The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 441 Ch.440 Hope and Despair

Henry Street was tied to a chair.

Two feet, one arm.

He only has one arm that he can move freely, which he can use to drink, smoke, and even touch his itchy spots. In front of him is a small round table for drinking tea, and opposite him sits the blind man with black hair.

The girl leaning against the wall folded her arms and said nothing.

There's a lot of turquoise blue in this room: whether it's lampshades, draperies, sheets or china - even through the guest rooms you can see the style of the Streeter family's former owners.

Colors of different weights and secondary colors create a unified but not boring arc.

Beautiful room with relaxing colors.

Of course Mr. Henry Street could not feel this.

"Sir, I don't think there is any hatred between us -" Now, he didn't know Roland's last name or what kind of relationship he had with him.

Roland needed to explain this.

He slowly dropped the dice into the wooden cup and shook it around.

"Mr. Street, I'm from London," he said slowly. "My friend, a sculptor, has contracted leukorrhagia. So now you know why I'm here, don't you?"

He knocked on the wooden cup to stop the other's apology.

"No, it doesn't have to be like this, sir. Maybe the responsibility is not all yours. You just commissioned the trafficking, but you didn't let anyone stuff the white ore into his mouth - this was just a 'coincidental murder', an unlucky fool The ending.”

Roland said.

"He was unlucky and used the material mixed with white clay."

"He's out of luck."

Roland slowly pulled out his pistol and showed the opponent the bullets filled in it.

"Then let me gamble my luck with you."

He used the muzzle of the gun as a finger and pushed the wooden cup around.

Henry took a deep breath and looked at the woman in the shadow: "Miss, I admit, I admit...I don't respect you. Maybe arrogance and alcohol have corroded my mind..."

No answer.

"The Shelleys have been working with Streeter, Miss! Talk to your friend, okay?"

No answer.

"I can tell you a secret: about the White Mine. Maybe we, Street and Shelley, can become closer..."

No answer.

The faster he spoke, the more angry he looked at Roland: "I'm afraid you still don't know the relationship between Street and Chloe, sir. You don't understand the gap between ritualists. I advise you. …”

No answer.

No answer.

Roland lowered his head and shook the dice in the wooden cup.

Wow...

Wow.

Some crisp, distant knocks echoed in the dimension that only he could hear.

It was the sound of a small hammer hitting a chisel and the chisel carving stone.

Roland tilted his head and could even distinguish the small movement of stone chips bouncing slightly after falling to the ground.

But he could not find Mr. Sara in the room.

Maybe that artist will always sleep where he should sleep, and with the eternal companionship of his last work, he should sleep peacefully and peacefully.

Or maybe, the connection between him and Sara, the brief conversations in those few days, only left these scattered and varying knocking sounds in his increasingly alienated soul.

They were not familiar with each other, like wild beasts passing by each other in the forest, without even saying hello.

They only smell each other's scent.

"Take a gamble, Henry."

Bang!

"Damn it!" Henry clenched his only movable arm into a fist and slammed the table. "I am the master of Street! Listen...listen! Not only the secret...even, no, I can Share the shares of the mine with you... Sir, Miss, I can, as long as you let me go..."

"You take me out... Just let me go..."

"Street will always be a friend of the Shelleys... My sister won't give you shares, but I can..."

"Is it okay if I go to your friend's grave to repent?"

He begged Roland, and the curly-haired girl in the shadows who folded her arms and remained silent.

"White mine can not only be used as a substitute for coal, it is also a great gift that will change history!"

But Roland just pushed the wooden cup towards his good hand.

"Take a gamble, sir."

"If you lose, I'll shoot to avenge my friend," he said. "But if you win, I'll keep the gun and my friend and I go to lunch—and believe me, I'm sorry for Street. I am not interested in my housework and do not want to get involved.”

"No matter who lives, you or your sister, the outcome will be the same."

These cold words were like a bucket of cold water being poured down on him.

Completely extinguished the fire in Henry's heart.

There is no other way.

Henry was silent for a long time.

The dry-mouthed man licked his lips and looked at the lonely dice in the wooden cup with a gloomy look on his face, "How to bet?"

"Oh, that's easy."

Roland chuckled: "Six points, sir, you only shake it once - if it's three points, or less than three points..."

He made a shooting gesture and aimed it between Henry Street's eyebrows.

"Under six, over three, you not only survive, but you get a loaded gun."

Then.

"If you happen to shake six o'clock," Roland rubbed his wrist, his smile grew wider, "Not only the gun, sir, I will loosen all the ropes for you."

Henry was unwilling to give in, looked at Rose, and made a last effort: "I apologize for my previous offense, miss, and I am willing to compensate. If the Shelley family is willing to cooperate, I will sell part of the shares in my hands at a low price - why can't we have a good relationship?" Talk like civilized people?"

"I don't know how important your friends are to you - but this cooperation may be worth hundreds of thousands, even millions of pounds!"

"That's the future of a huge family!"

"Sir, madam, do you really want to shut out this wealth?"

Roland yawned, shook the gun in his hand, and pointed it at the man.

"Betting? Or..."

Henry stared at the wooden cup in silence, his mind spinning as fast as ever before - don't bet, or lose the bet and die now.

Bet, there is still a chance.

To be able to travel with the Shelleys and to have the final say in such a matter is a gentleman who must have come from a distinguished family.

Then, they are most likely to abide by the rules.

No, even if the man failed to fulfill his promise, he would not wait until night to be hanged by Peggy Street.

He has a chance.

There is a faithful servant, there is William.

Those with rituals.

He still has a chance, as long as night falls and his people are by his side.

- He's going to rip the limbs off his ungrateful sister...and these two.

Henry's eyes flashed with ferocity.

so.

He first had to find a way to save his own life from this madman's bullet.

He didn't need the gun, but he had to win.

Henry Street took a deep breath and held the wooden cup carefully.

This low-quality utensil, which was not worthy of appearing on his dining table, became the magazine that determined his fate at this moment.

Shake it.

bullet.

Wow... Wow...

He has played this thing too many times.

At banquets, clubs, special salons.

But never once have the stakes been so high.

Henry's shoulders were a little sore, and his wrists couldn't stop shaking - he might have been shaking for three minutes, maybe five minutes, countless minutes, and couldn't stop.

The man with slightly hanging black hair in front of him held his chin and faced himself, as if he was enjoying a wonderful one-man show with his ears.

He can't die...

I can't die in this room, in an unknown way.

He had to win, and then wait until nightfall for his men.

He needs to leave Inns Town first and wait for the opportunity...

It was only a momentary failure, Henry Street.

They dare not actually kill a knight, the owner of the land, a true nobleman.

but…

He has to win.

Gotta live.

Therefore, it must not be three points... nor two points, one point...

He wants to survive.

Survive…

More than three o'clock, more than three o'clock...

Henry Street rocked it slow, hard, and sweaty.

It was as if the wooden cup contained the mine, and the corpses jingled with every shake.

His chest was soaked with sweat, and beads of sweat appeared on the tip of his nose.

Thirty seconds.

One minute.

Two minutes.

He refused to give up the wooden cup easily, and shook it greedily and carefully, as if he could shake out several immortals from it, or an obedient dragon that could burn these two people to death.

This was his chance to live, the choice to decide whether the bullet would go into his head.

'Destiny is in my hands' - at this moment, Henry Street realized the meaning of this sentence.

Wow...

Wow.

Finally, my arms could no longer bear the soreness.

The wooden cup stopped.

The only silence in the room was the heavy breathing of a terminal beast.

His eyes were red and bulging outwards, his heart was beating violently, and his eyes kept scanning the faces of Roland and Rose.

Finally, move towards the cup of destiny.

He used his little finger as a fulcrum and gently pried open the corner of the magazine bit by bit. Regardless of the pain in his other hand from being strangled by the rope, he tilted his head to one side as much as possible and slowly peeked into the gap between the round table and the wooden cup - —

He wanted to open the rag like he usually did when playing with the girls, and then stuff the dice into their lapels with a wild laugh.

Or, express your dissatisfaction by throwing or smashing the dice cup.

He likes to do this, but he doesn't dare to do it at this moment.

It seemed that pushing the wooden cup open little by little with such trembling could make the numbers of the dice inside change. He prayed to the Father of All Things, and also prayed to other Nine-Crown Gods besides the Father of All Things.

His pale face, covered with sweat, almost touched the round table. His movements were more ridiculous than those of a circus performer, but he performed them as carefully as walking on a wire.

He stared at the dots in the shadow in a daze.

After a few breaths, he suddenly raised the wooden cup and slammed it on the carpet.

Then, burst into laughter!

A few bright lamps allowed the two remaining people in the room to see clearly the face of the lonely dice pointing upward:

Six o'clock.

"I get everything."

He gritted his teeth, tearing the shame and hatred into his mouth.

He stared at the black-haired man, watching him slowly open his dreamy golden eyes and quietly stare at the dice on the table.

In those playful eyes, Henry Street found teasing and evil that overflowed like a fountain.

The fire of hope that had just been ignited in his heart suddenly went out, and he felt like he was falling into the abyss.

"I didn't say start."

The man with golden eyes smiled.

"Do it again."