At 10 o'clock tonight... Caine glanced at the messenger girl standing in place, then walked to his desk, unfolded a sheet of white paper, and wrote: "I'll be on time. Also, the situation in Bakersfield has been tense lately—please keep a close watch." After reminding Sharon, Caine folded the letter, then pulled out a gold coin from his pocket and a rectangular crystal that continuously refracted light. "This is the 'Reverie' sigil—it allows you to temporarily draw upon the strength of your past self." Caine handed all three items to Renette Tiniel. Renette Tiniel, holding one of the golden-haired, red-eyed figures, opened her mouth and bit down on all three items, while the remaining three spoke in turn: "Why..." "Give..." "I..." "Consider this part of your advance payment," Caine said calmly. Arodes, the Magic Mirror, had reminded him that he should make more preparations. Renee Tynicol didn't ask any further questions. The four vividly beautiful heads, held by the hands, swayed up and down in unison. Then, He stepped into the void and vanished from the room. "That was a bookstore. The owner was Charles Rake, a pure-blooded Ruin native. However, when he was younger, he had traveled once to the Southern Continent, hoping to become wealthy there. There, he became a member of the Rose School and a devoted follower of the 'God of the Bound,' and was subsequently assigned back to Beckland to gather intelligence and assist other Rose School members on their missions. We had closely monitored him for a long time, intending to eliminate him and cut off the Rose School's intelligence flow, thereby creating a more favorable environment for our own survival. Yet, in the end, we decided to hold off." Emelyn said with a smile. "It turns out that patience often yields better results. "Hm, frankly, your demeanor differs from my expectations of a restrained, 'Fury' type. I thought you'd be quite reserved in your words." Mariach glanced at the vampire across from him, who was reportedly now a count. "Each person has their own personality, and restraint is simply about managing desires that exceed their limits." "On this matter, if I didn't explain so clearly, I'd worry you wouldn't understand, which might affect the final outcome—thus, the virtue of 'temperance' would exceed its proper measure." Ah, quite philosophical, though I don't need you to draw an example from me... Emlyn lounged casually against the carriage wall, gazing at his companion and said, "Let's continue with the topic we began earlier." Marič once again looked out the window. "At Charles Reck's home, there is a housemaid from the Pas Valley, who is also a member of the Rose School. Additionally, in the two houses directly across from Reck's bookstore, there live a widow and a man who suffers from alcoholism—both are devoted followers of the 'God of the Bound,' and will deliver critical intelligence to the Rose School at crucial moments. Your task, then, is to quietly monitor these three individuals as we work against Charles Reck, and through the flow of information, identify the Rose School's key representative in Beckettland." "Of course, we'll certainly give Charles Rake some opportunities to call for help or send a signal," Emlyn nodded slightly. "I understand." He then turned his head toward the overcast sky, where the red moon was invisible, and rotated the ring on his left ring finger—the one set with a deep blue gemstone. This was the "Vow of the Rose" ring, which allowed Count Mistral to share his vision, hearing, and sense of smell. As the ring turned once around, it returned to Emlyn's hand—though only temporarily. Thus, the words Mariqui had just spoken had now been heard by the Count and shared with the other vampire participants. Emlyn had originally assumed that, though he would only serve as a liaison, he at least could demonstrate a few spell-like abilities drawn from the "Deep Red Scholars," thereby presenting himself with dignity when delivering messages to the "spirit of resentment" Marič. Yet, he found himself doing nothing at all—merely wearing the ring and arriving at the scene. This left him deeply disheartened, feeling like nothing more than a mere tool. Not even close to a half-god, he lacked the qualification to directly participate in many matters, let alone to save his people. At this moment, Emlyn felt a growing sense of impatience, realizing that his current level did not match his hidden status, nor could he yet shoulder the responsibilities he was meant to bear. As for the effect of the "Rose Oath," which occasionally caused thoughts to surface in one wearer's mind and appear in the other's, Emlyn had no concerns—having already requested that the "Justice" lady perform a hypnotic induction, he ensured that tonight he would not be burdened with thoughts that should remain private to the noble bloodline. As soon as his thought settled, a voice belonging to Count Mirtral suddenly echoed in his mind: "Arrogant, immature, naive..." Ah, this was the "Vow of the Rose" randomly transmitting certain thoughts from Count Mirtral. Hm. In his heart, Emlyn gave a quiet chuckle and began silently repeating a name over and over again: "Oneas Bojal... Oneas Bojal..." This nobleman had been under Mirtral's protection, hypnotized, and had spent a long time volunteering at the Harvest Church. At that moment, Mariqi glanced at Emlyn's expression and nodded: "Your current demeanor gives me greater confidence." So serious, so respectful, so focused. Ah? Emlyn was momentarily startled, then gently lifted a corner of his mouth: "Thank you." … The second floor of the bookstore was Charles Rake’s home. The businessman, now past fifty, had lost both his parents and had never married; it was said he had several children from outside marriages, though none of them lived with him. After instructing the male and female servants to check that all doors and windows were securely locked, he returned to his bedroom, poured himself a glass of red wine, and sat on the sofa, sipping it leisurely—a habit he always maintained before going to bed. Once the wine was finished, Charles Rake stood up and walked toward the bathroom. As he passed by the full-length mirror in the bedroom, he glanced casually. Then, suddenly, his body went rigid. In the mirror, his face had grown unusually pale, his eyes were markedly sunken with fresh red streaks along the edges, and a dark red hue lined his lips. As a member of the Rose School, Charles Rake was accustomed to such appearances and did not scream or rush about as most people would; instead, he simply raised his right hand and extended it toward his chest. As soon as he made contact with the piece of jewelry he was wearing, his body seemed to plunge into an eternal ice cavern, growing cold from the inside out. This cold, alive with presence, swiftly spread, filling every corner of Charles Reck's being, making him feel as though his joints and muscles no longer belonged to him but were instead obeying someone else's commands. At that moment, it felt as if an entirely new person had entered his body—an icy, hazy, and hostile entity that took over all functions beyond thought. Charles Reck simultaneously observed a transformation in his reflection: two figures now appeared within his eyes, both young men dressed in white shirts and black coats. With the initial touch made by his right hand, a brilliant glow suddenly erupted before him. This radiance seemed to emanate from a miniature "sun," casting light and warmth outward. Charles Reck immediately felt warmth, no longer dominated by the internal cold, and murmured a single word clearly: "Purification!" The miniature "sun" on his chest grew increasingly radiant, its glow like warm water flowing inward, rippling outward in concentric waves. Charles Rake regained control over his body and immediately abandoned the door, sprinting toward the window area. The curtains there had not yet been drawn, and a light drizzle fell outside, blurring the glow of the streetlights. Tiptoe! As Charles Rake passed through the carpeted tea table and sofa area, his feet suddenly gave way, and he nearly stumbled. The carpet seemed to come alive, coiling and wrapping tightly around his ankles! Thud! The tea table launched into the air, hurling the bone china cups and various documents straight onto Charles Rake’s face, shattering him into a strangely fragmented, puppet-like figure. In that instant, Charles Rake emerged on the other side, still trembling with residual fear, and continued to sprint furiously. He had never hated his bedroom so much. Tiptoe! As pens flew hither and thither, paper shattering in the air, Charles Rake finally reached the window. A devout believer, he did not immediately break through the pane but instead grasped the curtain and pulled it sharply. At the same time, he pressed his other hand against the gas pipe. Instantly, a layer of white frost formed on the dark metallic surface. Crackle—the glass window before him shattered on its own, each fragment launching like a bullet, striking Charles Rake’s face with such force that not a single patch of his skin remained intact, and blood burst forth in a geyser from his neck. Charles Rake’s eyes dimmed, and he collapsed backward, gasping and shouting, yet his voice failed to reach the room. At this moment, a female servant from the southern continent, stationed in another room, noticed the gas wall lamp’s light trembling. She immediately turned and looked toward the location of the employer, where she saw the gas pipe now covered in a thick layer of white frost. Inside a house across from Charles Rake, a man with a bulbous nose, sleeves rolled up and murmuring to himself as he drank, suddenly noticed that the curtains here were only partially drawn. In their established code between him and Charles Rake, fully drawn or fully open curtains signaled no issues; partial draw—curtains drawn only on one side—indicated an urgent situation requiring immediate notification to higher-ups. He leapt to his feet instantly. P.S. Recommend a startup novel: *The Self-Rescue Plan of the Fish Out of Water*, a story about rising to prominence through a short video media platform.