Adam studied the man closely, carefully gauging him. He was certain now—this kind-looking old man was the head cleric of the Southern District church.
The structure of the Church of the Sacred Voice wasn't particularly complex. In regional churches, the title of "brother" applied broadly to all clergy, though within that group, ranks were determined by accumulated merit, proficiency in divine arts, and years of service.
While they were all technically "brothers," their vestments differed. New initiates had only a single embroidery at the collar of their robes, while seasoned clerics bore three. Only such veteran brothers were eligible to oversee a local church, and once appointed, they were granted the honorary title of High Brother. Only a High Brother could wear cuffs embroidered with sacred patterns.
This kindly old man, who was indeed a High Brother, slowly bent down and retrieved a sanctified wafer from the cabinet. With the warmth of a grandfather from next door, he gently placed it before Adam and encouraged him to eat.
"You must be hungry after a long day. Here, have something to eat first."
Adam understood—there were risks to using Brother Fra as a way into the church. While the Church of the Sacred Voice had, in recent years, made compromises due to the rise of noble influence (and even harbored a few corrupted brothers), there were still dangerous individuals within its ranks.
Adam offered a hesitant smile, feigning shyness. "Thank you, but... my uncle and aunt left dinner for me at home."
"No need to be polite. Young people should eat more," the High Brother replied with a chuckle, pulling open the curtains and standing by the window, gazing out at the fading light.
"Well... thank you then," Adam said with a slight bow. He picked up the wafer and ate it quickly in a few bites.
"No rush. I've got plenty more," the High Brother said, eyes crinkling in a kindly smile. Then, turning his head slowly to Adam, he asked, "Fra is a promising young man—his soul is still unstained. So naturally, I was curious to meet the one he recommended. What kind of soul do you have?"
Adam, unsure how to respond, glanced at the leftover wafers on the table, awkwardly avoiding the second helping. He blinked and echoed, "Soul?"
"That's right," the High Brother replied, tapping the window frame with one finger as he turned to face Adam fully. "All souls are born the same."
"It's only once we enter this world—through the sum of what we experience—that our souls begin to diverge."
"You're learning to paint with Alva, aren't you?" he continued. "Then let me put it in a way you'll understand: the soul is like a blank canvas. Life itself provides the colors. But how you choose to respond to those experiences—that's the brush."
"It determines how you interpret your life, and in turn, shapes the soul itself."
"Some turn their souls into epic poems. Some into radiant suns, bringing warmth to others. And some... let their souls rot in the muck, fetid and vile."
He paused. His gaze sharpened, as though piercing directly through Adam's chest and into his very being.
"So tell me, Adam—what shape will your soul take?"
"I... I don't know," Adam replied, lowering his head. His fingers clenched around the fabric of his pants as he forced himself to suppress the unease rising within him. With well-practiced composure, he whispered the words he'd repeated to himself a hundred times before, "I just want to live a better life. I'm tired of wandering... I want something stable."
"Then may the Light of the Divine shine upon you and guide your path," the High Brother intoned, placing a broad, calloused hand on Adam's head.
In that instant, his voice seemed to echo, grand and solemn, as if countless sacred bells were ringing in unison—or a choir of unseen angels were singing above them in divine harmony.
Under the High Brother's palm, Adam's body gradually relaxed, his expression peaceful. The old man's brow finally eased as he withdrew his hand and shuffled back toward the cabinet, muttering to himself as he searched inside.
"Now, where did I put those dried fruits? Purdo brought some last time... I could've sworn I left them right here..."
Adam snapped back to his senses, a hint of panic flashing across his face. "Please don't trouble yourself. It's getting late—I really should head back now."
"Found them!" the High Brother exclaimed in triumph, as if he had just discovered a hidden treasure. He pulled out a small cloth bag of candied fruit, completely ignoring Adam's polite refusal, and cheerfully stuffed a generous handful into the boy's arms.
"Be safe on your way home. Make sure to come early tomorrow—Alva hates tardiness, even though he can't remember anyone's name."
"I really ought to speak to him about that..." the High Brother muttered, rambling on like an old man with no hint of the authority expected of one who leads a district church.
Adam could only thank him profusely before darting out with the sweets in hand.
Once he was gone, the High Brother retrieved another sanctified wafer, slowly breaking it apart and placing it in his mouth, his gaze distant—deep in thought.
Another brother entered the room and quietly asked, "What do you make of him?"
"He's ambitious," the High Brother sighed. "And it's clear he's using Brother Fra to get close."
"Then shall I bar him from entering tomorrow?" the younger cleric, Rob, asked, frowning.
"No need for that, Rob," the old man said with a shake of his head. "Everyone has their own path to walk. Ambition isn't always a bad thing—it's the choices people make that matter."
"Fra needs to grow. And Adam... he needs redemption. I believe they're both good boys, and under the Light of the Divine, they may yet find brilliance in their souls."
"Almost blew my cover," Adam muttered under his breath.
He knew full well that anyone capable of serving as High Brother in a border town like Roya wasn't someone to take lightly—but he hadn't expected the man to be this terrifying.
If not for his own unusual nature, even a pure-blooded werewolf might've lost control and transformed on the spot—only to be crushed with a single blow.
That old man's seemingly frail body contained an overwhelming divine force. It wasn't something one encountered often. Adam's facial scar—the "<" shaped mark—had begun to burn again, a pain that radiated deep into his bones, nearly forcing a scream from his lips.
"I need to move faster."
He understood one thing very clearly—his current identity wasn't airtight. "Adam Borku" was supposedly born quite a distance from Roya. With enough time and resources, someone could investigate and discover the truth: he wasn't the real Adam.
"But I also can't risk drawing any more suspicion."
Using Brother Fra to gain access had already prompted a test from the High Brother. Any further misstep might invite a full-blown investigation.
Forget those spy shows from his past life where agents repeatedly clear their name and eventually win the trust of their enemies. That's not how the real world worked. The higher one's status, the less they believed in coincidences.
One cleared suspicion? Maybe it was a misunderstanding. Two? Three? That was the end of your undercover career.
"My soul will not remain here in the shadows," Adam vowed silently. "Even without the so-called divine light, I will crown it myself and make it noble."
He could feel the power of the werewolf bloodline flowing within him—what the Church called the "blood of sin"—yet none of it showed on his face.
Before night fell completely, Adam returned to the Kubo home. He placed the candied fruit in a jar and called for Lina.
Once again, he messed up the little girl's hair before gently fixing it, tying it back neatly. With each simple gesture, his mind calmed.
Now came the debrief.
"I was a little careless today," he reflected. "I overestimated my ability to stay hidden. If I'd prepared earlier, I could've handled that whole scene much more smoothly."
"Brother Jim—he might be someone I can use. And there's also that nobleman, Sir Rubert. I overheard something about him when eavesdropping at Baron Mansla's estate."
"I need to learn more about other variants too... to locate them, recruit them."
One step at a time, Adam laid out his plans.
"My greatest weakness is my lack of strength. I don't have enough power. But my advantage is concealment—along with my method for hiding the abnormalities in my bloodline."
"And now I've gained access to the Southern District church."
"So from here, I'll leverage my advantages to gain more control—until my weaknesses no longer matter."
"Though there's one more pressing issue... time."
He gave Lina a gentle pinch on the cheek, popped another piece of fruit into her mouth, and then quickly sealed the jar, ignoring the way her mouth watered.
"Just one more," he said with a chuckle, handing her one last piece.
His expression darkened slightly.
"I don't know how long my previous misdirection will hold. If they start searching in Roya, it won't take long. They know me too well. They'll find me."
With that thought, Adam turned his gaze to the night sky.
Above the rooftops, a slender crescent moon was slowly rising.