The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1059 Ch.1058 The Cocoon of Transformation
It is in…

"It's 'delivering' Miss Lillian!"

William blurted it out.

James Shelley glared at him: "I have eyes."

He didn't like what William was saying.

What does 'transport' mean—is his daughter the cargo?
The two 'naive' men stood frozen in the corner of the study, supporting each other and holding on tightly—who knew what would happen if they blocked these interconnected pipes?

The main thing is.

That would hinder the answer that old Shelley 'imagined' in his mind...

crunch.

crunch.

Thump, thump, thump—someone rushed up the stairs and headed toward the study at the end of the corridor.

The moment Tom Balca, covered in blood, stepped into the room, a loud shout rang out:

"do not move!"

Old Tom stomped his shoe.

He saw his master, William, and the 'ugly' incubation pool in the room—he had seen many similar things, such as some rituals of the Cradle of Flesh and Blood.

but…

silver?

"Sir, you are not injured—"

"Shh—" James Shelley glared at the old butler: "I think you've hurt your eyes?"

Are you blind?
Tom Barca tightened the bandage on his arm and cast a slightly questioning glance at his subordinate.

William responded with his eyes: The young lady is dead. A strange object was used to buy time. Thomas Terry was killed by the strange object hidden in the master's arm, and the rats and the cultist who created the "field" are dead too, right? But the young lady's departure saddened the master. We found this mycelium that looks like Roland Collins in the fragments of her bones and flesh. It seems to have a way of transporting the fragments of the young lady's body. Maybe it can—maybe it can't, I don't know… That's all, sir.

Excellent response.

Old Tom didn't understand anything.

He stared at William, watching him move his eyes back and forth like a young rookie grasping a reasonable granary for the first time on Red Street—and he was getting annoyed.

William.

That idiot should have protected Lillian while he was doing his job.

And now that he's here, Lillian...

This proves that the bastard abandoned his post.

What could possibly happen at Shelley's estate?

"Tom."

James Shelley suddenly spoke.

He stared intently at the pipes and called out the butler's name.

"Yes, sir?"

There was no sound.

"What? Sir?" A few seconds later, the butler realized that the gun, the strange object, had not been fired by Rose.

He knew this would be the outcome.

“If you’re going to say ‘I knew it all along,’ get out of here.” After all these years, James Shelley still didn’t know what kind of person this old man was.

Tom didn't dare to respond.

However, regarding the current 'incubation pool', perhaps...

"Poisoned arrow, sir."

The butler reminded him softly.

They had previously captured a cultist who attempted to 'kidnap' the young lady—although it was later proven that the cultist did indeed have some 'precognition'... The hatchery was clearly related to the "Black Urn".

"I know."

Old Shelley was still staring at the gleaming silver pipes.

"I know."

He said.

"so what?"

Old Tom couldn't answer that question either—he just subconsciously shifted his gaze to the only 'unreliable' person in the room.

William.

Old Shelley seemed to sense something and finally looked away, turning her gaze to the man beside her.

William: ... "I promise I know nothing, sir."

James Shelley remained silent.

He was thinking about something:

The cultist in the "Black Urn," the "chosen one" mentioned in the poisoned arrow—is, of course, different from the ridiculous "saint" of the Holy Cross. In this respect, cults are much more serious than orthodox churches: they are the "illegitimate" side.

A saintess...a person chosen by the gods...

"As expected of Shelley's daughter."

Tom seemed not to have heard him clearly: "What did you say?"

“I’m telling you, you need to really manage your men, Balka. Where were you before?”

"Facing an eighth-ring projection, sir." The butler puffed out his chest—a sixth-ring facing an eighth-ring, and he was even poisoned by dragons; that was something to be proud of.

He didn't receive any praise.

Old Shelley's face twitched, his expression grim: "You should really discipline your men."

Tom: ...

“That’s your subordinate, sir.”

"Oh, really? My men disobey my orders at a crucial moment—that's surprising, William. You always have your own ideas, don't you?"

Realizing he was about to be in trouble, the ritual performer quickly looked to his superior for help.

"I didn't understand what you meant at the time... sir..."

The back-and-forth conversation allowed old Tom to quickly figure out what had happened in the study earlier.

Honestly, he didn't think William had made a mistake—

But he didn't want to take the blame, beatings, and punishment for his men.

"That's naturally his—"

Before he could finish speaking, the 'incubation pool' in the room changed.

The tendrils scattered around the study seemed to have collected enough, and withered and contracted from the very end, crumbling into powder like a weathered stone sculpture... and then moving upwards.

Towards the center.

They passed by the bewildered James Shelley, gradually destroying the spiderweb-like pipes he had painstakingly built along their unique veins, growing densely and collapsing densely.

They headed towards the center.

It went into the raised callus, into the newborn flesh and blood wrapped in the membrane.

"Infection, mutation, fruitful results..."

Tom Barca was incredibly surprised.

This scene—

He almost subconsciously read a passage from his memory—a scripture he had obtained after wiping out a hideout of a certain "Black Urn" cult—that described their 'holy woman' in this way.

some day.

"Those who shouldn't have died are reborn from their cocoons..."

It's hard to say whether the incomplete scripture foretold today or whether God followed the fantasies of His pitiful children—at least no one present thought it was the latter.

“My Lillian…”

As the cocoon containing regret and hope gradually became more concrete and real in James Shelley's eyes—he didn't care at all, and wasn't even happy that his Lillian became some kind of 'prophesied' saint…

He originally planned for her to find a good man, have a bunch of kids, and live a happy, carefree life, never having to worry about food or clothing...

The girl's hoarse roars still faintly echoed in my ears.

She exposed herself as a scam...

But they never asked why the gun wouldn't fire...

Perhaps she knew.

Silly boy.

There are too many regrets between us, like... two idiots who can't express themselves.

You owe me, and I owe you.

These emotional debts are never truly repaid; one must live to repay them.

“From today onwards, the manor is sealed off. Neither the court nor the church, nor any officials—no one is allowed to leave the manor, nor is anyone allowed to enter… Tom, deliver a letter to Howard for me; I need his help.”

After saying that, he turned to William and emphasized, word by word, "Anyone, William, I mean anyone."

William nodded emphatically: "I understand, sir. You won't be able to either."

James Shelley: "I'm talking about you."

(End of this chapter)