Under a dim, rosy moonlight, Emlin produced a small metal bottle, opened the cap, and took a long, gurgling sip. Then, he seemed to become shadow, drifting between the walls and floor, silently and swiftly following Rus Batthyány. As blood relatives, speed was always their hallmark. The two barons ran side by side through the dark alleys and dimly lit streets, reaching the bustling, cluttered East District in half an hour, and halted before an old apartment building. Watching Rus Batthyány choose to climb the pipe, moving with the quietest possible steps to the third floor, Emlin slowed his pace, not eager to trail too closely behind, for that would easily draw attention. After a thoughtful pause of two seconds, he produced a semi-transparent, perfume-like bottle, opened the cap, pressed down gently, and sprayed the liquid over himself. The magic potion’s sole function was to erase his own scent, blending seamlessly with the surroundings. Set down the bottle in his hands, Emlin then produced a small bronze-colored metal bottle, and drank the liquid inside in one smooth gulp. "Professor of Potions is so troublesome," he muttered, looking down to see his hands gradually becoming transparent, the bronze bottle now floating just ahead of his sleeve. When Emlin returned the small bottle to its place, only his suit, hat, and pair of unbuttoned, untied leather shoes remained—forming a human shape that moved and shifted in place. A second, fully transparent bottle resembling a perfume flask floated out and hovered in the air, pressing itself automatically with a steady hiss, spraying the potion evenly onto the garments. One by one, the outlines of the suit, hat, and shoes faded, until they vanished completely. Emlin, now fully invisible, glanced toward the room where Rus Batthyány had entered, and then silently, without a sound, climbed the pipes at top speed, following him. With the window half open, he drifted silently into the room like a transparent cloud, moving without a single ripple, settling in the corner and observing the slender, refined face of Rus Bartoli as he searched for his target. Rus's brow gradually furrowed, for the room was utterly empty—not only of people, but even the mosquitoes that had begun to be active recently in the past week. The baron of the bloodline could be certain, however, that "the Moon Puppet" was here. Suddenly, a creaking sound broke the stillness. The room's door swung back, and a woman in a long black gown entered slowly, gazing at Rus Bartoli with a wavering tone: "Are you looking for someone?" Emlin turned to follow the sound, and there she was—deeply tanned, with fine, long eyebrows and soft contours, her lips sagging noticeably—exactly the target, Windsor. Yet in Emlyn’s eyes, this devout follower of the "Primordial Moon" had already undergone certain changes compared to the figure in the portrait. Now her eyes were curved, her brows arched, her lips curled—mirroring the current, crimson moon. Her forehead, cheeks, neck, and the exposed skin of her body were covered with clumps of dry, grass-like tufts and blooms, dense and clustered, one after another. …Oh, what on earth had Rus Batthyány sold her? How had she transformed into this state? Emlyn was startled, her hair follicles along the back of her neck standing upright. At the same time, tufts of dry grass and wilting blooms began to sprout from the floor, walls, doorway, and ceiling, forming thick, dense clusters. They completely isolated the room from the outside world, creating an eerie atmosphere. Rus Batthyány sensed the danger and, without attempting conversation, immediately drew forth a small metal bottle, took a long, steady sip of its contents, and then—clink!—closed it with a soft snap. He set the bottle aside, his body dragging behind a trailing shadow as he lunged toward the transformed Windsor. His fingernails lengthened, and black mist swirled around him. The tufts of dry grass and the dried Windsor, embedded like a large doll, advanced at the same swift pace, completely indifferent to the injuries it sustained, and launched a decisive paw straight at Rus Batthyány. Thump! Thump! Thump! A series of impacts sent Rus Batthyány flying, crashing into the wall. His sleeves were torn, and visible beneath the skin were claw marks revealing bone. Yet between the flesh, the dry grass and the flowers were slowly growing outward! What a monster... Emlyn had never encountered such an opponent before, and had remained huddled in the corner, nearly forgetting to assist. He had not rushed forward impulsively, but instead swiftly considered various strategies as he observed the battle between Rus Batthyány and the Windsor. Most astonishing of all were the dry grass and the flowers—the dry grass and the flowers—the dry grass and the flowers—surely they should fear fire! Emlin's eyes lit up, and immediately shed his invisibility, pulling out another small metal bottle, opening the lid, and gulping down the liquid. With a sudden burst, he expelled all the liquid from his mouth. As the grayish-red droplets met the air, they instantly ignited, spreading out into hot flames that cascaded and intertwined, transforming the room into a vast ocean of crimson fire. With a crackling sound, dry grass and flowers, like sun-baked leaves, caught flame one after another, rapidly spreading the fire to their neighbors. Within just a few seconds, the sealed environment began to crumble, and the dry grass and leaves on Windsor's body also caught fire. At this moment, Rus Bartoli's chest had been torn open, losing most of his strength and relying solely on the vampire's exceptional healing abilities to stay afloat. Observing the torch-like enemies, Emlin keenly sensed their fading vitality and, without hesitation, charged forward, circling around Windsor, delivering a series of swift strikes. Black energy rose from the soles of his feet, winding around the devotee of the primordial moon, as if shackles imbued with life. Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Suddenly, two figures drew close. All movement ceased. Emlyn seized Windsor’s throat with his left hand, lifting her. Pausing for a moment, seeing the fierce expression on her face, he snapped her neck with a crisp sound. Crash! A slender, small puppet, adorned with dried grass and withered twigs, fell to the floor from Windsor’s body. The flames within the room gradually subsided. Emlyn pulled off Windsor’s transformed head, turned his body, and faced Ruszt Bartók, who was gasping heavily. With his right hand resting gently on his chest, he smiled and bowed gracefully. “Thank you for your assistance.” Seeing Rus Batouri grow angry and then unable to seize the initiative, Emlin felt exceptionally pleased and added, "Don't forget to deliver that puppet and its remarkable properties to the大人 Niabes—there are issues with both of them." As he spoke, black mist coalesced behind him, forming two ethereal bat wings. With a rustle, the wings flapped, and Emlin turned, taking flight through the window, landing in a nearby shadowed alley. Once he steadied himself on the ground, he absorbed the gathered black mist and glanced back. Seeing Rus Batouri hadn't followed, Emlin exhaled in relief, clenched his fists against his mouth, and coughed while murmuring, "I hate fire! I hate smoke!" As he was about to move away from the eastern district, a sudden coolness washed over him from behind. Emlin instantly tensed, holding the head of the Windsor variant, and slowly turned to face the shadow in the corner. First, he saw a small dark silhouette standing there. Then he made out the figure clearly: slender and tall, like a wooden post, with eyes and mouth curved into a crescent moon, its surface embedded with numerous dry grasses and twigs—exactly the "Moon Puppet" from the room before! It had wrapped itself around him... What kind of object was this? The place was still far from Lord Nibais's residence... The outside was truly dangerous. A cascade of thoughts surged through Emlyn's mind, sending a chill down his spine and tightening his muscles. As his thoughts flickered, an inspiration struck him. He fixed his gaze on the "Moon Puppet" and spoke softly in ancient Hermes tongue: "O fool of a time unbound; O sovereign of mysteries above the gray mist; O King of fortune, of yellow and black..." What about Emlin White? Klein glanced at him, his spiritual awareness spreading out, reaching toward the deep red star symbolizing "the Moon." Instantly, he saw Emlin in a stiff posture, gazing at a slender, odd-looking puppet. Upon the puppet's body, a rich yet ethereal crimson moonlight flowed like tides, gently rising and falling, establishing a connection with something in the sky. At that moment, this crimson moonlight spread silently, gradually enveloping Emlin White. There was a problem—this puppet had a significant issue. Without hesitation, Klein, having glimpsed more through the gray mist, promptly drew the "Sea God's Staff" from the clutter and into his own hands. The sapphire-blue gem at the top of the bone staff lit up one by one, radiating brilliant light. ... After reciting the honored name of the "Knight of the Fool" and requesting aid, Emlin felt his already cool blood growing colder, gradually beginning to freeze. This made his body instantly stiffen, as he watched the "Moon Acrobat" waddle steadily toward him. At that moment, silver flashes erupted in the half-space of the alley, dispelling all gloom and darkness. Crack! The lightning coiled into a mass and struck the "Moon Acrobat," engulfing it in a surge of silver light. The glow faded swiftly, and the strange figure lay lifeless, blackened and stripped of its ornaments, while the blood within Emlyn no longer froze but began to flow again. Having quickly regained his mobility, Emlyn realized the "Fool" was still observing him and hurriedly asked in a low voice: "Shall I offer you something? Or perhaps I may dedicate something to you?" He had always believed the "Fool" adhered to the principle of equivalent exchange, so he assumed that requesting aid would entail a corresponding cost. After a brief silence, he saw the boundless gray mist and the faint, indistinct forms, and heard the dignified voice from above: "The Acrobat." "Very well." Emlin took two steps forward, bent down to pick up the puppet, then swiftly attended to the scene before leaving the eastern district. Meanwhile, Caine returned to the real world only after carefully using the paper angel to disrupt the divination. As he prepared to go back to sleep, he was startled to find the moonlight now bright and vivid, as if stained with blood. Hmm... Caine walked to the window and looked out—there, the crescent moon had transformed into a full, crimson orb, like blood. Another "Blood Moon." ... "Blood Moon?" Aljer Wilson looked up at the sky, composed himself, and walked steadily toward the Thunder Church ahead—his place of report tomorrow. Meanwhile, atop the towering mountain at the heart of the island, there stood another church known as "The Depths of the Storm"—the very headquarters of the Storm Church, the sanctuary within a sanctuary.