The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 244 Ch.243 The strange executive

The Golden Shell Tavern is very close to the port, and just like its location, those who can come here to relax after work will not be rich people.

When Fernandez led the people in, whistles rang out.

To Xander Kratof.

"What did I see? A woman!"

"It's your turn!"

"Hey! Miss, do you want to help?"

Fernandez glanced at the crowded area, pushed aside a few people holding wine glasses and chatting, and went straight to the counter.

A rusty red iron anchor was nailed to the waist-high wooden cabinet.

What's new is that there's no wine list, just what's on offer tonight written handwritten in charcoal on the wall.

The counter was dirty, and Roland watched helplessly as a cockroach crawled along the bar to the wine rack and disappeared into the gap between two bottles.

"Outlander?"

The bartender is a boy who is so young that he looks like he has not yet grown up, and he is extremely skillful with his hands.

He poured three glasses of water and pushed them to Fernandez, swept the table with a gray tablecloth, and looked at Roland and Xander: "Golden shells never wear top hats. You may have come to the wrong place."

"I'm looking for Ram."

Fernandez took out three irregular coins from his pocket and threw them into the empty cup on the counter.

Ding ding ding rang.

"Ram?" The bartender glanced at the coins in the cup, stretched out his hand, and said hesitantly: "...We don't seem to be calling--"

Then he touched another hand.

Roland covered the rim of the cup and stared at him with a smile.

Both sides were silent for a few seconds.

"...How do I know if you are debt collectors? Ram is a good man." The young bartender seemed unwilling to betray his customers and friends for a few pennies.

Until Roland let go and threw two more balls into the cup.

The bartender immediately picked up the cup, poured the coins into his hand, stuffed it into his trouser pocket, and raised his eyebrows: "You guys don't look like debt collectors!"

He looked around, opened the small door of the counter, and let the three of them follow.

After bypassing the wine rack and passing through the narrow, cockroach-infested kitchen, there is a half-person-high wooden door that can be pushed and pulled.

It opens to a double bedroom.

The stench of wine hit my face.

The bartender nodded at the man who was snoring loudly. Fernandez stepped directly over the scattered tissues and wine bottles on the ground, and lifted the sleeping person up from the wooden bed.

He woke up suddenly and was frightened.

"-No! No no! I can pay it off tomorrow!!"

The middle-aged man was short and struggled and pushed, but was knocked unconscious by Fernandez's two fists.

"Hey, you can't be in my house-" the bartender yelled.

Fernandez ignored him and pulled him up: "Ram Fiennes?"

After hearing the response, he helped the person out without waiting for his answer.

Ram Fiennes.

Inquisition Executor.

One ring.

The sea breeze on a winter night outside the tavern is enough to make a person wearing only a vest sober up in a matter of seconds.

He shivered and asked Roland and Fernandez for their coats. After receiving no response, he inquired about their purpose in a smooth manner.

Until he figured out that these three people were not here to collect debts.

"I am the executive officer of the Tribunal! Do you know the Tribunal? Holy Cross, Holy Cross..." As he spoke, he noticed that Fernandez slowly unbuttoned his windbreaker and showed him a golden badge.

The whole person felt sluggish as if his energy had been drained.

“…Ram Fiennes says hello.”

He leaned crookedly in the alley next to the tavern, his butt pressed against the wall, and every crease on his face was filled with flattery: "I haven't asked yet, are you——"

"Fernandez de Vinson, from London."

‘London’—this name immediately made the eyes of the drunk man in the alley light up!

"London! Oh! I know! You are from the 'real' Inquisition!"

Roland leaned on his cane with both hands and curiously interjected: "Does the Tribunal still distinguish between 'true' and 'false'?"

of course not.

"Of course!" Ram Fiennes blinked. Looking at Roland's young appearance, he probably guessed that he and the girl were both apprentices, the apprentices of the gentleman in front of him. "Let me tell you! The court in London is very different from the court in our small place..."

He poured out the bitter water to answer Roland's question, but the person who actually poured it out was Fernandez.

He said that he was imprisoned by the local nobles on a trumped-up charge a few days ago, was beaten and tortured, and he was only released from that cold hell today.

He said that the church had not paid wages in the past two months. Although the trial court had paid them back, the number was much lower.

He talked a lot, unable to tell the truth from lies. At the same time, he cried and begged Fernandez to forgive him, help him, and transfer him to work in London——

"David Cromwell says you owe two hundred pounds."

Fernandez's cold words interrupted his grumbling.

Two hundred pounds.

"Can you tell me, Mr. Ram Fiennes. Can you tell me, are you qualified as an executive?"

"...Oh, of course I did. I also replied to your letter!"

He didn't look like a harsh and cold cult stalker at all, and he wasn't even as good as the gangsters Roland had seen - he had bones and flesh, standing, but as soft and smelly as mud.

Eye-opener.

"I'm almost there, almost there, maybe one day I'll win, and I can make it back in a few strokes..." The old and skinny man rubbed his hands, and smiled, not feeling ashamed at all: "Sir, this month's salary has not been paid to me yet-"

"Because you don't have to take it anymore." Fernandez said in a deep voice: "The few executive officers in Bristol have chosen to transfer, but you haven't. Now, I know why."

Because no one wants an "executive" who owes hundreds of pounds and whose bones are as soft as a woman's waist.

What can it be used for?

One-ring ritualist?

In Fernandez's opinion, he can't even beat the bartender just now.

"...Sir, we, no, no, it's the Inquisition, the Inquisition, isn't it always like this?"

Ram Fiennes carefully looked at Fernandez's expression and stammered in response.

"I replied!"

"Yes, I replied. So why didn't we see you at the station?"

Because he didn't plan to go at all.

If he hadn't been drunk and lost track of time, he would have run away long ago.

"But, but we..."

"But we are still the same as usual, just holding the status and getting the salary, but not having to do anything, right?" Fernandez suddenly approached and continued his words: "Really, Mr. Fiennes, you may not know what "shame" is, right?"

This made the cowering man a little annoyed.

His voice rose a few tones and became sharp: "That's because of the Inquisition! You are from a big city, don't you know how people like us should live?! I tell you! We can't live at all!"

"The gold badge will not attract fear, but only..."

"The Inquisition can't protect the executor at all! The person in the seat--" He panted, and although he was angry, he knew that there were some things he couldn't say: "... Anyway, since that person didn't do anything, why did you bother me?"

Ram Fiennes was not like this at the beginning.

He saw it with his own eyes, how his brothers and sisters were humiliated, and how they didn't get support, and they were disheartened.

Some people died, and some people left.

Anyway, the person in the court of justice can't do anything. If there is a real problem, won't the supervision bureau still be responsible?

"It's your faith that has long been unfaithful and firm that should be in trouble with you."

Fernandez's eyes were sharp.