as if countless giants were coming with bulky, elephant-like steps.

All around them.

Everywhere.

“Since you’re so sensitive to time… then, thirty minutes it is.” He fell backward, his flesh and blood crumbling like weathered stone upon impact, leaving only a lingering, mocking stench, as strong as the smell of blood: “If your flesh and blood were as strong and powerful as your brain…”

In a tremor that nearly cleaved the world apart, the brick box containing the people began to leak everywhere—waves of gray velvet instantly breached the dam, chiseling the mesh-like gaps into holes large enough for a person to bend over and crawl through.

Tunnels from the ceiling or walls.

The returning disaster gave Florence no time to think—fortunately, true wisdom was not diminished by fear.

"Get down now!!"

Kingsley shoved Florence roughly for the first time. He practically grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her out the window, along with Layton, who was struggling to suppress his fear in her arms. Two torches were burning outside, and from the doctors' perspective, not much time had passed.

but…

"Benefactor above! How could you—you cannot treat someone like this—"

The young doctor's "lady" was still in her teeth when Florence screamed and "fell" from the second floor, clutching the sheet.

Together with Little Layton.

Like a sparrow that hasn't learned to fly yet.

She fell hard and, for some reason, limped when she was helped up.

Kingsley followed closely behind, landing right where she had just stood up.

The doctors didn't have time to blame Kingsley.

After they saw the swarm of rats 'overflowing' from the windowsill.

"Run!!!"

At this point, saying anything like "be quiet" or "try not to attract the attention of these bloodthirsty monsters" is meaningless.

Kingsley had no idea who was inside 'Green Cohen's' body half a minute ago.

But he swore that within half an hour, the swarm of rats behind him would be as eager for the final moment as a man about to overflow with mud—

'May I cut off one of your father's breasts?'

'Hurry! Hurry! Anything is fine! Faster!'

What do the mice want?
Their flesh and blood.

thirty minutes.

We will not give up.

Kingsley was unsure whether the culprit behind the disaster was him, or him, Leighton Jr., and Florence.

He couldn't act like a foolish 'hero,' thinking he was leading a pack of relentlessly pursuing rats down another path—

Then, in despair, one tries to understand why animals lose to humans.

"Run!"

Worried that Florence wouldn't be able to take big, manly steps, he simply pulled Little Layton over, tucked him in, and gripped Florence's wrist tightly with his other hand.

They sprinted forward as fast as they could, while Edward Snow brushed past the three of them, falling behind them, ready to fulfill his duty as the 'Flamebringer'.

Regrettably.

The situation is quite different from before.

“I don’t doubt your judgment. Kingsley, what did you encounter up there?”

Edward Snow unusually adjusted the volume.

Now, he was like a squeaking rat with no will to live: think of how sailors talked in the waves, they were not much different from sailors now... Of course, Edward Snow couldn't be happier to have a stinky sheep by his side.

"It's hard to explain in a single sentence—just know that they're not so afraid of fire anymore..."

"I have eyes!" Edward Snow shouted, swatting away a rat climbing up his trouser leg with his burning stick, and then turned and chased after it.

What exactly happened...?

Did this cause these monsters, who should have been afraid of fire, to start rampaging recklessly?
"We need to find higher ground! At this rate—"

They can't even escape this street.

Once the flames lost their effect, they couldn't outrun the rats.

Kingsley silently turned back to calculate the distance, then glanced left and right at the 'tides' surging in from both sides of the street…

Where can they find shelter?

When the swarm of rats got so close that one could almost see their cone-shaped, sharp, and deformed faces, their grotesque fangs and swollen, red eyes...

Kingsley suddenly stumbled, and then reached out with his right hand.

Got it empty.

A little person broke free from his grasp.

"Little Leighton!!" Florence turned around abruptly, his face filled with terror.

(End of this chapter)