The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1158 Ch.1157 Pebbles of the Mortal World

Monica fell to her death.

She slipped and broke her neck from the two steps of the church. By the time the bishop arrived, the poor girl, who had been indulging in all sorts of unrealistic fantasies, was already dead.

The utter nonsense did not stir the slightest emotion in Natalia.

Those country folk must have compromised.

For her family, for gaining a foothold in London, for her brother's request, or for some reason from her parents—perhaps she was smarter, weighing the pros and cons, and knowing how to fight for herself in dire straits, so that she could have a wealthy and stable later life after receiving the Saint's Crown…

Maybe more.

But she couldn't imagine what would happen when she pushed open that archway, her skin covered in the golden blood of the Book of Eden.

What I saw, however, was that everything was already prepared—

Father and brother.

How could she not fall to her death?

Natalia had no interest in this.

Just as Monica survived her ordeal and chose a path that might be even more painful and difficult—Natalia was equally confident that if the ritual failed once again, the Church would be happy to fulfill its promise and give her, her family, and her surname a satisfactory answer.

In this respect, the Holy Cross is quite trustworthy.

Regrettably.

She chose a different path.

The path filled with hatred is also the path that will eventually fill the rituals.

That's not bad either.

Because 'father' and 'brother' are only the first step on her sacred path; the long future lies ahead…

"Good day, Ms. Natalia. Would you like to take on a new disciple?"

The gray-haired girl in my memory gradually overlapped with the outline of the girl in front of me.

“The answer is the Saint’s ‘aptitude,’ a different kind.” Natalia’s eyes wandered, her damp and moldy reason no longer as precise and sharp as before—just as she said: to possess, to own, and to become are different.

Both of the former will come at a price, more or less.

"The 'qualifications' of a saint?"

"Evil thoughts."

Natalia grinned, as if her flesh had been unexpectedly ripped open by a shard of glass:
"A 'suitable' soul and... twisted... flesh bulging with malice... a grotesque hatred akin to 'aptitude'... Little Xander... I remember... you asked me that before... didn't you?"

Sender nodded slightly.

She had only vaguely heard about what she might face after becoming a saint—now it seemed that all the most primal actions were merely means to reach her destination.

Hatred, malice, anger, despair.

But compared to being nurtured, Cinder, as a "born saint," was more "unqualified" than any other generation of saintesses: the ritual required turning a white sheet of paper black, not finding a sheet of paper that was naturally black.

“I can’t say what your friend might encounter. But whatever it may be, it’s all to give her the ‘qualifications’…” Natalia looked at Roland, a hint of schadenfreude in her voice: “A person with nothing won’t refuse…”

Under the dim, amber gaze of the 'alien species,' she was almost certain of the answer.

And it is.

She sarcastically remarked that he was meddling in other people's business, saying that so many people longed for such a wonderful future, so why would anyone be so eager to refuse it?
“More than the saintess, I’m curious about your soul… a different kind. When did you realize you had ‘changed’?” Natalia leaned forward again, the freckles on her nose clearly visible.

“At the beginning.”

"At the beginning?"

“From the day I ‘opened my eyes’,” Roland said softly, “Madam, you’ve been interested in aliens?” “I’m interested in everything that doesn’t belong to the waking world. Curiosities, mystical organs, aliens, ritualists, including…”

Her unconventional face, like the strange thoughts that occasionally popped into Roland's head, blended perfectly with the shadows around her features.

"Gods."

she says.

The candlelight flickered inside the openwork copper shade, subtly resonating with the owner's ever-changing tone.

“Now I know why you live here,” Roland sighed. “Blasphemy, Ms. Natalia. We should give due respect to the sacred heavens…”

“It seems you’ve found a lover who’s not very good at lying, little Xander,” Natalia said, her brown eyes flashing as she licked her thick lips with a flippant air. “As one ascends, the ritualist’s reverence for the gods diminishes… like the ‘Queen’ whom the shoemaker reveres… What are the courtiers thinking?”

"So, in your opinion, the gods are not great?" Roland changed his posture, lowered his legs, and covered her vision with his palms and wrists.

Natalia smiled like a white statue in the West End fountain, stiff and cold: "'He was created by me.'"

“‘He was created by me, blood is thicker than faith’—I even borrowed your research manuscripts privately, mentor. A startling conjecture…” Xander continued softly, “I must say, you have gone the furthest in theology…”

"The ritualist learns 'great arts' beyond their own capacity, like forcing an infant to lift a boulder... Everything comes at a price, little Xander. That's why I refused your participation in the research..." The woman, unusually lucid, rubbed the blood-red candle-like mark on her forehead.

Looking at the dignified and bright girl on the sofa, she seemed to see her younger self, filled with destructive thoughts.

No.

Her aptitude wasn't exactly 'ruined'.

It was Shandel Kratofer.

“Theology?” Roland frowned.

If what Natalia said is true, then "Arcane Arts," as one of the "Great Arts," should be no exception—but Roland was unaware of the "price" he had paid for mastering some of the techniques.

The same goes for Fernandez.

"The 'secret arts' of the Holy Cross?" The woman smiled. "As the ritual practitioner turns inward, the power brought by 'secret arts' is like throwing stones at a runaway carriage... Will the horse notice it in a short time?"

Roland shook his head.

He couldn't explain the real reason, but he knew that the carriage had wheels.

When wheels are moving at high speed, it is difficult to stop them.

"Inertia, alien species. You really should read more books... unless you insist on believing your future is an dissection table..."

Natalia told them that, just as ritualists are to mortals, anything that flows from the world of sleep to the world of wakefulness comes with a price—and the "Great Art" is no exception.

As ritual practitioners continuously collect and study fragments of texts, mastering the "secret arts," these complex yet efficient techniques will undoubtedly consume a significant amount of the user's "secrets": the consequences are self-evident.

The amount of "secrets" will naturally have a direct or indirect impact on the battles between ritual practitioners.

"Organology", "Birdsong and Animal Movement", "Dream Studies"...

This includes Natalia's "theology".

This is what Sender said: Natalia's madness was not innate—her excessive exploration of 'divine mysteries' made it almost impossible for her to reintegrate into normal society.

In addition, there was that blasphemous manuscript.

It could be said that imprisonment was the best outcome for her actions: Sandel did not believe that the Holy Cross held such respect for 'knowledge'.

Someone must have helped their mentor...

Who is it?
Everything has a price. When you think it doesn't, the price might be...

"yourself."

(End of this chapter)