Episode 5

“…Silvio! Basil, huff, Kyle!”

It was after evening prayers, and Kyle was on his way back to the dormitory when he heard someone calling him urgently. He turned around to see a classmate, out of breath, struggling to catch up.

“You walk fast, you know that?”

“What’s going on?”

The classmate cleared his throat, glancing around nervously before asking.

“Are you planning to go out this weekend?”

“No, why?”

“Oh, my savior! Kyle, I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

There was a brief pause before he continued.

“I had something lined up, but wouldn’t you know it, my fiancée fell ill. So, I was hoping you could go in my place this weekend.”

It wasn’t surprising that a fellow seminarian had a fiancée. He was the second son of a marquis, and in Britna’s national church, priests were allowed to marry.

However, it was a bit concerning that he was regularly seeing her when he should be focusing on his studies.

“I wouldn’t normally ask this, but it’s a commitment I made with a lady I’m close to… It’s not difficult. You just have to wear your clerical attire and stand there. Please, I’ll even compensate you!”

Kyle had been feeling a bit down lately, knowing he had to visit the orphanage children next week without even being able to afford gifts. The mention of compensation made him waver, though he felt guilty about it.

Sensing Kyle’s hesitation, his classmate spoke more quickly.

“There’s been a trend among noble ladies lately with séances. Ever since that controversial Gothic novel, *The Duke’s Secret Tryst with a Vampire*, became a huge hit, occult themes like ghosts, magic, and monsters have become all the rage. They’re even hosting séances at social gatherings.”

“…Priest Basil! Huff, Kyle!”

Kyle turned around on his way back to the dormitory after evening prayers, hearing the desperate call. One of his classmates, out of breath, had just caught up to him.

“You really walk fast.”

“What’s going on?”

The classmate cleared his throat, hesitating before asking, “Are you planning to go out this weekend?”

“No, why?”

“Oh, my savior! Kyle, I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

There was a brief pause before he continued.

“I had something lined up, but wouldn’t you know it, my fiancée fell ill. So, I was hoping you could go in my place this weekend.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, waiting for more information.

“The hostess, who’s a friend of mine, says it would make her feel safer to have a priest there. You know, we’re seminarians, so our presence might give a sense of…spiritual protection… Sorry, that sounded ridiculous.”

“You know that if we’re caught at one of those gatherings, we’ll face disciplinary action, right?”

“I’m really sorry.”

His classmate knew how troublesome this request was. The fact that he was asking anyway meant it was a commitment he couldn’t easily break. Noble connections could be complex and fragile, easily damaged by small slights.

“This is the only time, got it?”

“Kyle! You’re my hero!”

His classmate hugged him with enthusiasm, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

“Okay, okay, let me go.”

“I owe you one. Seriously, just name it. I’ll make sure to compensate you as well.”

As he stepped back, he smiled sheepishly.

“Are you heading to your dorm room? I’ll stop by later. You’ll need the invitation letter I received to get into the meeting. I’ll tell my friend you’re coming, but just in case.”

“Alright.”

“Thanks again, Kyle. You’re a lifesaver!”

Kyle watched as his classmate dashed off to the dormitory, disappearing into the night. He glanced up at the sky, where the moon was hidden behind clouds.

It had been a night like this when Kyle was abandoned at the orphanage.

Superstition. The occult. Ghost stories. Urban legends. These were things others consumed with fascination, but Kyle could never take them lightly or enjoy them. He had learned the reason he was abandoned as he grew up.

“Séance…”

In truth, he didn’t want to go. But he also didn’t want to put his classmate in a difficult position, and the promise of compensation was tempting.

“Kyle, you’ve got a long way to go,” he muttered to himself.

Could he even pass the deaconship interview with such doubts? Perhaps he wasn’t worthy after all.

It was going to be a long night of contemplation.

* * *

*Dong, dong, dong.*

The bells of Ingdberry Cathedral tolled twelve times in the distance. Under the cover of midnight, a boy made his way to the outskirts of the city, to a long-abandoned chapel. The structure, centuries old, had crumbled in many places, but the altar and the crucifix above it remained intact.

The boy moved toward the altar, then headed behind it. The chapel, once used as a refuge, had a basement. He descended the stone steps and walked down a straight corridor until he heard sobbing.

The sound grew louder, turning into a harsh growl, almost like a beast’s roar. Soon, a flickering light came into view.

“You’ve arrived.”

At the dry voice, the boy dropped to one knee.

“Yes. Just as you predicted, the bait was taken.”

“Those Lumanó fools are impulsive and impatient. They should have stayed holed up in their forest castle instead of meddling in foreign lands. Don’t you agree?”

The hooded man beside him jabbed at something hanging upside down. It was a weapon, specially crafted from the fangs of their captured kin.

“Grrraaah!”

The thing whose throat had been pierced thrashed wildly, trying to break free of its chains. The man twisted the spear, silencing it with a final, brutal thrust.

“So noisy.”

The man wiped the blood off his cheek and chuckled.

“This works out well for us. Now we have a reason. It’s time to hunt the beast that dared to defile holy Britna.”

His gaze shifted to the boy.

“And the body?”

“It was still alive, so I made sure it was dead and stored it in the preservation chamber. It’ll serve as evidence of the treaty violation.”

“You made sure to cover your tracks?”

“Don’t worry. They won’t find any link between the seller and the Order of the Holy Cross.”

A hearty laugh echoed through the basement.

The man reached for a bottle on the floor, surrounded by other empty bottles carelessly strewn about.

“What should we do next?”

“For now, keep an eye on things. And call in Hunter Raymond.”

“Understood, Brother.”

* * *

The location for the social gathering was the Somerset estate. The Countess of Somerset, a widow, hosted various events year-round to stave off her loneliness. Her late husband had left her nothing but wealth.

Rosanna, accompanied by the Countess of Haywood, stepped out of the carriage and looked up at the grand mansion. It was evident that this was an old and powerful family.

“It’s fitting for the dignity of our clan. We can associate with them,” Rosanna remarked.

The Countess of Haywood beamed with satisfaction.

“I’m relieved. Your taste is impeccable, Rosanna.”

The Countess hooked her arm around Rosanna’s. It wasn’t uncommon for people to assume that anything associated with the Enache name was of the highest caliber. Rosanna was accustomed to this kind of admiration, and she didn’t mind it—it wasn’t wrong for someone to want to show off their connections.

She decided to overlook the Countess’s minor ambitions and followed her inside.

The footman guided them to a room draped in blackout curtains, creating a deliberately eerie atmosphere. They were handed masks to wear, fitting the theme of the séance.

In an age where new technologies emerged almost daily, it was baffling that these wealthy, idle humans would indulge in something as archaic as necromancy. How could they find this entertaining?

“Welcome, Viscountess Dacia.”

The hostess, the Countess of Somerset, approached them with a warm welcome. She formally introduced Rosanna to the group.

“Everyone, please welcome Rosanna, who comes highly recommended by the Countess of Haywood. She’s a distant relative from Lumanó.”

The women seated around the round table greeted her in turn. They were all human. Rosanna, now receiving their welcome, approached the table to take a seat.

As she was about to sit, an unfamiliar scent caught her attention. It was a scent she recognized, a scent of flesh she’d remembered vividly. She quickly turned her head to see a man standing in the corner of the room, dressed in clerical robes and veiled.

“Who is that?”

“The hostess invited him to make us feel safe. I asked a dear friend of mine to bring him. He’ll help ensure our séance goes smoothly with his devout presence,” one of the women explained.

Did they bring him to perform an exorcism? Judging by his robust build, it seemed more likely he would perform it with brute force rather than prayer. Rosanna approached the man, the autumn sunlit scent growing stronger as she neared.

Stopping just inches away, she gestured for him to lift his veil.

“Aren’t you going to remove that veil? It’s hard to see with just the candlelight—aren’t you uncomfortable?”

“…I’m fine.”

As expected. It was a voice she had heard before.

‘It’s you—the man who stirred those strange desires in me.’

This was Basilio, the man who had left the handkerchief on the bench at the cathedral.

Rosanna smiled sweetly, her lips curling at the corners. The unexpected reunion piqued her curiosity.

“What’s your name, I wonder?”

Though there was a smile on Rosanna’s face, it was anything but kind. There was an underlying sense of dominance, a demand that he reveal himself.

“I’m curious about your face, too,” she added, tracing the edge of his veil with her finger, creating a slight ripple. The man tensed, worried she might pull it off. How naive.

Rosanna silently mouthed words that only the man could see. Sensing the tension, the Countess of Haywood and the hostess intervened.

“Don’t tease him. Come, have a seat.”

“We agreed to keep his identity a secret. Please understand.”

Rosanna finally turned away from the man and returned to her seat. The maids, standing at intervals along the room’s perimeter, extinguished the flames on their portable candlesticks. Only the wax candle in the center of the table remained lit.

The so-called necromancer stood and began the ritual. He mumbled continuously, supposedly to summon the spirit of the hostess’s deceased husband.

“Are you here? If you are, please respond.”

Alphabet cards and a pen were arranged on the table, but neither moved. There was no response.

How long would she have to endure this farce? This was nothing more than a play, born from human delusion. Rosanna felt the urge to leave.

No matter how many attempts they made, nothing would happen. As long as Rosanna was in the room, the results would be the same.

Even among creatures labeled as monsters, there was a hierarchy. Lesser beings like ghosts wouldn’t dare show themselves in the presence of a vampire.

Rosanna shifted slightly in her seat, catching the eye of the Countess of Haywood, who also seemed bored. Most vampires attended social events not out of genuine interest but to maintain their human facade.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash as a chair toppled over.

“I suppose I’ll need to use a stronger method.”

The charlatan necromancer stammered, fumbling with the grimoire before him. He placed his hands on a page filled with geometric symbols and began chanting, sweat beading on his forehead.

As if that would summon anything. Wait—where had she seen that book before?

The cover… it was on the banned list in the library at Balasa Castle. This madman!

Rosanna’s face twisted in horror. If her memory was correct, that book contained a ritual to summon and bind malevolent spirits.