Adam took the materials and began by lighting a fire in the center of the clearing. Around it, he laid the corpses of various beasts in a circle—symbolizing how the light had brought death to the wild things.
Then he poured out a portion of holy water and called Adel over. Mixing the holy water with Adel's tears, he handed the mixture to the man.
With a glance at the gathering of curious inhumans standing around them, Adam lowered his head and began to chant. The words sounded like an incantation, but in truth, he was simply reciting a passage from the divine scripture—backwards—and muttering it in a garbled tone and rapid pace.
The Ritual of the Divine Tear leaned heavily into divine magic, borrowing power from the gods. It wasn't particularly difficult to perform—in fact, it required no innate talent. As long as someone had the necessary materials and understood the ritual's structure, any mentally sound person with basic theological training could execute it.
Of course, most inhumans did everything they could to avoid contact with the Church, and few had the luxury of time or stability to study theology. Even Adel—who was notably devout—lacked much of the knowledge required for this ritual.
"For example, the arrangement of the beast corpses," Adam explained as he divided the holy water into two uneven portions. "It's not just a circle. The placement of each specific animal matters."
He poured one part of the water over the soil at the highest point around the fire, and the other part on the lowest.
The watching inhumans were visibly fascinated. Adam could already tell—they'd definitely try this themselves later. When they failed, they'd finally understand just how much they needed him.
The higher soil symbolized the golden age of divine revelation, when the Church was still hidden. The holy water here could not submerge the soil. The lower soil, on the other hand, represented the lake formed by the tears of the gods—so it had to be fully soaked.
Once both bottles of soil were prepared, Adam turned to Adel.
"Drink half the water. Pour the rest over your body. Then jump into the fire."
Adel froze for a moment, clearly shaken. But he obeyed. He hesitated briefly, then lifted the bottle containing his tears and the holy water, and drank. Immediately, his body began to convulse.
This pain was far worse than any religious pilgrimage, but Adel endured it. He poured the rest of the mixture over himself and leapt into the flames.
The Church's obsession with burning heretics wasn't just symbolic—it had roots in ancient history. To them, divine light was a blessing, but when intensified, it became fire: a tool of punishment.
The fire engulfed Adel, searing his flesh. Smoke poured from his mouth as he screamed.
Adam gave a small nod. Adel might have many flaws, but his endurance was real. For an inhuman to come into contact with holy water and survive—even partially—meant he had to have ingested some kind of protective potion beforehand. Otherwise, his throat and stomach would've been burned clean through.
Strangely enough, as the pain from inside his body merged with the agony from outside, Adel felt something even worse.
Yes—somehow the two kinds of pain didn't just stack; they multiplied. The torment tore through his soul. Even with his eyes shut tight, Adel felt as though he were seeing both heaven and hell.
Adam didn't rush the process. This pain was necessary. Without it, Adel would never pass a divine inspection.
He picked up the bottle containing the highland soil, poured it out, and began drawing a circle around the fire. This too carried hidden meaning.
The first phase of the ritual corresponded to the sun god. So Adam needed to calculate the location of the ancient divine lands and the current position of the sun. The circle had to be precisely aligned.
To the untrained eye, it was just another circle. But in truth, it was impossibly complex. The other steps of the ritual could be guessed or faked—but not this one. This circle was beyond imitation.
Inside the flames, Adel writhed like a fish thrown on land—gasping, flailing, choking. Adam looked at him and said calmly:
"Don't fall out of the circle. If you do, all that pain will've been for nothing."
Once the circle was complete, Adam grabbed the second bottle of soil in one hand and a bunch of monkshood in the other.
As he crushed the toxic herb in his palm, he muttered some unrelated nonsense, intentionally disrupting any divine connection. He could feel his blood begin to stir—monkshood had a strange effect on his bloodline. His mind grew hazy.
Thankfully, Adel's scream snapped him back.
Adam tossed the monkshood into the flames, and the fire changed instantly—thick black smoke billowed out.
Without hesitation, Adam poured the remaining holy water over it.
There wasn't much water, but it was enough. The fire hissed—and died.
The moment it was out, Adam felt another wave of dizziness—but this time he caught himself before slipping too far.
"Smear the remaining soil on Adel's body. Then put that jacket on him."
He tossed the bottle to one of the inhumans, then walked away slowly.
"I'll be back tonight. Keep quiet. If Shaya catches wind of this, things will get… messy."
The inhumans watched Adam's back as he disappeared into the dark. Then they turned to look at Adel, lying motionless in the ashes like a corpse.
"Who's Shaya?" one of them asked.
"The High Cleric of the South District," another answered. His voice trembled slightly.
At the mention of the High Cleric, the others fell silent and immediately followed Adam's instructions. As they smeared the sacred soil on Adel's skin, they noticed something strange—despite his burns, Adel looked… relieved.
Once they dressed him in regular human clothing, something astonishing happened—Adel's inhuman aura vanished completely.
The group carried him inside the wooden hut to rest, then huddled together to whisper.
"I collected extra materials. Should we try the ritual ourselves?"
They were tempted—but the memory of Adel's agonized screams quickly snuffed out the idea.
Elsewhere, Adam had been watching the smoke. When he saw the flames extinguish, he knew: the ritual had worked. By the time he returned that night, those five would be his most loyal followers.
But his focus now had shifted to something else—his own two moments of disorientation during the ritual.
The first had come when he touched the monkshood. His blood had surged with vitality.
"Monkshood… it's linked to the werewolf bloodline," he mused. "Might be a good lead for future bloodline research."
He filed that away and moved on.
The second time had happened after he completed the ritual. It wasn't blood-related. No—he had felt something else.
He had brushed against divine magic.
In that brief moment, Adam entered a state of heightened awareness—he could feel a presence beyond the veil. If he chose to kneel and pray sincerely, he could channel that presence, draw down divine power, and become a cleric.
"And then what? Burn myself alive?"
He smiled grimly.
If this had been the old Adam—the one fresh out of captivity—he might have welcomed the divine touch. He might've chosen to become a cleric, hoping to pass through Roa and enter another country under the Church's protection.
But the one who had taught him this ritual—the person who'd first introduced him to the Divine Tear—had probably never imagined he'd one day sneak back into the Church and complete the parts of the ritual that were originally missing.
That was why Adam didn't fall for the trap.
The Divine Tear ritual could shield inhumans—but only on the surface. If one foolishly tried to channel divine magic afterward, that same divine power would erupt from within, incinerating them from the inside out.
Adam had no interest in dying like that. He let go of the temptation.
Honestly, if he hadn't known better, he might not have been able to resist.
After all, he knew theology better than most clerics. He could've easily walked the path of a righteous holy man. No one would suspect a cleric of being an inhuman.
But that path had been closed to him long ago.
"Guess I'd better be careful with the knowledge I picked up. Some of it might be laying traps I haven't noticed yet."
He took off his mask and gently rubbed the scar on his face.
"Damn it. That memory again."
He forced the thought away before it could spiral, quickly buried his gear, made sure he wasn't being followed, and headed back to Boku's house.