When the alien fluids flooded his mouth, Marquis Montagu indeed tasted the most disgusting flavor he had ever encountered in his life. With less hemoglobin, the hemolymph lacked the mellow richness brought by human blood proteins. On the other hand, its uric acid content was extremely high. The Marquis didn't know the name of this substance, but it was commonly found in small quantities in humans suffering from arthritis and kidney diseases, giving their blood an acidic stench. Yet compared to the hemolymph now in his mouth, that was nothing. The acidic substance here was nearly saturated, even crystallizing in small amounts.

  Suppressing his nausea, he swallowed the repulsive insect blood, fulfilling the prerequisite for the ritual. Then, following Ulysses' instructions, he began questioning Martha who had lost her consciousness.

  ......

  Meanwhile, Yvette had recovered enough to get out of bed and move around. Having just recovered from serious illness, her immune system was still fighting the residual pathogens. Any skin break now could cause severe infection, so she could only wear loose dresses and had to walk slowly while holding onto walls to prevent falls.

  She was currently wearing a flamboyant red morning gown. Normally, such attire worn by noble ladies for morning grooming and meeting close friends would have been much simpler than formal wear, but its original owner Aurora preferred extravagance, so even morning gowns were adorned with numerous laces and ribbons.

  This was Landor's first time seeing Yvette in women's clothing. Compared to his sister Aurora, who had been executed by the Prince for committing multiple serious crimes, Yvette lacked the aggressively ostentatious beauty her original owner possessed when wearing it. The overwhelmingly bright red color accentuated her slightly sickly pale face, making her resemble more a princess from medieval novels—one imprisoned in high towers waiting for knights to rescue her.

  Yet their conversation was anything but romantic.

  Yvette insisted on walking without anyone's support. Though slow, each step was steady. The ancient castle, once used as barracks, was built mostly of stone rather than brick. The mortar binder from Roman times had eroded and peeled in places, leaving uneven walls that were difficult to clean. Touching them quickly covered her hand in dust.

  "Judging by the dust thickness, it seems not many people live here, but there're no spiderwebs? It appears deliberately preserved rather than simply uncleaned, giving off an ancient feel..." Yvette asked curiously.

  "Frankly just seldom cleaned. Few servants can enter this castle—it's too large. Unoccupied areas aren't cleaned regularly. As for spiders...that's because there are many bats here. Though sharing similar diets, bats are superior predators to spiders. Over time, spiders left," Landor explained seriously.

  "Bats? Why haven't I seen any?"

  "Because of the lights—they're all hiding." Landor walked to an empty suit of armor, lifted its visor, and indeed pulled out a matchbox-sized bat. "These are pipistrelles—most here are this species, though larger varieties also exist."

  "Bats control pests? First time hearing that~ But indeed, the first association with vampires is bats. Is there any connection?"

  "Unsure, but places where our kind live do have more bats. We're accustomed to them—in fact it's convenient. Such old stone walls are usually teeming with cockroaches and centipedes. While spiders eat flying insects, they cannot handle hard-shelled crawlers. Bats can catch both. Some larger species even hunt mice—we once released some mouse-eating bat species here to avoid monthly professional exterminators, but found they preyed on other bats too, forcing us to remove them..."

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  In previous life's vampire media, vampires were often portrayed as ambiguously moral domineering CEO, yet this Prince's heir seemed almost too honest and earnest, discussing mundane household trivia. Even vampires apparently disliked cockroaches and mice infesting dark rooms, deliberately selecting bat species for pest control.

  Being shown around a castle by a vampire while hearing such novel facts felt bizarre initially, yet made perfect sense upon reflection. The dissonance between stereotype and seemingly irrational yet justified reality made Yvette laugh aloud.

  "What's amusing?" Landor asked, then pinched his forehead in frustration.

  Normally, women in morning gowns were only seen by fathers, brothers, husbands, or close friends—not because the attire was revealing (its high collar and long sleeves made it more conservative than evening décolletage), but due to morning visits being reserved for intimate acquaintances who'd enter bedrooms to see women's unadorned appearances, even assisting with grooming.

  He imagined conversations with morning-gowned ladies involved lighter topics, not cockroaches and vermin. Why had he rambled about such distasteful matters in a lady's presence?

  "Nothing—just surprised you're troubled by mice and cockroaches too? At friends' country estates, I've seen professional exterminators with boxes of ferrets. I thought cats were ultimate mousers, but ferrets seem superior—their slender bodies enter any narrow hole to kill all mice inside."

  Seeing Yvette unperturbed, Landor relaxed.

  "Several exterminators work near the castle. We've opened hunting rights for crop-damaging pests, attracting many local farmers."

  At Oleander Estate, Yvette witnessed these hunting rights' inhumanity—peasants couldn't harm crop-eating rabbits without committing theft of the lord's property, as wild game hunting exclusively belonged to landowners whose income partly came from selling such meats—wild game being status symbols for city bourgeois hosting aristocratic-style banquets.

  "My tenant donors mentioned rents here being low. With open hunting, how do you balance incomes? Every social season brings rumors of landed gentry overspending."

  "The Marquis rarely hosts social events, needing fewer formal outfits and sparing lavish expenses on banquets—candles, tropical fruits, perfumes. Our agricultural sales alone suffice."

  "I recall years ago, former Prime Minister Wellington amended the Corn Laws—originally banning imports below 70 shillings/quarter, now allowing imports with floating tariffs: 34 shillings 8 pence at 52 shillings, dropping to 1 shilling at 73 shillings. Many farmers opposed this."

  "The amendments affected grain prices, but some peers counteracted—like flooding markets with cheap moldy stored grains that nobody bought but lowered overall price averages. Survey committees included these in national price indexes, effectively keeping prices numerically low. In truth, such manipulations prompted the amendments—under original laws, Albion's paper prices never exceeded 70 shillings, blocking imports, while actual edible grain often cost far more."

  This was Yvette's first hearing of such scheming—unspoken secrets even among high society. Somehow these aristocrats seemed more vampiric than Landor...

  ...

  In Marquis Montagu's chambers, his interrogation concluded successfully—even under his mental control, Martha flawlessly delivered scripted answers mixing truths about Yvette with carefully crafted lies.

  "Even I cannot discern her falsehoods—no contradictions despite countless questioning methods," the Marquis marveled. "Such meticulous mental fortifications are typically built only by psychic adepts. How does she achieve this? A racial trait?"

  "Of course." Pale and drenched in sweat from prolonged hypnosis, Martha endured eye-stabbing pain that twisted all perceptions into suffering—yet she embraced it as sweet martyrdom for her cause. "Whatever Master needs becomes my truth."

  The Marquis was stunned.

  Ulysses explained: "Her mind contains no fabricated barriers against detection—she genuinely believes this to be reality."

  Repeating lies makes them truths—or makes liars believe them. As Nietzsche declared "I know my origin... I am surely flame," then proved it by publicly grabbing burning coal—blaming the coal when burned instead of doubting himself. Such behavior belongs to psychotics and fanatics—yet Martha matched it perfectly.

  She was mentally unwell.

  "To help her adapt to mental duress, we'll continue needing your assistance these coming days, Your Highness."

  "...Delighted to assist, my friend." The handkerchief-muffled Marquis replied, visibly strained.