Episode 3

Although Rosanna had assured Vlad that she would behave, enduring the dull christening ceremony was nothing short of torture.

“Why are they pouring water on the baby’s head? I just don’t get it.”

Vampires who lived among humans often adopted religious practices as a form of camouflage. It wasn’t that they genuinely believed; rather, they chose a religion from their homeland to blend in. Rosanna, too, was nominally a believer, but she had no interest in doctrines or worship. She didn’t even understand the significance of the rituals. So, naturally, time dragged on unbearably.

“When will this end…?”

Unable to contain her boredom, she yawned and mumbled softly, earning glares from those around her. Maybe she could step outside for a while and kill time, then come back to greet the Count of Haywood’s family after the ceremony.

In the end, Rosanna slipped out of the ceremony. Stepping outside Ingdberry Cathedral, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Finally, I can breathe. This solemn atmosphere really doesn’t suit me.”

The myths about vampires being weak to crosses or sunlight were just that—myths. However, there was something about cathedrals that made Rosanna feel uneasy.

She circled the cathedral once and then sat down on a nearby bench. It was a rare moment of tranquility. Since settling in Britna, she had been constantly burdened with childcare duties, and it had been ages since she’d experienced such quiet.

Rosanna had likely exhausted herself playing the role of caregiver in place of Vlad, who worked at the law office, and Tanesia, who copied letters at the post office. The solitude felt as sweet as honey. She savored the silence, free of Henry’s constant chatter.

“He’s cute and not too much trouble, but… he talks way too much.”

Lately, listening to Henry’s endless babbling had her feeling like her ears might start bleeding.

“It’s so quiet here. I should come back more often.”

Just as she was starting to enjoy the idea of having found a personal retreat, a sudden wave of nausea hit her. Her pulse quickened, thudding loudly in her ears—a clear sign that something was wrong.

Alarmed, Rosanna tried to stand, only to stumble. She barely managed to steady herself by gripping the back of the bench, but the dizziness wouldn’t subside.

‘Dizziness? But I’ve had enough blood recently…’

As she tried to catch her breath, Rosanna’s gaze fell on the fountain behind the bench. Her reflection in the water showed not her usual gray-blue eyes, but ruby-red ones.

Damn. Rosanna cursed under her breath. Vampires’ eyes changed color when they fed or used their powers. For her eyes to change now, when she had done neither, was a sign that something was very wrong. She needed to leave before anyone saw her…

Just then, she heard footsteps approaching.

“Sister, are you all right?”

A glimpse of black clerical robes entered her downward gaze. Of all times, why did it have to be a clergyman? Of course, he wouldn’t just walk past someone who looked unwell, which made the situation all the more troublesome.

“Go… ha…”

Rosanna wanted to snap at him to leave, but all she could manage were ragged breaths.

“You seem to be struggling.”

As the man moved closer, a faint scent of blood reached her along with his scent. He seemed to have an injury, as his outstretched fingers were wrapped in bandages. The scent of blood seeping through the bandages triggered her senses.

This is bloodlust.

Rosanna quickly clamped her hand over her nose and mouth, a wave of shame crashing over her.

The Enache, blessed by the great ancestor, unable to control their desires like some lowly vampire? Impossible. But with her reason slipping away and no understanding of why this was happening, she knew she had to resolve the situation quickly before she lost control and attacked the man.

“If you’re feeling unwell, I can fetch some medicine…”

“Don’t… ugh… just go!”

Rosanna swatted his hand away, keeping her head down. Even that brief contact intensified her thirst.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable… Please, at least use this.”

The man, having retreated without further protest, placed something on the bench before leaving.

“Well, I’ll be going now.”

The man’s voice remained gentle to the end. As he walked away, Rosanna’s tension eased, and she collapsed onto the bench, feeling the strange symptoms gradually subside.

“What the hell was that?”

Only after she regained some stability did she notice the handkerchief left beside her. Picking it up, she brought it to her nose, and the scent she had noticed earlier wafted into her nostrils. It was the smell of autumn sunshine on a golden field, warm and intensely captivating—a scent that made her want to keep inhaling.

*Was the bloodlust triggered by that man? Because of his addictive scent?*

Rosanna gripped the handkerchief tightly. Something rough brushed against her fingertips, and she noticed an embroidery at the corner of the cloth.

“K. M. Basil.”

The initials looked like a name, and the cursive script, likely added later, seemed to be a baptismal name.

“…Basilio.”

* **

Kyle walked away from Ingdberry Cathedral, his feet moving forward while his thoughts lingered behind. He couldn’t shake the image of the woman on the bench from his mind.

She had told him not to worry, but he couldn’t help it. She had looked too ill to even raise her head to speak. Her hands, gripping the bench, were pale and delicate. Her breath had trembled as if it took all her strength just to breathe.

Leaving her there unsettled him. But before he could decide whether to go back or if that would be overstepping, he arrived at his destination.

“Father Basilio! Over here, over here!”

Matteo was waving enthusiastically from the café terrace. It had been a year since Kyle had last seen him, but Matteo looked much the same as when they had lived together in the seminary. Only his elegant gentleman’s attire reflected his new circumstances.

Kyle, who had once been a theology student, now sat across from his friend, who had taken over the family business after his brother’s death. A warm smile spread across both of their faces.

“I haven’t even been ordained a deacon yet.”

“Oh, don’t be so modest. You’re a future priest, after all. You’ll rise through the ranks to become an archbishop, maybe even a cardinal. Everyone says so. Bishop Johan has high hopes for you.”

“Please, don’t say that.”

“Why, does it make you nervous?”

“Honestly… You seem more rebellious without your clerical robes.”

Matteo leaned back in his chair, exaggerating his movements with a grin.

“This was always the real me. After following my father around and learning the business, I smoke cigars, drink, play cards—I’m enjoying the pleasures and freedoms of life.”

Despite his words, Kyle knew Matteo was seriously committed to his new role as the heir. He was responsible and dedicated.

“Aren’t you busy? I heard there’s a huge demand for tea.”

“It’s a madhouse. Here, take this tin. It’s Darjeeling, only the finest leaves.”

With the economic boom and the rise of tea culture, Matteo’s family was making a fortune in the tea trade. Though of common origin, they were now wealthier than many gentry.

But thinking of Matteo, who had once studied theology with deep piety, made Kyle feel a bit wistful. He wondered what might have happened if Matteo had continued down the path of the priesthood. But such thoughts were pointless now.

“Kyle, how are you? You look thin—something on your mind?”

“I suppose… I’m feeling anxious with the ordination interview coming up.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not sure if this is the right path for me. I don’t feel confident.”

“Are you tempted by life outside the church? Need to talk it over? It’s normal to have doubts.”

Kyle shook his head.

“If it’s truly a calling to become a priest, I don’t think I’m worthy.”

Matteo straightened up, sensing the gravity of Kyle’s confession.

“I grew up in the orphanage run by the church… so this path is all I’ve ever known. But sometimes I wonder if I really had a choice. Can I truly serve the Lord with such uncertainty in my heart?”

Kyle had been abandoned at birth, likely due to a superstition that a baby born in an intact amniotic sac was the child of a vampire.

“Kyle Mason. Please purify this unfortunate child.”

the note left with him had said.

Kyle had grown up acutely aware of the sideways glances and pitying looks, even though he knew it was just his imagination. He couldn’t help but feel the weight of their concerns, the fear that he might somehow turn out to be a “tainted” being.

So, Kyle had always strived to appear as an exemplary child. More than that, he wanted to be a model of virtue. Not every child from the cathedral’s orphanage needed to become a priest, but Kyle felt he had no other choice.

Faith was his destiny, and perhaps, his shackle.

“You? Worrying about that? Ridiculous,” Matteo said, slapping the table with a sharp *thwack*.

“I think it’s your calling. And even if it’s not, so what? There are plenty of people who aren’t particularly devout but still do well. Think about the second and third sons of noble families who can’t inherit titles. Compared to them, you’re incredibly pious.”

Kyle gave a faint smile.

“Sometimes, you grow into it, and you get more passionate as you go along. That happened to me. I couldn’t imagine not being a priest, but look at me now—a businessman. Don’t overthink it; just give it a try.”

“Thanks.”

“And if it doesn’t suit you, quit. I’ll make a spot for you at the company. Just trust me!”

Matteo grinned, giving a thumbs-up with a sense of pride. Kyle couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

Their paths had diverged, but they were still friends.

* * *

“The blood packs were the issue. They were contaminated.”

The cause of Rosanna’s strange symptoms was discovered a week later.

Fortunately, there was a vampire from the Britna faction who was also a doctor and had attended the infant’s christening. After taking a blood sample, he discovered that Rosanna’s blood had been tainted with impurities.

This led him to visit her estate to check everything she had consumed over the past week.

“The blood was mixed with lycanthrope blood. It’s dangerous for our kind. It can temporarily disable your abilities, and long-term exposure could cause permanent damage.”

“Werewolf blood? But they’re extinct.”

“Some collectors preserve their bodies, and parts of them are still traded through illegal channels. It’s possible that someone obtained the blood that way. I recommend changing your blood supplier. I can take care of it for you.”

“So, someone targeted me. Someone dared to challenge the Enache.”

“We can’t be certain.”

The doctor replied, adjusting his glasses, which seemed more decorative than functional.

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you? That face of yours looks like you have an idea.”

“The Enache name is highly respected among our kind. If this was a targeted crime, the Elder Council would protect you. But as of now, there’s no evidence.”

“I’m the only one in this house who needs human blood. Vlad has switched to animal blood. He says he’s repulsed by human blood now that his wife is human. Even though it’s tasteless.”

Rosanna said with a bitter laugh.

“Well, let it be. The Elder Council would prefer this to be handled quietly, wouldn’t they? I’ll let it slide. You can go now.”

“The toxin should clear in a few days, but if you notice any further issues, please contact me immediately.”

The doctor, maintaining his expressionless demeanor, gave a polite bow and left. The faint smile on Rosanna’s face disappeared.

She rang for a maid, who appeared promptly.

“Tell the butler to see the doctor out. Then, fetch me clothing that fits—a gentleman’s suit. Something understated and suitable for everyday wear, nothing too flashy.”

Rosanna’s gray-blue eyes briefly glinted with determination.

Never forget an offense.

Always repay it in full.

That was the Enache way.