The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 349 Ch.348 Key

A real hero must be a good stage actor.

In Randolph's view, Evans and Barent were indeed suitable for this job.

Extremely talented.

He first led everyone to the end of the river, in front of a long blockade pulled out by a rope - and when they were about to hit the rough rope, something terrible finally happened.

All the ghosts wandering around in the entire area paused at the same time.

Turn your head neatly.

Looked at them.

That cold, lifeless look was enough to frighten most people present.

Some people screamed, some hugged their family members, and a few even took out handkerchiefs, covered their mouths and started retching (perhaps they took advantage of bending down to hide further back.)

In short, the scene became chaotic.

"Everyone!"

Still Evans.

The heroic Evans.

"Listen to me! Follow the plan I specified! Believe me - do you...believe me?"

Yes.

The golden finch of the Evans family.

the crowd chanted.

"Cough." Balent coughed twice to indicate that he was ready.

then.

"My brothers! My sisters! My mother and father! Sons and daughters!"

Evans took a few steps forward, almost within reach of the ghost, and said in a loud voice: "I know your requirements and have heard your dissatisfaction. Now, I want to give you an answer!"

He shouted, and the ghosts began to surge like a wave.

Screams and roars came and went.

Living and dead, loud and off-key, ups and downs.

It's like a chorus with blurred boundaries, a collaboration between the living and the dead, a roulette with flesh and soul as chips.

There is always something ridiculous in horror.

"Come on, come on Mr. Barent! Tell us what we have proposed recently, tell us what we will pass recently!"

After he finished speaking in a pretentious manner, he took a step sideways to make way for Balent to step forward.

"cough."

So here comes Barrent.

Another hero.

The hero coughed a few times, and while clearing his throat, he looked at the layers of misty ghosts in front of him, and at the stone-like eyeballs staring at him, chasing him, and rotating with his movements - - This makes people feel hairy all over and break into cold sweat.

He was even afraid that these monsters would pounce on him in the blink of an eye and tear him to pieces.

The warm applause gradually faded away, and the thumping heart pumped the cold blood to the limbs, freezing every toe of the hero who moved forward bravely, making his hairy feet soak in acid-like sweat, and letting the burnt bones Gray toenails and chapped skin shouted together:

'quick! Run! I don't want to be here! ’

He retreated.

He was wiping his sweat and stammering, no longer as loud as when he was having a verbal argument with someone.

His sharp teeth and barbed tongue cannot protect him from this tsunami of ghosts - the spirit does not care about the disdain of eyes and the sarcasm of words.

But Balent only had these two sharp claws, and he had used them to win every battle.

"I...I am..."

He was like a baby who had been slapped on the butt by his mother. He was so wronged that he was about to cry. He was so frightened that the little cobweb contracted at the spot where it was slapped. It became as tense as a woman beating the beat, and his whole body was as tight as a soldier waiting for the queen. There is no place where you are not exerting your strength.

He shrank the little star upwards, almost pushing his intestines into his throat.

The end of a hero.

"I am, yes, that...that...you are...I am yours..."

All right.

He finally admitted his failure.

With the sweaty handkerchief stained like a painter's face that was too large, he turned his head and gave a bitter smile to the mortals who were waiting for the hero to save him.

Evans also had a few beads of sweat on the tip of his nose, cursing 'noble ass' in his heart, but he still had to put on a smile and successfully accept the words, so that they would not drown in the tide.

"...He's Barrent, my assistant."

Evans stood back up again and showed a donkey-like smile to the ghosts:

But they just looked at him expressionlessly.

Waiting for the moment to sweep all living beings.

"I know your requirements, and I have to tell you the good news."

Evans no longer cared about wording, recalling or imitating the great people he had met, and simply said:

"Holidays, mines, suffrage."

"Everyone!"

"We can all agree!"

He waved his arms, sometimes slapping his chest or punching his fists, trying to look more convincing.

"I can say without hesitation: Your request has been approved! Mr. Barrent and I are here to tell you the good news!"

"Requests! All your demands! Have been approved!"

He finished.

There was no movement in all directions.

"Gentlemen?"

"Ladies?"

He laughed dryly and rubbed his palms, no longer caring about showing off the golden bird's dazzling feathers.

"We have done what you asked for..."

Just then.

The surrounding tide 'squirmed' towards him.

"First, gentlemen..."

This was completely beyond Evans' expectations.

How is that possible?

After cooling down, Guozhao suddenly realized that he was placed on a pale snowfield.

That's how Evans feels now.

He can't get hot anymore.

The heroic goldfinch, the explorer of the Evans family’s mysteries, the apprentice who has just touched the mystery, the key holder with a brilliant future - each of his titles should accompany him from now until immortality, and even push open that narrow door and step into the path that few people have set foot on.

His ideals and ambitions, the power in the sleeping world, the authority to surpass mortals in the waking world...

He works hard enough and has enough talent.

But all of the above...

It’s a pity.

The ghosts don’t care.

“… No! This, this, this is not, not right!”

His superiors, the guide who taught him, the knowledge described in those books... That’s not the case!

He clearly found the key and turned the lock...

Impossible!

Reappear, fulfill the wish... There should be no mistakes in any link! !

These ghosts should have a pious face, or pain, or satisfaction, or laugh or cry - they should always make some expression, and then, get out! ! !

Disappear from the waking world!

Everything was wrong…

Where did it start to go wrong…

He stood there in a daze, the cries ringing in his ears were grabbed and torn apart by the palms with exposed bones.

His trouser legs were hot, and the uncontrollable warmth soaked the goldfinch of the goldfinch family, making him unable to flap his wings and lift his legs.

He had no time to scream before his ears were torn off and his eyeballs were gouged out. His lower jaw could not hide his tongue, and his entire face was divided into two parts.

He had a gun and a dagger, and perhaps he was very powerful.

But until his death, he was unable to make an effective counterattack and use what he learned to save his life.

He stood there in a daze like a puppet and let them manipulate him, then exploded like a blood flower, his arm was thrown up by the swarming ghosts, leaving a blood line in the air, and fell into the surging spiritual tide again.

The living souls were speechless.

The dead sang loudly.

The feast began.

Since most people trust their hero, the first to be impacted is the camp led by Evans: Roland and his four people, including three friends of Randolph who joined later and their families, are at the end of the team.

Last, it means they will die last.

"Facing thousands of enemies, a gun is meaningless." Roland pressed down Randolph's trembling arm, and took Beatrice, who was struggling and screaming, into his arms, and with his other hand pressed down the hat in the wind: "Use holy water, gentlemen."

He gave orders to the three ritualists.

"But... Mr. Collins, that's our last..."

The leading ritualist hesitated a little.

Because it's not a desperate situation yet, the tide has not risen to the ankles, and silver-plated bullets are the best choice in this situation.

There is too little holy water.

Although it is absolutely effective, the ritualist still has some small ideas-he wants to save them for the last, once the "field" becomes unstable and there is a need to break through...

They can protect Mr. and Miss Taylor and use holy water to quickly drill through this wall of spirits.

Holy water has an extremely powerful killing power on ghosts.

"How many rings are you, sir."

Roland did not look back, staring at the screaming, shouting women, children and men whose arms or heads were torn off by ghosts, and asked softly, "How many rings are you?"

"Three rings." The leading ritualist did not know why he did this, but he still bowed slightly when answering: "...Three rings of the Secret Scroll Road, "Evil Party". Mr. Collins, we do not belong to the private alliance, we only support Taylor."

"Oh, so I can't order you."

Randolph rubbed his eyebrows: "Roland, you are a bit like some big masters in this aspect."

He turned his head and glanced at the ritualist: "Do as Roland Collins says."

"Sir! But, but if we wait for the opportunity, we can..."

Randolph stared at him with a smile, but stopped talking.

"...Yes. "

The ritualists slowly retreated.

Three people stood at the edge in a triangle.

"You have to understand that they are the ritualists of the Taylor family, and of course they will give priority to my and Beatrice's lives." Randolph, like Roland, looked at the group of men and women struggling in flesh and blood not far away: "...even if they give up you, Bronte and their own."

"Of course I understand that they want to save the most effective weapons for the most important moment." Roland didn't care about the three people.

Loyalty is very valuable in any era.

"But we don't need to break through, and we can't face thousands of spirits head-on."

He said.

"The key is already under my feet."