The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1084 Ch.1083 Phrenology

Roland felt a rope pass through the skin of his stomach, into his intestines, and tied to the other end.

then.

It pulled forward suddenly.

His soul left his body, facing the howling wind, almost before the next breath.

He fell onto a patch of damp soil.

Before me are the heels of Keshihai's shoes that he just left.

"You really should be more polite to blind people..."

The reason for using "们" is that before he fell to the earth, the candlelight had already traversed this space that was independent of the secular world—or rather, a secret place that existed only in the cracks of the heart.

"Welcome to 'Holy Flame,' Mr. Roland Collins."

It wasn't Keshihai who pulled him up.

Instead, he was an old friend of Roland's.

"Mr. Jerez?!"

Roland still remembered this 'old lion'—the executor of the remote, hopeless Holy Flame, who disappeared after arriving in London, a kind believer who gave alms to the poor.

he…

When did you betray the court?
Looking at Roland's slightly furrowed brows, Jerez roughly knew what the other was thinking.

“No matter where I am, I have never broken my initial vow, Mr. Collins. Come with me.”

He gestured for him to proceed, quickened his pace, and headed deeper into the dense forest—

dense forest.

This is where Roland was dragged in.

A space resembling a 'tree library' composed of white pines: everywhere are painted white pines, their branches forming the majority of the dense forest.

Second.

It consists of books hanging from branches and single pages of paper swaying in the still air.

Some men and women dressed in black robes moved among them, only removing the ones closest to their heads.

They weren't curious about Roland, this unfamiliar visitor; at most, they'd glance at him before continuing with their own tasks: picking pages from books, or writing something at their desks.

The forest was deeper than Roland had imagined.

soon.

Roland caught a whiff of blood.

torture instruments.

Dried bloodstains.

Several charred remains, burned beyond recognition.

In a 'pocket' area enclosed by ropes emitting white flames, Heris led Roland to Kashhai—who was looking down at the two 'balloons' before him.

Looking at them from the top, you can tell they are a man and a woman.

But it has no neck.

The 'humanoid creatures' that swell from the shoulders resemble balloons inflated during a Bristol festival: their limbs have long since degenerated, and now only occasionally spray out some yellowish-brown liquid from their excretory organs.

It contained some grape-like particles.

Roland could see it clearly.

Those were baby mice with tender, red skin.

"Francis Whittle, Irina Patton. Which name do you recognize?"

Keshihai looked at the two small hills and asked softly.

Upon arriving at the space engulfed in flames, Jerez bowed slightly to Kishhai and quietly retreated.

Leave Roland behind.

"I've heard of all of them."

Roland stepped forward slowly and stood shoulder to shoulder with Keshhai.

“I almost forgot, you have a chattering tutor.” Keshhai chuckled. “That’s the source of the rat infestation, kid. Someone ‘remodeled’ them into the nests of some kind of creature—the ones ravaging London aren’t really ‘rats’ anymore.”

Francis Whittle.

This reminded Roland of the arbitrator who was executed in front of the church emblem.

And Thomas Terry, who disappeared for a short time before reappearing.

"The cultists of the Cradle of Flesh and Blood... have bewitched the arbitrators of Libra?"

“I don’t think it was ‘seduction’,” Kishhai said, “but it’s pretty much the truth.”

Roland looked at the two small hills for a while, then turned his gaze to the 'cross' gallows beside them: the man, bound hand and foot with thorns and wire, had an old face: Roland had seen this man in the newspaper.

Marcus Barton.

Mayor of London.

An absolutely illustrious surname, extraordinary bloodline, and a vast family.

At this moment, he was as withered and dying as someone who had walked in the desert for ten days and ten nights. Occasionally, his toes would twitch and step on 'footpads' made of skulls—roughly counting, there were about thirty of them.

"Looks like her father didn't do anything good either?"

Keshihai paused for a moment, then uttered a word that Roland had never heard before:

Phonology.

"An esoteric branch of organology."

He said.

The ritualists of the Barton family benefited greatly from this doctrine: if the ritualists were, then naturally the other members of the family were as well.

When they discovered that certain people's skulls could contribute to their mystical path...

Some thoughts then became increasingly uncontrollable:

Leveraging the ritualists' and the family's inherited foundation, they propelled the most ordinary yet brilliant young man in the family onto the secular path: Marcus Barton indeed possessed remarkable political wisdom and vision.

He had a wide circle of friends and, with the help of his family, quickly established himself in high society.

From Hyman, to Chloe, Heffer, and then from top to bottom.

Only fifteen years have passed.

The Patton family produced a mayor.

“Phlexicon is not only effective for those who perform the ritual, but ordinary people can also draw extraordinary fortune from it.”

Keshihai said.

From the moment he took office, Marcus Patton's political career went smoothly, as if he were under divine watchful eyes. Not only that, he also had a beautiful daughter and a pair of exceptionally gifted twin brothers.

The younger generation in the family prospers in their businesses, while the ritualists who secretly provide 'another power' rarely die in disputes or from potholes in the road.

This family is almost 'perfect'.

In every respect.

"Many orphanages in London received funding from the Barton family."

"He... wants their heads?" Roland asked softly.

Since the 'skull' has been mentioned, Roland naturally doesn't believe that these people did anything good to be protected by the gods.

"nature."

Keshihai sneered.

"However, it should be said: it's for them and theirs."

Phrenology is a profound and rare discipline—great arts are rare to see, and as a 'hidden art' within 'organ science'—that is, an even rarer secret art, this discipline cannot bring about any 'changes' in the manifest world for the ritual practitioner or mortal.

It is more profound and more concerned with 'fate' and 'fortune'.

Phranography believes that the skulls of some creatures inherently reveal the destiny they were destined to experience in life. By observing and studying different skulls, practitioners can acquire the knowledge to discern 'destiny'—and then…

It's grafting.

“I find it hard to imagine anyone using the skull of their own kind to make a wine glass,” Roland muttered with disgust.

Keshihai shook his head.

“That’s even more shameless, kid.”

He said.

Not just utensils.

Some women in the Barton family consumed the skulls of 'living' boys—which not only made their 'emotional fortunes' more romantic and colorful, but also enhanced their sensitivity in certain areas—

Sensitivity?
Some things are so difficult to say that even the "serious crime" of Kshihai is hard to utter.

(End of this chapter)