The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1099 (Ch.1098) Offset
Theodore met with Horn.

He had told Florian long ago that even though Horn had some less-than-likable tendencies, once he became the leader of the Great Vortex, the responsibilities he bore would force him to consider the 'big picture' in everything he did—and yes, Horn agreed.

He agreed to Theodore's 'deal,' agreeing to let him take Florian Westwick, Gilles Fonseca, and young Charles. He agreed to their departure from the Great Maelstrom, but not as 'leaving the sect'—he merely assigned them a 'mission' that would keep them away from London for at least forty years.

This is the best possible outcome, isn't it?
There is a premise.

Gilles Fonseca must go through a 'trial'.

She must be judged for truth and lies, and say some things Horn wants to hear... Frankly, Theodore is not happy to see Horn lead the "whirlpool" headlong into the struggle for politics, sectarianism, power, and profit.

But he is also a stubborn and persistent person (in his own opinion).

Horn is at least an octave.

They can't possibly elect someone from the Fifth Ring to lead the entire sect.

all in all.

It's all good news.

In a few days, Florian and Charles would be able to leave London with him by ship—before they released Lady Fonseca. Theodore intended to stay a little longer to personally apologize to the woman who had suffered so much…

Horn promised her that she would not have to suffer any more 'accidental torture' before the trial ended, and at the same time, he punished the few green-robed men who 'misunderstood the orders'.

well.

That's great.

This is the best ending.

The next morning, he rushed to the courtroom to tell Roland the wonderful news…

What awaited him was a sea of ​​dark church uniforms.

Six hours ago.

The adjutant, who had returned from visiting the whirlpool, had given his captain a complete account of Gilles Fonseca's ordeal and physical condition.

In the hospital ward.

seriously.

Knowing Fernandez de Winson as Roland did, the man would probably kick over a chair immediately, curse someone's mother, grab a musket, and lead him toward the whirlpool—even at night, even without Enid Jutia's permission, even if he were limping and staggering, being helped along.

Based on Roland's understanding of Fernandez.

With him.

"Therefore, a blind person's judgment of people is completely inaccurate."

Fernandez heard the whole story that night, including enduring half an hour of Deloz's insults.

He remained silent, keeping watch over the candle on his bedside table, the one with the problem in its spine, its dim light piercing his skin.

Roland arranged for the girl, who had cried herself to sleep, to leave.

Upon returning to the captain's hospital room, he appeared to have just been angry; fruit on the table was smashed near the fireplace, juice splattered all over the floor.

But Roland didn't hear what he wanted to hear.

Not a single word.

"...The vortex is heading towards me...no...maybe...maybe it's Lady Enid...or the Inquisition...that thing."

Like a detective suddenly enlightened, he cradled his heavy head in his hands, using that bear-like head to ponder the mysteries of the universe, the truths of all things, and the absolutely foolproof way to bring happiness to everyone—

They just wouldn't mention that name.

Roland was extremely puzzled.

"What are you talking about, Fernandez?"

"I said."

The face, illuminated by the dim candlelight, was lifted up.

First time.

Roland saw a shadow in Fernandez's face.

Just below his two large eyes, across the bridge of his nose, was a black gauze strip that cut across his upper and lower face.

"I said, their purpose..."

As if immersed in the gentle warmth of candlelight, that slightly stinging yet beneficial, life-extending fire that soothes the skin. He moved his cheeks back and forth evenly, repeatedly, evenly and repeatedly, the calluses on his fingers rustling softly.

“Gilce Fonseca is waiting, Fernandez.”

When Roland stops smiling, it means he is very serious.

“My friend, captain, brother, Devonson,” he murmured, reciting each name as they went from strangers to close friends. He didn’t mind seeing the pretense of toughness on the man’s face, nor did he despise him for never shedding a tear, nor did he feel sorrow or pity for the stitched-up mouth that had been wailing all night, or for countless days and nights.

He doesn't care whether everything goes according to conventional wisdom or not. He just hates, and is extremely impatient with, certain groups.

Fernandez rubbed his cracked, thick lips together as if he were stroking his fingers.

He couldn't continue acting.

He will never be able to step onto the stage of the Central Theater; he doesn't have that magnificent talent, nor is he a qualified cultist or hero worthy of people's thumbs up.

An old dog that has caught a cold probably won't make it through the week.

“…I…I can’t…Roland.”

He said he couldn't.

Roland didn't understand.

"'cannot'?"

“Yes…I…yes, yes, Roland, yes, I can’t.” Each repetition of his words bolstered his confidence until the latter half of the sentence flowed smoothly, the wailing and pure love no longer audible in his tone.

He straightened his face, raised his head, and made the white candle, which looked as if it had been carved with a needle, a decorative element in his solemnity, a perfect replica of the courtroom wall sculpture in the portrait.

"I can not."

He said.

“I am your captain, and also the executor of the Inquisition, the sword of the benefactor. Roland, Lady Enid goes to the palace to fulfill her duties, and we too have our own responsibilities—rats, plague, the Savi Brotherhood—”

When Enid Jutia left the courtroom to accompany her beloved fat queen, the situation was left entirely to a few captains: in fact, there was not much to be 'responsible' about.

The executives continued their assigned tasks day after day, scavenging rats and eliminating the cultists who manipulated rats to eat people...

But Fernandez clearly understood the weight of the word 'responsibility'.

Although he was injured and bedridden, he still would not agree with Roland's 'crazy' ideas.

He's thinking more than this kid.

“I won’t abandon Gilles, Roland, but not now. What do you think ‘we’ represent? Once the Inquisition and the Vortex clash… I think even the dumbest person can see that this is exactly what they want…”

Fernandez was undoubtedly in pain.

Roland never doubted his love for Gilles Fonseca.

But that night, he did disappoint his adjutant.

“We must consider the future of the court, Roland. I cannot summon the London magistrates and risk them causing trouble over my prostitute lover… Nor can I allow my brothers and sisters to bleed over my insignificant feelings… Once I am healed… or when Lady Enid returns, I will tell her immediately…”

A prostitute's lover.

Fernandez truly couldn't understand Roland's 'disappointment,' just as a 'tainted' young man couldn't understand his captain's thoughts.

He was defiled in ways he shouldn't have.

At this moment.

Roland Collins finally realized that he had drifted away from Fernandes de Winson—no, or rather, from the entire court, London, the Empire, and the most delicate and resilient part of the era, in a way that was imperceptible to most.

“There’s a man who would kill hundreds of people for a dog, Fernandez.”

Roland said softly.

Fernandez, utterly serious, lowered his voice and warned, "...I don't care where you heard this stupid story, Roland. But now, I cannot let my brothers and sisters bleed for my lover, nor can I bring the court to trial—I love Gilles Fonseca deeply, without a doubt, but Roland...but...we each have our own destiny..."

Roland nodded slightly.

Using the same weight as a nod, he spoke softly to Fernandez:
"To hell with fate."

He picked up his cane and stepped on the first ray of light of dawn, which was carved with holy flames.

He left the hospital and returned to the courtroom, his horse-shoe-clad steps echoing along the corridor, clearly audible to every officer who had just returned from a mission or was carrying a breakfast bag.

Regarding the issues of 'brothers and sisters' and 'bloodshed,' he could certainly understand Fernandez's considerations, but, as Miss Nina had said...

Arrogance often arises when one is unaware of it.

Good day, Roland!

Young York, carrying a paper bag, greeted Roland.

"I bought fried potatoes and creamed vegetable bacon, do you want some—"

Where is Mr. Heller?

“Oh, he went to wash his face. Yesterday…” Little York didn’t hide anything from his 'idol,' taking a few steps forward with his hands behind his back and muttering softly, “Mr. Heller played cards all night at the club and lost a lot of money…”

Roland patted his head and suddenly asked, "Would you shed blood for God, and also for your brothers?"

“Roland?” York was taken aback.

(End of this chapter)