Despite the overwhelming disgust he felt toward the blood thrall, Adam still intended to make use of him.
Adam never considered himself a good person. He'd buried someone else's body in a shallow grave, stolen their identity, accepted the love and concern of their family, and dragged a decent man's name through the mud—all just to buy himself a chance at survival.
The only difference between him and that human-shaped filth was that Adam knew how vile his actions were. He wouldn't stoop to depravity unless it served a clear purpose.
Had he not been reborn as a nonhuman, maybe by now he really would've become a cleric somewhere, basking in the adoration of the people and battling evil abominations in the name of righteousness.
But reality had turned out quite differently. And Adam had no power to change it.
He carefully stashed the book he'd taken from the blood thrall under his bed, deciding to rest instead of reading it right away.
Even as a werewolf, he still needed sleep—especially after exhausting himself earlier with full sensory engagement. His mind was drained.
The next day, Alva finally got to work. He told Adam to scrape down a section of the wall and clean the surface. Once that was done, he had Adam begin mixing materials according to precise ratios. The paints varied by pigment and purpose, and each was applied in thin, even layers.
There are two main types of murals: painted murals and crafted murals. Alva was creating the latter—a hybrid of sculpting and painting that demanded far more skill and precision.
Once the materials began to set, Alva picked up a variety of carving knives and started to shave away the excess with meticulous care.
Soon, a richly layered mural emerged before Adam's eyes. Because the materials varied in depth and composition, the colors shifted subtly across the surface, creating a stunning dimensional effect.
When the carving was nearly finished, Alva reached into a nearby supply box and pulled out an assortment of stones, shells, and gems. He embedded them into key areas of the mural, then switched to a finer blade to refine the details, inch by inch.
Adam stayed close behind, constantly switching out tools, clearing away shavings, and mixing fresh paint for touch-ups as needed.
By evening, a significant portion of the mural had taken shape. The colors were vibrant, the layers distinct, and the texture almost tangible. The figures depicted were so lifelike that even their skin seemed to glow with realism.
Alva was clearly a master in this craft. And Adam, though he was doing the grunt work, was learning a lot—especially about the intricacies of material ratios. That knowledge alone would be invaluable if he ever chose to become an artist himself.
"We're done here. Clean up," Alva said with a wave, sauntering off without a second glance at the tools scattered on the floor.
Adam glanced down at a lower compartment of the toolbox. There were still quite a few unused gemstones sitting there.
He chuckled quietly, shook his head, and grabbed a wooden chip. One by one, he scraped the leftover materials onto it in careful layers, then packed up the tools and headed back.
Adam understood that in the details lay the seeds of success. If he was going to pass as an artist's apprentice, he'd need to act the part. The gems might be tempting, but he knew better than to pocket them. They wouldn't bring him any real gain—and getting caught would cost him everything.
So to him, those gems were no more valuable than pebbles on the roadside.
As he walked, Adam lowered his head and began fiddling with the chip in his hands. Lacking a proper carving knife, he used twigs or stones instead.
To his surprise, it turned out to be a good way to train his perception. The texture of the materials, the interplay of color, how fast each layer set—these were things worth studying.
Alva must have incredibly refined senses, Adam thought.
Before reaching the Bokku household, Adam spotted a stray cat crouched by the roadside. He knelt down and gently beckoned to it.
Sensing Adam's quiet affinity, the cat hesitated for a moment before cautiously approaching.
Adam offered the feline half of a leftover pickled pastry and gently scratched its head. A soft smile spread across his face.
With the sun dipping low, he rose to his feet and continued on, returning to the Bokku home. He greeted Alys and Maggie, played briefly with little Lina, then retreated to the attic—his mind already hard at work.
The church, the nobility, the stationed troops, the other nonhumans... All the fragments of information he'd gathered ran through his mind. He considered every possibility, every contingency. Over and over, he rehearsed his responses in silence, reinforcing his own mental cues so that when the moment came, he could act swiftly and without hesitation.
When night fell, he transformed into his werewolf form and used the light of the waxing moon to begin reading the book he'd taken from the blood thrall.
It was a chaotic, hand-written mess—part record, part diary.
"Of course a lunatic like that would keep a diary," Adam muttered, flipping through the pages one-handed while sitting on his bed.
The book's author was Adel Rien—the same human-shaped garbage he'd been forced to deal with.
The handwriting was atrocious, riddled with errors, inconsistent phrasing, and even broken grammar. It gave Adam a headache just trying to read it.
Still, there was valuable information buried in the mess.
Adel had been born in Roya, a free citizen. As a young man, he'd once dreamed of becoming a great adventurer.
But during one ill-conceived expedition, he was captured by a vampire—and eventually turned into a blood thrall, serving as the creature's half-willing assistant.
The handwritten book contained scraps of notes and experiences from his time in that role.
By sheer luck, Adel had survived. The vampire later ran afoul of a powerful ascetic, giving Adel a chance to escape. He fled before he could be used in another experiment.
After that, he returned to Roya, though he dared not enter the city right away. He hid in the forest for months, eventually establishing contact with some of the nonhumans living in Roya. That's how he met the witch doctor, Hoda, and finally moved back into the city.
But by then he was penniless, and the cost of alchemical medicines was steep. He was forced to settle in the slums, where it was also easier to hunt.
This was good news for Adam—it meant that the pureblood vampire was no longer in Roya.
Even beyond that, the notes revealed many useful insights. Werewolves were classified by bloodline—purebred or not—while vampires were judged by ritual: whether the transformation had been done correctly.
Purebred werewolves were born that way, their lineage traced through ancestral blood. For vampires, it was all about whether the transformation adhered to specific rites.
According to Adel, that pureblood vampire had continued conducting bloodline experiments—constantly turning victims into blood thralls and trying different methods to elevate them into purebloods. Most attempts failed, resulting in pseudo-vampires that were vampires in name only.
"Why the hell would a vampire run experiments in Holy Sainttone?" Adam frowned. The Holy Sainttone Kingdom was the stronghold of the Church of Sacred Harmony. He had been born there and had every reason to escape, but what was the vampire's excuse?
With no answer in sight, Adam set the question aside and continued reading. The most useful part was about vampire experiments on werewolf bloodlines.
"After reaching adulthood, a werewolf's bloodline matures and triggers an awakening."
"In that moment, their bloodline surges, unleashing miraculous powers—reconnecting with ancestors, uncovering the past, and drawing out individual talent to form a unique awakened ability."
"For some, it's extreme regeneration. Others develop infectious wolf venom. Some awaken stranger powers altogether."
"Infected werewolves—those who weren't born pure—don't undergo ancestral resonance, so their awakened abilities tend to be weaker."
"Notably, the closer it is to the full moon, the faster the bloodline matures. And during the awakening itself, even purebred werewolves find it hard to restrain their violent urges."
Adam's brow furrowed. He looked up through the attic skylight.
The moon was currently in its first quarter. That meant the full moon was just seven or eight days away.
If Adel's notes were accurate, that's when Adam would undergo his own bloodline awakening.
"Uncontrollable rage, huh? I'll need to prepare for that," he muttered, frowning again.
"Reconnect with ancestors… uncover the past… draw out one's talent?" He glanced at his own furry white paws. He'd barely ever met his birth father, let alone learned anything about his lineage.
So what about his past? What about his talents?
"My past... and my talent…"