Chapter 584 Ch583 Music in the Soul

Chapter 584 Ch.583 Music in the Soul

What happened to the master who got lost again?

Randolph didn't bother to pay attention to Roland's gaze, and led them to the manor in a hurry. This white castle by the sea was built horizontally and vertically, and it seemed that those complicated and varied decorations were removed at the beginning of the design, and all the arcs were pulled into straight lines. Those with good eyesight could even see the main building from the door.

There were even few trees that blocked the view. At most, there were some lawns that were no taller than the ankles, and a few pots of drooping flowers on the flower racks.

It was in full view.

"Sir! Sir——" The male servant hurriedly followed, busy explaining.

The servants in the entire manor seemed to have dispersed, and many maids and younger servants could be seen along the way.

There was no need to say more about what they were doing.

It was the same outside and inside.

There were servants rummaging around everywhere——Before stepping into the building, Roland's toes suddenly stopped.

Main entrance.

In this three-story building.

He seemed to see some strange ‘rings’, like ripples, rippling through the stone wall, gradually disappearing.

“Roland?”

Beatrice secretly pulled his finger.

………

…

“My father is sick, just like I told you… Roland. He has some problems, not very smart…”

In the room, Randolph leaned against the cupboard, sliding his finger across the cupboard while speaking, his face calm: “I can’t tell you what the disease is, Edward said that many older people are prone to…”

Teresa led Beatrice to the third floor, and Roland and Randolph were on the second floor.

Roland supported the bed: “You told me before that it was a toxin in the body?”

“That’s another one.” The man who took off his coat early left only a vest and shirt, rolled up his sleeves, and adjusted his disordered breathing: “Here, he has a problem here.”

Randolph pointed to his head.

"I don't remember exactly when he started to forget. He can't even remember some small things, even what he had for lunch..."

Randolph pulled a narrow stool, tore off the cover, and sat down.

"In fact, I have long consulted doctors and ritualists of various sects..." The blue-purple eyes were filled with confusion: "They said that perhaps only ritualists of those two sects, people of that special path, could help my father..."

Randolph raised his head and faced Roland, calmly: "The ritualists who manipulate flesh and blood, and the sons of disaster who will cause plague when they pass by..."

"Is this why you have been so secretive all the way?" The young man with heavy golden eyes had no expression on his face, and spoke slower than usual: "I am glad you didn't do that, Randolph."

Randolph laughed.

Whenever Roland put on this kind of expression that made people unable to hear emotions or see joy or anger, it meant that he was very serious.

Having been with this dragon breeder for so long, Randolph has already figured out what kind of person he is.

"I didn't, Roland. I'm not a fool. Maybe the bad reputation of cults comes from themselves and from the orthodox religion. No one can say for sure - but I only remember my father saying that when you really desire, madly desire something, you must be alert to whether there are traps ahead..."

"He had contact with the executive when he was young, and he also told me to stay away from cultists."

Roland raised his eyebrows: "Old Mr. Taylor taught you how to judge cultists?"

"It's not a real 'judgment'," Randolph shrugged: "He said that anyone who makes you feel uncomfortable, disgusted, uncomfortable, disgusted or fearful from the bottom of your heart - either he gets out, or you get out, that's for sure."

"Mr. Taylor is a wise man," Roland couldn't help but sigh.

There's nothing wrong with this statement.

Going beyond the mysterious side and judging with the mortal's own feelings - to be honest, the accuracy is quite high.

Because the ritualists of the cradle of flesh and blood are so uncomfortable.

——Humans will not desecrate their own kind unless they are in desperate situations.

But that group of people did not think so.

"So, I will not find a few cultists to turn the entire manor into a bloody hell... or worse because of this disease."

If Randolph really did this, he would probably not know Roland in this way.

The Taylor family will also be completely over in this generation.

"So, there is no way to treat it?" Roland felt a little stuffy in the room, so he stood up and pushed the window open to let the wind in: "How much amnesia is there?"

Randolph lowered his head, and the breath that expanded his chest stopped for a moment, and then a gloomy breath blew out of his mouth.

"He... doesn't remember who he is."

This invisible voice quickly amplified in the bedroom like a shadow, swallowing up the light that was invited in.

Roland was silent too.

There was chaos outside the door, but it was as quiet as a dead city inside the door.

After a while, Roland rubbed his face: "You should have told me earlier, Randolph."

"Tell you? How could I not know? You are a doctor."

"If you told me earlier, I could come to visit Mr. Bellows Taylor earlier. Then, I could become his "son" earlier and inherit the Taylor family's wealth earlier - do you think I look like Roland Taylor?"

"Anyway, he doesn't remember it, so I have to be better than you?"

Randolph rolled the cloth into a ball and hit Roland's head.

"I thought you would comfort me!"

"I will come to comfort you after you are officially rejected by Miss Bronte."

Randolph: ...

Roland rubbed the ball of cloth and smiled so brightly that even the sun came to him.

In fact, what Randolph needs is not comfort - maybe he needed it before he discovered this symptom. Now, after so long, this man who is like a high-ring holy flame in the mall does not really long for a hug. Or a 'I understand your sadness'.

What's more, Roland couldn't understand it either.

He wished that his father would be resurrected on the spot, and then he would twist his head off bit by bit, and then resurrect and twist it off again.

"If Yam doesn't remember who she is one day, I will tell her that she is the illegitimate daughter of the Father of All Things - you can also try it, saying that he is the uncle of the Father of All Things... it would be fun."

Randolph looked around, grabbed a box of matches from the cupboard, and tried to smash them.

"You blasphemer, that was my father."

"But you are also his son, my brother," Roland smiled and suddenly lowered his voice. In those golden ambers, there was always something brilliant shining against the sunlight: "That's not your fault. Randolph. Like I told you before."

"Beatrice's illness is not your fault, and Mr. Bellows Taylor's illness is not your fault either."

"There is no Messiah in this world. Just like a son treating his father, suffering, struggling, and despairing. Then, when he dies, he continues to live with no expression on his face——"

"You can't carry all the sins on yourself and tear yourself into pieces."

"You are not the Messiah."

"You are not qualified to bear these sufferings that should not be borne by you."

Roland ignored the emotion in his eyes and the overflowing pain, and continued talking to himself: "Besides, the pain now is not pain, Randolph. One day we will actually invent a 'train' that can fly in the sky. , by then, you will be in more pain.”

"...A 'train' flying in the sky?" Randolph wondered.

What does this have to do with trains?

"Because then we can go to heaven and have a look. You bought the ticket, found a seat, and when you arrived in heaven, you found that Mr. Bellows Taylor... was not... there..."

Randolph: ...

Before Roland could finish speaking, he fell on the bed laughing.

"Fuck you, Roland. Do you have to do this?"

The sun shines through the green curtain and into the peaceful bedroom.

The chaos in my ears gradually faded away amid the laughter.

The furious businessman stared angrily at the young man who kept saying "hahaha", watching his gray hairband rub against the sheets, and his black hair spread freely like its owner, on the light ivory silk Slender branches grow out.

'You are so annoying, Roland Collins. ’

Randolph looked at his friend and saw him fully armed, carrying a flute, a trumpet and a small drum, beating and singing in his painful soul.