The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1045 The Gun That Won't Fire

Rose was bored.

Rose became even more depressed after 'Little Roland' frequently went missing and was later discovered by the girl to have escaped to play outside the manor.

Even a single mycelium can roam freely.

She, however, is to be locked in this cage made of rotten bricks and stinking mud.

Her cheerful spirit was like a broken clay pot, leaking a little each day and escaping each night. Now, the reason for her wrinkled appearance has been found—her inner self is gone.

"Because you've lost weight, miss. If you don't eat properly, you'll be even thinner tomorrow, next week, next month—and then... I can't guarantee that men will like a bunch of ribs."

She complained, and the maid comforted her.

She sent it again, and the maid answered it again.

The two of them had a lot of fun.

"Ha, so what do men like? Pipes and cigars? Playing cards? Or murder?"

The panting girl pushed the maid's hand away and messed up her newly combed curly hair—actually, she didn't really mess it up, as she was still considerate of the other person and worried about ruining the other person's hard work of the morning.

"like it all."

The maid gently stroked the girl's hair.

Middle-aged women are like a never-ending drizzle. They've lost the lightness, naivety, and explosive childlike energy of their youth. The hardships of life and the painful unfulfilled dreams leave their city forever damp and muddy.

These gloomy and damp days don't require the golden sun they longed for in their youth, or the bright light that makes people squint—perhaps they longed for it in their youth, but once they've spent too long in the dull and boring mossy room, their pale, bloodless faces can no longer adapt to the glaring light.

They don't want the sun, they just want a silent man holding an umbrella, who can feel the gentle rain in his palms and listen quietly to their melancholy.

This is also why Rose felt she was gentle.

This 'lady' was like that, and so were my aunts when I was a child.

It seems that women always reach a certain age and 'suddenly' transform from a spoonful of fiery and pungent wasabi into a lukewarm soup simmered after get off work.

"...You are so gentle."

The curly-haired girl muttered something.

She can't handle gentle people.

"As gentle as your beloved husband?" the middle-aged maid teased.

Rose nagged her quite a bit.

Roland, Roland, Roland.

This habit is not good.

"Change your ways, miss. You can't keep telling others how great your man is."

“I have never done that.”

“I must have misheard. The name ‘Roland Collins’ that I heard from someone else—my master, Mr. Tom, and the other servants in the house all misheard… Good heavens, how could he suddenly jump into our memories? This gentleman must be a very special person…”

"Anna!"

The middle-aged maid was overjoyed.

As she smiled, she looked at the girl who was hanging her head and fiddling with her fingers. Looking at the girl's neatly combed black hair, which was always curled on the left side of the back of her head, she couldn't help but feel a burning sadness welling up in her eyes.

She didn't understand who 'ritualists' were.

But she was quick-witted and had worked in the house for so long that she had become familiar with Tom, the master, and the servants.

The lady's identity...

And her fate has reached its most critical moment.

Shelley would not acknowledge an heir without a clear identity. The Shelley family wouldn't do it, and James Shelley himself would never do it—the maid Anna didn't know what method the ritualists had to 'verify,' but since Mr. William had returned, it proved that the moment was not far off.

Miss…

Will she continue working as a prostitute, or remain a permanent 'guest' of the Shelley family?
knock knock.

Old Tom was dressed much more formally than usual today.

Good afternoon, Miss.

"Good afternoon, Tom..." The listless girl ignored him, her arms hanging limply as she gave a perfunctory reply.

Old Tom didn't care.

“Great news, miss. Fantastic news!” “Oh, your wife has given birth to three more sons?”

Tom: ...

He glanced at Anna with a wry smile, but she turned her face away without hesitation—the maid was protesting in her own way.

Old Tom shook his head: "I should say, there's good news, and even more great news... The master is planning to give you a vacation."

Although he still looked half-dead, the old butler sensed that someone's ears had perked up.

"Yeah."

The girl, with her back to the butler, twirled the ends of her hair.

"...I'll give you a break. Also, William brought back a strange gun-shaped artifact—the master stays home most of the time, and that thing is far too 'destructive'...frankly, I think it should be properly disposed of—"

"Leave it to me! I can keep it safe!"

Like a rubber band stretched to its limit.

Rose let go and bounced right in front of Old Tom.

Like a little madman.

"Leave it to me! I know how to preserve rare items! Really—besides, who else knows how to use a musket as well as I do?"

Old Tom looked at him strangely: "Any man over forty years old in Shelley House should be better at handling a musket than you."

I don't care.

Rose thought to herself that she had been eyeing Roland's "Spider's Kiss" for a long time. Last time, two more beautiful scimitars appeared—but they ended up with Harida.

That's his own apprentice!

“I am aware of the rarity of such artifacts, Miss. Although the Master believes you can control it, I must say that every artifact is extremely dangerous, and once the holder becomes dependent on it, they will pay the price sooner or later—”

Rose patted the old man on the shoulder.

His face was as stern as a perpetually solemn portrait in a picture frame: "I'm all grown up, Tom—what are you laughing at! I'm all grown up! I can control myself...and my wonders."

"I must remind you, that gun doesn't belong to you yet."

“It doesn’t necessarily belong to me,” Rose coughed twice. “Temporary safekeeping, Tom. I’ll keep it for you… James already said so, how can you not listen?”

"You wouldn't use it to find your lover... or show it off everywhere, would you?" the old butler asked suspiciously.

Rose: ...

It's not necessary to go everywhere...

oops.

"To be honest, I'm not interested in curiosities. But look at the necklaces and pendants from before, all these dresses, parasols, hand-knitted Bonnets, and more—if I refuse, I'm afraid I'll hurt James's feelings... I don't want him to get sick again."

Looking at the girl in front of him, who was 'sobbing uncontrollably,' old Tom really felt that if he hadn't known James Shelley's character well and had followed him for many years, he would have really thought that Rose was his long-lost daughter.

The two of them acted in exactly the same hypocritical manner.

He recalled a conversation he had with someone in the study ten minutes earlier.

'The shooting range, Tom. Give her the strange object and send her to the shooting range—I know, send all the servants away, and you too.'

And you?

'The window here faces...'

'Sir, I mean, you should stay by her side.'

'No…of course not. I can see from the window…Tom. If she…' The voice paused for a few seconds: 'If she didn't manage to fire the gun…'

Tom asked if they should kick the person out.

"What nonsense are you spouting?! You old bastard! This is my house! Who gets to decide?!"

Silence.

And laughter that broke the silence.

'You ****'