The scene of the tender pink Cistanche wriggling its sprouting tendrils out from the skull's fissure had left a rather profound impression on Terence, one could say unforgettable.
The posture of those parasitic sprouting tendrils possessed a kind of heart-gripping, strange and fantastical quality... resembling budding flower buds holding pistils and petals, wantonly blooming with a peculiarly vivid vitality.
"The Mistress of Attendants of the Burial Attendants?" A flicker of surprise passed through Rosalia's eyes.
In her common knowledge, high-ranking vampires generally corresponded to supervisor-level Secrets-Hunters. The idea that a mere Mistress of Attendants could single-handedly reduce a potentially titled vampire to this state in a one-on-one confrontation... felt somewhat fantastical no matter how one thought about it.
"Perhaps you've heard the name Ahern Moira."
Seeing Rosalia's skeptical expression, Terence cleared his throat lightly, offering a slight reminder.
"The Burial Primus..." Hearing the identical surname, Rosalia narrowed her eyes, already vaguely guessing the specifics.
The name of the Chief Hunter possessed a certain fear-inducing magic. No amount of verbal embellishment could match the simple deterrent power of the two words "Ahern Moira."
"Just as you suspect, Sister Haida is Ahern's daughter. Based on my experience working with her on several occasions, she is fully capable of defeating head-on a high-ranking vampire. Even if the opponent masters more than two vampiric secret arts."
Terence adjusted his glasses, adding in a teasing tone, "If you'd like to meet her, I can introduce you."
"Cough! That... won't be necessary for now."
Rosalia hastily waved her hands, politely declining his offer.
Even though vampires had become vassals under the Molting Moon's skirt, the Secrets-Hunters had never relaxed their vigilance towards them. This was the caution the Hunters had consistently upheld since ancient times.
This was also why silver bullets were still part of the Burial Attendants' standard armament...
"Ms. Rosalia, the secret letter previously sent by the Moon's Favored mentioned you could identify this nameless corpse?"
Terence composed his expression, his gaze glancing towards the vampire corpse in the coffin.
"Yes, extracting information from blood is the Nolaria family's secret art." Saying this, Rosalia approached Byers's body.
"That's also why I'm the one meeting you today."
She extended her lustrous and sharp fingernail, carving obscure vampiric prayer text onto the skin of Byers's chest.
A few drops of deep red blood gathered at the center of the prayer, and his flesh instantly withered and shriveled.
Once the last vestiges of life force within him were fully condensed into the blood droplets, Rosalia parted her vermilion lips and swallowed them.
"Cough!"
Even with ample mental preparation, her expression instantly became rather varied and complex.
The foul stench of decaying flesh, the pungent astringency of aldehyde preservatives, and the strange taste of sewer residue... Rosalia had to pinch her throat to keep from vomiting immediately.
"Are you alright..."
Even the experienced Terence couldn't help feeling a twinge of concern witnessing this.
"Huff, huff. I'm fine. No need to worry."
Rosalia naturally noticed her loss of composure and quickly raised a hand to cover her mouth, steadying her disordered breathing. But she still couldn't completely control intermittent dry heaves.
She was not yet thirty, quite young for a vampire. Therefore, she couldn't completely overcome human instincts.
"Don't push yourself. Drink something normal to ease it..."
Terence, looking somewhat askance, took a bag of medical blood plasma from a nearby cabinet, cut it open, poured it into a white porcelain cup, and handed it to her.
"Thank you." Rosalia took the cup, drank the blood in one go, and then let out a long sigh of relief.
The taste of those few blood drops was like gnawing on raw a bloated corpse full of maggots and flies, nearly destroying her psychological defenses the moment it entered her mouth.
Fortunately, it wasn't in vain.
Through the lingering spirit and memories within those drops of blood, she had already learned this corpse's identity.
"Byers Nolaria."
"He is a third-generation descendant of a collateral branch of the Nolaria family, holding the title of Viscount. In terms of clan relations, he is a distant relative of mine. He disappeared in Attila a century ago, fate unknown. Suspected to have been captured."
"I see."
Terence rubbed the silver ring on his index finger, his tone carrying a hint of understanding.
"All evidence points to the Sun-Forgers Cult; they can't escape responsibility no matter what. But clearly, the Red Cup's problem is greater..."
Whether Byers was a Sun-Forgers mercenary or spy was utterly irrelevant.
The only important fact was that he was captured by some entity lurking in Norlington's shadows and had consciousness-devouring Cistanche planted in his brain.
Even the "Cup's Servants" that descended via the Red Cup's first-category rituals have perished and fallen. Do they still have High Priests daring to show themselves?
No, perhaps it was a contingency left during the Hidden Moon period. But abandoned for some reason... only discovered recently when it completely lost control.
"Mr. Terence. May I ask if the information I provided can prove the Moon's Favored had nothing to do with this matter?"
Seeing Terence lost in thought, Rosalia lightly clapped her hands with a slight smile.
"It is sufficient. If it weren't for the involvement of the Red Cup, we wouldn't wish to doubt our covenant partners. Here, we express our gratitude for your sincerity and assistance. May the Budding Moon forever adorn the night sky."
Terence gave a slight bow to Rosalia, performing the White Cup's old rite from the time of the Budding Moon Covenant signing, standard and fluid.
—
[Prototype Chimera Spine II (Flawed Product)]
[Quality: Ordinary]
[Effect: Through iteration, this product, besides using the Haemonculi technology, mechanized biology, and genetic programming from the first generation, also incorporates a compatibility framework stabilizer for alien psychic energy. This greatly enhances the product's overall stability, preventing user mutation.]
[Note: "For this framework stabilizer to work, you must constantly believe the device is stable and maintain psychic energy supply... otherwise, it will go on strike. Once it strikes, this entire spine will become scrap inside your body."]
"Rated as a pure toy."
Fran casually tossed the second-generation product into a nearby storage box. This time she didn't disassemble it into parts, because even toys have their value...
Judging by this product's specifics, probably only Orks would meet the usage criteria. But if you actually gave it to the greenskins to play with, it might accidentally create new Ork Mekboyz.
Then she'd become the behind-the-scenes investor for happy greenskins charging into the universe...
Fran tapped her temple with a knuckle, dispelling the less serious thoughts.
"Experience and parameters have accumulated enough; time for the technical assault... Complete the final version within ten generations!"
—
"Basic theory confirmed complete."
"Technical framework construction complete."
"Experimental model operating well."
Fran licked her lips, suppressing the surging excitement, her amber eyes seemingly aflame.
Academic research and product iteration were ultimately a long and tedious process. Even handled entirely by Fran, it was hard to accomplish in one leap.
After nearly completely abandoning food and sleep, engaging in tireless assault-style R&D for over half a month... she finally reached the final stage of this project.
However, before assembling the final product, Fran decided to rest for a while.
Oh, like stopping abruptly at the very last moment—any normal person would be bursting at this point. But clearly, she wasn't within the "normal person" category.
Stopping research now, besides relieving taut nerves and giving the mind proper relaxation... also left some time for Fran to seek additional inspiration before the work was finally settled.
After all, her goal was to complete it before the next quarterly consultation, and there were still nearly two months until the end of December.
"Ah... staying in the operating room for fifteen days straight is really a bit hard to take."
Fran rubbed her slightly bluish eye circles, then detached the two spare arms connected at her shoulder blades along the black seams and stored them back in the cabinet beside the operating room.
The vast majority of her body was modularly designed and individually detachable. This was also why she could remain alive last time during the quarterly consultation in future Norlington with just a head.
Fran pushed open the metal bolt of the operating room, removed the heavy polar bear-like hazmat suit, covering her mouth as she yawned.
After a simple wash, I'll go sleep. It's been almost half a month without sleep; I've almost forgotten what a bed and blanket feel like...
Speaking of which, Sister Haida hasn't come to Fog Street Clinic during this time.
Perhaps my "reminder" troubled her?
"Three" is a very interesting number; she should easily be able to associate it with that deity.
Oh, wait. The revised editions of Crimson Visage over the past century seem to have omitted the concepts of sacred numbers and sacred times... Meaning even if Haida has read this introductory-level Skin Creed scripture, she likely doesn't know the specific Red Cup sacred number.
In that case, her inability to reach a conclusion in a short time is indeed reasonable.
Lost in thought, Fran walked through the corridor towards her bedroom. Halfway there, she heard Sigrid's hurried footsteps.
"Doctor Fran, is the finished product complete?"
The maid came before Fran, her sparkling golden eyelashes fluttering slightly, her expression carrying a hint of hopeful inquiry.
"It's in the final stage. Mmm... But before assembly, I plan to go back and catch up on sleep first. Perhaps there will be new inspiration?"
Fran playfully raised an eyebrow, not particularly concerned with decorum as she stretched her waist. The exquisitely tailored little suit under her white coat tightened slightly, vaguely revealing her slender and graceful figure.
Like a feline animal napping under the afternoon sun, wantonly displaying laziness and contentment.
"Mhm. You truly need good rest." Sigrid pursed her lips, then took out from behind her a bone scalpel of a pallid white hue.
The blade and handle of the scalpel were inscribed with tiny and obscure Sun-Forgers prayer text, small and exquisite.
"Doctor Fran, this is my improved version of the wraithbone scalpel. Please accept it for now. If there are any flaws or design defects, I can remelt and recast it."
Though she said this, Sigrid's attitude towards forging was even more rigorous than Fran's, almost nitpicky. Naturally, works from her hands wouldn't have quality issues.
"Mmm~ Thank you very much for the gift, Sigrid."
Fran took the wraithbone scalpel, carefully examined the Sun-Forgers prayer text inscribed on it, lightly running a fingertip over its silver-mirror-like cutting edge.
[Wraithbone Lancet (Maker: Sigrid)]
[Quality: Fine]
[Effect: As a crystallization of the Immaterium, wraithbone has good psychic affinity, allowing it to cut spiritual and dream entities. This instrument utilizes Sun-Forging smithing techniques, enabling its blade to generate localized ultra-high temperatures.]
[Note: "A gift from a certain clinic maid."]
—
"It's beautiful. Both the forging and the inscriptions are flawless."
Fran placed the scalpel in her medicine case, then extended her hand to lightly stroke Sigrid's head in encouragement. Her hair was pure and rich gold, soft to the touch with a faint, sunlight-like warmth.
"It's good if Doctor Fran likes it."
Seeing Fran put the scalpel in the medicine case, Sigrid lowered her head, curving her lips slightly into a faint smile.
Though Sigrid was nominally the maid of Fog Street Clinic, in practice... Fran took care of her more often, like a gentle elder. Therefore, she always wanted to provide some help within her familiar field for Fran.
"Alright, then good night, Sigrid. If the alarm doesn't wake me tomorrow morning, I'll trouble you to call me."
After briefly instructing about tomorrow's matters, Fran closed her bedroom door.
Removing the large white physician's coat and under-shirt, leaving only underwear, Fran ran her fingertips from her thigh to her ankle, then tossed a pair of to-be-washed black stockings into a storage bucket.
Completing the disrobing pre-sleep preparations, she then heavily collapsed onto her bed, burying herself completely in the soft down blanket.
Fran was truly somewhat tired, to the extent that she even cast aside her habitual night reading.
Though she could control physiological needs like sleep at the genetic level, appropriately transforming into a Kirby-like creature for deep hibernation could indeed greatly improve one's mental state.
—
The autumn night breeze brushed against the thin cloud veil. The streetlights on both sides of the street shone with bright yellow glimmer. Sandbank Street was bleak and deserted, with few pedestrians.
The vigil previously set up by the White Cup Cult regarding Byers had been lifted, but the impact he caused had not yet dissipated.
While anyone with a bit of common sense knew the absurd tale of "the man-eating crocodile in the sewers" couldn't be true, the officially reported missing person cases couldn't be falsified... People really did disappear.
In such circumstances, naturally no one wished to linger long on the streets at night.
This also meant Will's bookstore practically only had business during the day.
"No guests have come to read books these past few nights; perhaps I should also close up early..."
Old Will sat inside the bookstore counter, slowly wiping his glasses lenses. The dim, confused lamplight illuminated the wrinkles on his cheeks, revealing a touch of age.
His grandson's tuition was still a bit short, but there was still time before the next academic year. Saving up should suffice... Hopefully, business will be better in the coming months.
Tap, tap, tap.
Just as the old man was checking the ledger and various receipts, he heard rapid, low, heavy boot steps from the street.
+++
T/N: Hey readers~! New Translator here! Before I say anything, I'd first like to thank the original author for creating this wonderful story. Without them, I wouldn't have the chance to share this adventure with you. I hope my translation does justice to their work, and that together, we can enjoy this story.
With that said, I'm happy to let you know I'll be uploading daily chapters. And for those who wish to support my work and gain early access, I've set up a Patreon where advanced chapters will be available.
[email protected]/PeakTL