The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1127 Ch.1126 The Strange Lord

Ashley May Spencer was a man who, in the Red Sons' "New Flower Street," didn't leave a very good impression on several girls—especially Rose.

What kind of people would support such an organization?

However, reality often surprises us.

They led the people through the streets and alleys to a nearby mansion: Spencer's new residence, which he had moved to as a sign of his support.

This person gave them a completely different feeling from the 'fat bucket' they had seen before.

He had only three servants to care for him and lived alone at the end of Newseur Lane in the East District (three servants was already considered very simple).

When Rose knocked loudly on the door, a middle-aged man with two upward-sloping mustaches even opened it himself: his collar was still stained with ink, he had a monocle clipped to his right eye, and one sleeve was rolled up, as if he was changing clothes and preparing to go out.

"...I'm sorry, I don't participate in any kind of march or demonstration, regardless of its purpose. By the way, my friend, I don't believe that causing trouble for citizens and the government will bring you any so-called 'preferential treatment' or 'good conditions'..."

He was surprisingly gentle and reasonable; his voice was so soft that it could barely be heard through the rumble of the passing cars if one didn't listen carefully.

Roland revealed his identity and asked if they wanted to talk on the 'street'.

Spencer sent his servants to help, hoping they would all come inside to talk.

Rose couldn't help but sarcastically ask, "You mean, let this bunch of filthy, probably diseased prostitutes into your house?"

Spencer paused for a moment.

“Yes, yes, miss, of course. I would like to invite these suffering ladies to my home.” He politely inquired of little Hamilton, of the anxious women lagging behind at the end of the line—and their families, perhaps their children.

Having received permission, he busied himself calling for servants to heat water and leading them one by one to the washroom. He also summoned a servant and ordered him to go to the street to buy a large quantity of clothes.

The benefactor is above.

These women couldn't even put together a few complete outfits.

"I never expected the courtroom to be like this..."

The living room wasn't very big.

The houses in the eastern district are not very big.

After the ladies were settled, their families all gathered in the living room—standing in a circle against the wall: the Spencer family didn't have enough chairs.

"I suppose you didn't come here to have lunch with me?"

After making sure everyone had a cup of hot tea, the Lord extended his hand to Roland, indicating that he was ready to listen.

Clearly, he had no idea what had happened.

Rose recounted what had happened in a huff.

Spencer was stunned: "New...Red Street? Miss, I, I don't know anything about this."

He looked around from one corner to the other, at the women's relatives—their children, fathers, husbands, or brothers.

This is only part of it.

The part that did not 'resist'—and another part, whose whereabouts are unknown… or perhaps sold to some hospital.

How could they do this?

The man couldn't believe it.

—By the way.

So far, Ashley May Spencer's attitude and actions have been entirely consistent with Rose's views on certain races with abnormal blood color.

Until next.

"This wasn't my fault, Ke..."

"Collins, Roland Collins."

"Yes, Mr. Collins, it was not my fault—you must admit, most people want things to go in the right direction, and certainly don't want them to go to hell."

The man clenched his fist on his knee.

"...I speak on behalf of the Savi Brotherhood, but in reality, I only hope that citizens can regain the rights they themselves have given up and that have been taken away by the government..."

Rose said impatiently, "You're not going to do anything... except talk nonsense?"

“What? Of course not! Miss, it’s certainly not my fault, but I do bear some responsibility—perhaps some of my actions have emboldened the Savi Brotherhood…to be honest, they have indeed been somewhat ‘out of control’ lately…”

Spencer was naturally aware of the increasingly 'close' relationship between the Grey Party and the Savi Brotherhood.

He didn't think it was a good thing. "I implore you all to stay."

He put down his teacup, stood up, and faced the parents, children, and brothers of the victims.

“I have some houses in the West End, not large, but enough for you to live in—servants, and daily food. For now, let me take care of you… until I find someone reasonable to talk to…”

The people in the room wouldn't say, "I'd rather die than go to the house of the instigator"—anyone who could say that would have long since rotted in the mud.

They looked at Roland's 'savior's' back of the head with shifty, hesitant eyes, like beggars.

Some people were even secretly pleased.

It doesn't matter if she's a prostitute or not, as long as she gets to stay in a big shot's house...

maybe.

Why would you care about buying a few new clothes?
maybe.

Is there any compensation?

maybe…

The happiness of the poor is no different from that of children; even a small favor can make them speculate for a long time, imagining that they will have a golden rice bowl in the future.

"How do you plan to settle them?"

“I have property, sir. I have two pipe factories, three matchbox factories, and a cloth weaving business—which I’m about to sell. Sir, madam, and all of you who are suffering. I cannot empathize with your plight, for I have not suffered such pain.”

Ashley May Spencer pleaded: "But I blame myself for my foolish, arrogant behavior, my ignorance of 'human nature,' and my uncontrollable, ever-expanding self-ideals."

He spoke in a refined manner to the respectable gentlemen and ladies present.

The rest are all left to the others.

“I will find you all a job that will provide you with enough to eat, for everyone who has suffered… I think you can ask for anything, as long as it is within my power—Mr. Collins, I would like to have a list… The court certainly has the ability to do so.”

He hoped Roland could help him find a list of the dead.

"I can only do my best, Your Excellency."

Roland tapped his knees, lowered his eyes, and whispered:
"I've heard about your ideas from a friend. If he knew today, he'd wish he could grow wings and fly to you, begging to shake your hand for hours..."

The middle-aged man gave a wry smile: "Oh dear, Mr. Collins..."

He sighed.

"Our country shouldn't be like this, should it?"

He said.

"Besides prostitutes, long working hours, deductions, all sorts of high taxes, a mean master, lost rights... Oh, of course, you have good taste."

He took the cigar Roland offered and skillfully lit the tin tinderbox.

“I’m planning to propose reducing the workers’ working hours from fifteen to ten – in fact, ten isn’t exactly ‘short,’ but ‘it’s always better to move forward than to stand still.’”

Spencer puffed out his cheeks, swirled the smoke with the tip of his tongue, and blew it out a few seconds later.

"...Our empire is thriving. Sir, the citizens should not be the fuel of this machine, serving only the comfort of a select few. No one, no one is more suited to ride in this vehicle, to be its master..."

Roland could understand some of his words.

Some things, however, left Roland bewildered.

But Spencer didn't care.

It's like someone who's vomiting can't control the lunch in their stomach.

The same applies to people's ideals.

"The government should provide more protection for its citizens. The wounded, the disabled, pregnant women, and those whose only children have died on the battlefield—the government's money shouldn't all be flowing into the pockets of 'certain people'... Who is truly important to the empire?"

Sindel idly admired his newly painted nails.

As the room grew quieter and the breathing became heavier.

She looked back.

I saw clusters of burning sparks by the wall.

(End of this chapter)