The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 636 Ch.635 Forgotten Things

Anyone who knows knows the difference between mortals and ritual beings.

Just like they understand that there will be no key in their hands, and there will be no door to the sleeping world.

When you become an apprentice, your mentor will tell you: your strength begins here and your mortal body ends here.

He said that the ritual practitioners of the Crown God are different from the ritual practitioners of the non-Crown God: the existence of the great ceremony can make these ritual practitioners who are walking on the most "correct" path more "correct" than others. They may have the strength of a lion, the fur of a bear, the speed of a cheetah.

In addition to the power given by the road itself to hanging, different great rituals also change the way different road ritualists act.

But that’s the beauty of the mysterious world.

When you completely get rid of your mentor and delve deeply enough, you will find a path that is different and more magical than those 'mundane' ones:

At level one, they can be killed by bullets and blades.

At the eighth level, they can still be killed by bullets and sharp blades.

They're as fragile as young, swaying roots that require just the slightest push - that's 'different', right?

How could the Ritualist be so vulnerable?

What kind of strength will come from the opposite side of vulnerability?

You are more interested, constantly searching, trying to study this road more deeply, and the sleeping gods at the end...

“That’s the path I took.”

The woman in front of the mirror held up a pair of gold-wired long-handled glasses, looking strangely at the person in the mirror.

The maid in the distance stared at the master's back without courtesy, and the invisible liquid exuding a greedy smell flowed along every orifice of the body.

"...Yes, my master."

"Don't always say 'Yes, my lord', my dear countryman."

Rosalind lowered her eyes and allowed the flesh and blood in her sight to return to normal from the distortion.

She turned around and rolled up her long skirt.

His chestnut eyes were filled with a vitality that was never seen by outsiders.

The woman in the candlelight raised her head and walked around the bedroom holding her skirt.

She danced an extremely classical dance, a dance that has long been out of date, humming a long tune in her throat. It takes a certain amount of patience to hear the good tune - she was very satisfied with the power of her gestures. , that normal power that is almost the same as a mortal.

Normal beating of the heart, sense of smell, taste, hearing, vision——

"It's wonderful to be alive."

In the eyes of the maid, her master is Rosalind.

She is a widowed woman who wears her hat all year round and traps herself with a black gauze net, a dancing mistress, an unclean person with bare knees, a chick's beak on the pattern pecks out light rose petals, she is romantic and old. of, lifeless or newly young—

The dancing figure was hazy and dreamy, with a vague outline in the maid's eyes.

She has become shorter, her hair hangs down to her ankles, she is an innocent girl who has not yet had her bones broken;

She is a fit farmer's wife. When she stretches her arms to tidy up her hair, the smell of sun-baked cheese always comes out;

She is an elegant lady with a parrot nose, a lady who wears a wig and uses a folding fan dyed with perfume to drive away lice and coquettishness.

The phantom is sometimes tall, sometimes short, sometimes fat, sometimes thin.

She is uncertain and vague. When one teaches you to be satisfied, she is one. If two teaches you satisfaction, she is two.

The maid was so fascinated that she almost grabbed the shadow and swallowed it whole.

She looked greedily, and caught a glimpse of the clean and always sunny child when her hair was curled up - this was her master, a compatriot connected by blood, a great beginning.

"I'm not a god."

Rosalind stopped dancing, and the girl, who was no taller than the fireplace, stepped up and bent her knees, lifted up her skirt and bowed.

She walked towards her and.

Gradually getting higher.

Get thinner.

Rosalind Herbert Burns Field again.

"Mortals cannot question gods, just as believers cannot question their masters - am I?"

Rosalind happily picked up the kneeling maid, pulled her up from the carpet, and pulled her around the room. She was sweating and looked at her who was also sweating: "I will solve all your doubts. , then we build our country.”

She looked at the maid whose cheeks were flushed with excitement with a smile, and pushed her into the seat forcefully and authoritatively.

"Sit down and talk, my maid."

she said.

"So what do you want to know?"

The maid still couldn't calm down her excitement, her voice was trembling: "I...I really am..."

"Of course, both you and I." Rosalind was tired from dancing and ignored the etiquette. She picked up the tea cup and drank it in one gulp: "I have to thank you for your dedication and your help. Without you, it would be difficult for me to survive. Wake up from that endless nightmare.”

Even though she was well prepared, the maid was still excited to kneel down, raise her arms and give everything to her master.

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But she wasn't allowed to do that now.

Her blood wouldn't allow it.

"But, why do you..." Maybe it was Rosalind's words of 'compatriot', or maybe it was the intimacy she showed, but the maid no longer remained reserved: "Why not-"

"Won't you kill the one who offended me?" Rosalind calmed down, sat next to the maid, and looked at her dotingly like a mother looking after her child: "This is not the way we deal with things. What kind of path will this kind of method lead to?" road?”

"We are not cultists."

She patiently taught or inspired the young child, giving her hope and strength - this is the same thing.

"... I have held many hands tightly. We have the same ideals and common pursuits. We share happiness and pain, and encourage each other to move forward -"

"My compatriots."

"We must move towards our goals and the future."

She spoke calmly, but every character beat the drum in the maid's heart.

"A noble lady with kleptomania is not our enemy. Her last name is Shelley, and she is the heir of the Shelley family - it is better to make friends with a future female tycoon than to attract anger, right?"

Rosalind stroked the maid's face, and sighed softly in her increasingly obsessed eyes.

"We have failed before, and we must never repeat the same mistakes again - my dead compatriots taught me one thing."

She paused.

"Some things might be better in the opposite order."

The maid nodded sincerely: "You are right, this is the right way... So, the people you invest in-"

"Yes, they all have the blood of the 'original people'," Rosalind retracted her hand, spread her five fingers, and admired her dyed nails: "I will contact these young new bloods little by little, and rebuild our organization..."

"Wait until then."

Rosalind smiled gently: "We will have our own land and country, and our blood is nobler than any other blood in the world."

A fanatical emotion spread across the maid's face: "I will always help you!"

As soon as she finished speaking, she seemed to have thought of something, and she was so shocked that she almost fell off the chair: "No! No! Master!"

"How can you tell me these secrets!" She shouted anxiously: "You said that some secrets are not safe even in your mind-"

Rosalind did not reply, but pulled out a soft card from her sleeve.

Pinched it between her fingers and flicked it.