The quiet church under the night sky was especially beautiful, complementing the crimson moon suspended high above, coldly illuminating the earth. Leonard entered his own single room, removed his two red gloves, and tossed them onto the wooden table. He sat quietly at the window with patterned glass, facing away from the outside, bathed in moonlight. After a silent moment, he suddenly spoke softly, almost gritting his teeth: "So you're the 'parasite'!" The faint echo of his voice resonated in his own ears, carrying clear traces of evident anger, tension, bewilderment, and fear. In an instant, a slightly older voice rang directly in his mind: "That could be said." "What do you intend to do? Extract life from me, feeding on my very essence? Or wait until I grow strong enough to simply consume my unique qualities, as if cultivating a human potion?" Leonard spoke softly, yet his pace remained steady. The slightly weathered voice in his mind chuckled, saying: "I'm your fortune, aren't I? Haven't you always believed that? That you're unique, one of the central figures of this great age... Actually, you're not as confident or proud as you often appear. You've always been wary of me, haven't you? After I taught you the art of 'acting,' you never truly tried to explore it—your efforts were merely superficial and simple, taking a long time to fully absorb it. And you deliberately concealed it, never pursuing the 'Nightmare' elixir. It wasn't until you encountered the offspring of the True Creator and were struck by that revelation that you were willing to advance to Sequence 7, nearly losing your senses in regret. Leonard, reflect carefully—wouldn't I have been unaware of the Church of the Night Goddess? I've been interacting with them long before the city of Charnis was even born." I wouldn't have known the Church of the Goddess of Night had some understanding of the "Parasites," nor would I have imagined that "Red Glove" would hold certain secrets to guard against infiltration by high-sequence Exceptionals? Yet, did I ever stop you from joining the "Red Glove"? Leonard's expression flickered briefly before settling into silence—nothing more was said. A voice within his mind chuckled again: "Have you ever felt yourself aging faster than your actual age? Not at all. I'll at least live another hundred years, and I'm not eager to claim the host's life. As for your Exceptional trait—ah, we simply aren't on a replaceable, comparable path. If I consume it, I'd be drinking poison, growing half-mad, and increasing the likelihood of losing control. Would I really do that? 'Night' belongs in the same category as 'Giants' and 'Death,' while my own Exceptional path is focused on 'Apprentices' and 'Seers.' Leonard gazed at his silhouette cast by the crimson moonlight, silently pondering for a moment, then asked again: "What exactly do you wish to achieve? What is your purpose?" The slightly weathered voice in his mind sighed: "Didn't I already tell you? I've suffered severe injuries and must have a host to slowly recover. Moreover, I need to avoid a formidable enemy—the Watcher. The Night Goddess' Church is an excellent choice." Leonard raised his head and stared at the ceiling for several seconds, speaking with steady composure: "Will you be noticed by the Archbishop, the Senior Stewards, or some of the sealed objects?" The slightly weathered voice responded calmly: "If the 'Host' were so easily detectable, then Sister Cecima, the Senior Steward, wouldn't merely offer reminders without accompanying you for inspection." Of course, there are traces of the Parasite, and the Night Goddess Church can verify this, though it's quite complex, quite cumbersome, involving certain losses and significant risks—potentially even affecting their goddess herself. Therefore, until you become a Senior Steward and are qualified to attend the Church's highest-level council meetings and interact with certain Zero-Sealed Objects, you need not worry about this matter. By then, I should have fully recovered and begun my own journey." Leonard listened intently, then after a pause said: "You have a formidable enemy? Who is he?" A slightly weathered voice chuckled: "I don't know his first name, but I do know his surname..." "What is it?" Leonard asked. The slightly weathered voice suddenly grew low: "Amon." ... South District of the Bridge, 46 River Bend Avenue. The guests enjoying dinner heard the soft chime of the doorbell. The only maid arrived at the door and, peering through the cat's-eye above the door handle, saw a police officer in a black-and-white plaid uniform outside. She opened the door and asked with some hesitation, "Mr. Could I assist you in any way?" As a monster, as a non-human being, transferring to a new residence—especially when one of your companions has gone missing for several days—is the very basic operation! They must remain vigilant that Emlyn White might have been captured by the night watch, the penance officers, or other official extraordinary organizations, and they must assume he could reveal everything at any moment. Thus, what Klein needs to do is conduct a series of interviews. Maintaining the haughty demeanor of a lower-level police officer toward ordinary citizens, he kept his hat on and slightly raised his chin: "I have some questions for your host." The housemaid hurried inside and soon returned with a man in a casual, well-pressed shirt, in his thirties. "Officer, what would you like to know?" the host asked, his tone slightly tense. Klein stood at the doorway, glanced inside, and said: "Do you know the guest at apartment 48?" "I do," the host replied, slightly taken aback. "What happened to them?" "They're involved in a case," Klein said. "You must tell me everything you know—straight and clear." "Klein said with a serious expression. His facial features had been carefully disguised, with a subtle magical effect added to further distinguish him from the great detective Sherlock Moriarty. The host immediately realized: "That explains why they moved so hurriedly a month ago—most residents along the Riverbay Avenue and its surrounding neighborhoods knew the White couple and their son, a handsome but somewhat eccentric young man. Mr. White was an excellent internal medicine physician, renowned for his use of various remedies and bloodletting treatments." "Bloodletting?" Klein interjected. "Yes, though many newspapers and magazines have regarded it as an outdated and ineffective practice, patients who received treatment from Mr. White generally recovered. In fact, Mr. White himself noted that, aside from his own methods, the bloodletting practices of other physicians were nothing but fraudulent." The host elaborated. Was Mr. White simply accumulating food for himself? What actually matters is the medicine... This vampire family, relying on bloodletting therapy, treats patients while charging them "food" fees—only when there aren't enough patients or when the blood is particularly poor in quality do they consider going to a distant hospital to steal blood from blood bags? Compared to their monstrous status, they truly are quite law-abiding... Klein nodded in understanding. His intuitive perception of the emotional color shifts revealed that the man had not been lying. Seeing the officer hadn't challenged him, the husband continued: "Mr. White and his wife are both very kind and considerate. Though they can't cure the truly severe cases, they've already done an excellent job for us residents who live nearby. It's their child, Emlyn, who's involved in the case, isn't it? This young man is unusually quiet—he seems to look down upon us, always staying at home, doing whatever it is he's doing. Officer, are you feeling warm? It's so cold outside. Perhaps they're simply nocturnal creatures... Caine wiped his brow. "For this case, I've been walking around here for a long time!" Subsequently, following a carefully designed questionnaire, he gathered information from every angle about the Whit family and their son. He knocked on door after door, collected responses, and concluded that the Whit family was indeed kind, gentle, and law-abiding. This truly doesn't sound like a description of a vampire... Caine looked up at the red moon piercing through the clouds, intending to make a final confirmation. He removed the magical effects from his body and began his divination. Once he confirmed there was no danger, he walked around to the side and climbed into the house at 48 Riverbend Drive. While others, uncertain about who had taken Emlyn Whit, remained afraid of official supernatural agents making a future visit, Caine knew exactly what had happened, so he had no concerns about any traps. On the second floor, taking advantage of the moonlight, he observed that the rooms were cluttered, with many items left behind—enough to imagine how hurried the household had been in their departure. In the study, he even discovered some precious books on herbal medicine, including several folk remedies popular in the countryside. As he walked, he entered a bedroom, where a series of shadows came into view. Startled, he thought he had been ambushed and nearly tapped his fingers to light the match he had left outside. Fortunately, no attack occurred. The crimson moonlight streamed through the windows, filling the room, and only then could he clearly make out what the shadows were. They lacked any ethereal glow—they were simply figures of varying sizes, dolls! The largest one was only slightly shorter than himself, a young lady dressed in an elegant long gown, adorned with lace and ribbons at her sleeves and collar. This doll clearly resembled a wax figure, with lifelike features, golden hair, and bright eyes—graceful and strikingly beautiful. The smallest one was only as large as a normal person's palm—a graceful female clad in silver full armor, elegant and strikingly beautiful. As her gaze swept over each of the figures, Caine suddenly remembered something: Under Rosel's influence, figure art had developed in two distinct directions—first, toward endearing, customizable forms; second, toward greater realism. Caine glanced around, and couldn't help but exhaled: "These figures aren't cheap at all! Is Emlyn really a vampire who feeds on figure dolls?"