Adel knew very well the difference between a blood thrall and a true vampire. So, after escaping, he immediately began experimenting on himself.
He wanted to transform into a pure vampire—but unfortunately, he never succeeded.
He wasn't a real thaumaturge, and the records he had were incomplete. The materials and conditions were lacking in every way. Even the original vampire who had tried this failed, let alone someone like him.
So, the entire second half of the book was filled with Adel's wild guesses—delusional ramblings, really—with almost no practical value.
"Thaumaturgy…" Adam frowned. Some branches of the Church considered thaumaturges and witch doctors heretics to be purged, while others chose to turn a blind eye.
Some thaumaturges were revered for creating things of great value; others brought disaster and death.
Adel had once hoped to become a thaumaturge himself, but he lacked the talent. He failed at the very first step.
"Unifying perception... begin meditation with perception as the anchor, then guide out spiritual power." Adam rubbed his temples. It seemed he had some talent in this field, but unfortunately, Adel had left behind no follow-up information.
Even this first step, he had only overheard by accident from that vampire.
In short, Adel had ventured out into the world and returned with nothing but his status as a blood thrall—no meaningful gains at all.
"He's probably a nervous wreck right now." Adam shut the skylight, reverted from his transformation, and lay on the bed, mentally picturing Adel's current state.
His abnormal condition had been exposed. Something he regarded as a treasure had been taken away. That alone would be a massive blow to Adel's psyche. And now, Adam's message would give him a sliver of hope.
Tormented by anxiety, forced to suppress his thirst for blood—Adel would only grow more unstable. As the torment dragged on, he'd keep analyzing Adam's message over and over, overthinking it, filling in the gaps with imagination, further deepening Adam's aura of mystery.
"In this kind of mental spiral, he'll instinctively want to believe in me. Believe that I have a way to conceal his abnormalities. Because that's his only way out."
"I wasn't ruthless enough," Adam mused. "I should've smashed all of his remaining potions, cut off every possible source of hope. Only then would he have no choice but to bet everything on me."
"The state of that corpse—so gruesome—it threw off my thinking. All I wanted was to get out of there fast, so I didn't think things through."
"And later, when I mentioned the corpse in the message, even though I hinted at him going to the church, which would heighten his wariness of me, it also increased the chance he'd uncover the truth."
Adel, for all his flaws, did have certain strengths.
First, he was ruthless. He could endure excruciating pain just to attend mass at the church. He could resist the urge to hunt, even when bloodlust burned inside him.
Second, based on his notes, it was clear he had a powerful will to survive. He knew how to seize opportunities. That vampire had turned many into blood thralls for experimentation, yet only Adel managed to become a partial assistant and later escape.
Lastly, he was cautious. After returning to Roya, he hid in the forest for months. Only after making contact with other hybrids in the city and acquiring a method to mask his condition did he finally enter the city.
"Fear… as long as I control his fear properly, I can control him."
With that conclusion settled, Adam drifted off to sleep peacefully.
The next day, Adam placed a wooden painting he had made nearby and then followed Alva to continue their work.
Most of Adam's tasks were manual labor—preparing materials, swapping out tools, cleaning up debris.
Alva, meanwhile, would often return to inspect the previous mural, observing changes in color, checking how well the inner layers of material had set, and making sure they adhered to the wall properly.
"This level of perception… Are we sure Alva isn't a thaumaturge?" Adam trailed behind him, watching as Alva made tiny adjustments.
Adam had a decent eye for paintings, especially now that his perception had been awakened. He was highly sensitive to changes in color.
The mural's main tones were defined by layered materials. For instance, if the background was an ocean, the base layer had to be blue. Then, through carving—sometimes deep, sometimes shallow—the shades would change accordingly.
But paint colors were artificially mixed. Over time, they would inevitably shift. Considering the church's lighting and humidity, even tiny variations in the environment would cause subtle changes.
Changes that were nearly invisible to the naked eye—but Adam's heightened perception could sense the slightest discord.
And Alva could too. He'd catch these inconsistencies and use his carving tools and paints to fix them.
Even if a gem was slightly off-position, he'd notice—and correct it.
The changes were minor. But it was exactly these subtle tweaks that made the entire mural feel alive.
Adam became certain—Alva's perceptual skills had far surpassed his own.
"The Church of Sacred Voice may take a neutral-to-hostile stance toward thaumaturges and witch doctors, but that doesn't mean Alva can't be one."
From small details, Adam could tell Alva held considerable status within the church—and likely had a close relationship with the high priest.
Every time Adam needed materials approved by Brother Jim, the latter would go check with Alva, but Alva himself never showed up once.
Jim was a shrewd man. Adam was sure he had exploited his role as a procurement officer to squeeze out countless favors, and he clearly had ties to local nobles.
That nobleman, Sir Rubert, frequently sought Jim out. On the surface, they were discussing supplies, but Adam felt something fishy was going on.
This wasn't just a hunch. Back when he had eavesdropped on Baron Mansla's estate, Adam had caught wind of something.
Rubert seemed interested in getting involved in the "goods" trade—a clear hint that he was connected to Mansla's smuggling business.
Smuggling wasn't something that could be discussed openly. The biggest hurdle was securing cooperation from the border troops.
Because of the unique nature of the Sacred Voice Nation, military units were also under the local church's command, and many officers were clergy themselves.
Jim, being the South District church's procurement officer, was said to have good relations with the garrison—though that was only rumor.
Adam shook off his wandering thoughts and refocused on Alva's work, continuing to observe and learn.
It wasn't just Alva's perceptual skill—his hands were steady too. Every layer of material he carved was precise, neither too forceful nor too gentle, avoiding any damage to the texture.
As Alva moved on to carving human figures, Adam began to suspect he had studied anatomy. The muscle structure and skin patterns were so lifelike, it was as if real people had been wrapped in pigment and embedded into the wall.
At noon, when they broke for lunch, Alva noticed Adam's crude wooden "painting." He picked it up, weighed it in his hand, then set it aside and gave Adam his first piece of critique.
"You used thinner layers and broke up the application according to proportion. Not bad—shows some thought." Alva slumped into a chair, took a swig from his flask, and added, "The rest? Total garbage."
"You used wood instead of a wall but didn't adjust the material ratio. In less than a week, it's going to flake off. You painted too slowly, got worried it would harden, so you added water—now it's full of bubbles. Let it sit long enough, and it'll crack."
"And your tools? Awful. Dust from the stone chips, wood shavings from branches—all mixed into your materials. Might as well throw this thing out." With that, Alva stopped talking and promptly fell asleep.
Adam didn't argue. He hadn't changed the material because he didn't have any. He added water because he was using leftover scraps that were about to harden. His tools were awful because… well, they were all he had.
Arguing wouldn't make those problems go away.
"That's why, for someone like me to succeed… I'll always need a few unacceptable methods." Adam took his rough little wooden painting and set it aside in a different spot—not throwing it out, despite Alva's blunt words.
After finishing up his cleanup duties, Adam walked to the bookshelf, pulled out a book, and began reading carefully.
"I just need to work harder."