Adam used to believe that making contact with other non-humans too early wasn't wise—mainly because, in those encounters, he was always at a disadvantage.
He wasn't fully matured yet. And those other species—whatever they were—were no doubt far more experienced when it came to hunting and fighting.
But now, things were different. He'd confirmed that some of those non-humans had lost their ability to conceal their true nature. That gave Adam an edge—a rare chance to take the initiative when dealing with them.
*"But not yet."*
Blending back into the crowd, now calm again after the earlier chaos, Adam carried his basket and continued selling meat pies, deep in thought.
*"The witch doctor's arrest will definitely flush out some non-humans who used to buy medicine from him. The Church will be on the move in the coming days. If I approach any of them now, I might just get myself caught too."*
*"As for the ones who've hidden themselves well… they're the cautious type. They probably have backup doses stored away, which means they can hold out longer. I just need to find them before those supplies run out."*
He handed a meat pie to a customer, smiling like everyone else in the square. People smiled for different reasons, but tonight, at least, the joy felt real.
By the time the bonfire on the platform dimmed, Maggie had come to find him. The night's sales were good—there were a few pies left, but they could just bring them home for dinner.
Lina was there too, skipping along behind Aris. She shouted "Adam, big brother!" before waddling over and wrapping her little arms around his leg. Clearly, she'd had a great time tonight.
Before long, the group reunited and made their way back home, casually chatting about the public execution they'd all witnessed earlier.
Later that night, Adam stood quietly in the attic, completing his transformation without a sound. He stilled himself, ears straining to catch the faintest sound from outside.
*Not tonight.*
The Church would've set traps, waiting for non-humans who couldn't sit still after losing their witch doctor. They were probably watching every corner of the city.
But this wouldn't last long. For one, even the Church needed rest. They couldn't stake out every night indefinitely. And two, while some non-humans might lose control and act rashly, the reckless ones would die early. The rest—the survivors—would be the smart and cautious kind.
And those types? You couldn't catch them just by camping out in the dark.
*"My blood… it's getting more restless."* Adam shifted back to his human form and laid down on the bed. In his werewolf state, he wasn't much of a thinker. Any information he picked up like that—he had to analyze it afterward, as a human.
*"Half a month to a month, and the bloodline will fully mature."*
There was anticipation in his voice. *"Time to get ready to make contact with the others."*
He reached up and brushed his fingers over the scar below his eye, shaped like a crooked "<". Old memories came flooding back—not exactly pleasant, but not terrible either.
Over the next few days, the nights remained restless, and the bloodline inside him grew ever more unruly.
But during the day, everything seemed to return to normal.
*"Should I keep waiting?"*
It still wasn't safe to go out at night. Adam touched the scar on his face, hesitated for two more nights, and finally decided to move.
The silence outside was eerie, unsettling. The city was pitch-black except for a few scattered lights in the distance.
In his werewolf form, Adam didn't hesitate. He sprinted toward Baron Mansla's estate, scaling the wall covered in ivy with practiced ease.
His plan was simple: gather intel on Baron Mansla first, then start hunting for other non-humans.
But suddenly, a primal instinct flared in him—something wasn't right.
*"It's like I've stepped into another predator's territory."*
Some unseen force—a frenzied, chaotic presence—crashed into him, shaking his senses. His bloodline surged again, some dormant power erupting deep within.
It poured through his body and slammed into his mind. Then everything exploded.
In that flash of chaos, he saw something—someplace—unreal. A monstrous werewolf formed from smoke, with glowing crimson eyes, charged at him.
It kept growing, bigger and bigger, until it threatened to consume Adam's entire field of vision.
*Hell no!*
Adam snarled and lunged forward. *You wanna come at me? Then I'm coming right back at you!*
Werewolf instincts kicked in. He didn't think—he just acted.
The two collided midair. The smoke-beast shattered apart, then reformed again, spinning around to strike. Its massive claw came down toward Adam's back like a hammer of death.
That shadowy body surged forward, trying to smother him completely.
Noise—static—screams—whispers—all rushed into Adam's mind. Twisted, jumbled, maddening things.
And then—suddenly—it was gone.
Adam's vision snapped back to reality. His brow throbbed with pain. He was still crouched on the wall, right outside the window.
At the end of the hallway inside, a door opened.
Out stepped a burly man with shoulder-length brown curls and a scruffy beard. He wore a loose robe, and his brown eyes scanned the darkness—eyes sharp enough that they seemed to pierce straight through the wall.
Then—*boom*—the man launched himself forward, shifting mid-air into a werewolf covered in coarse brown fur, hurtling toward Adam like a cannonball.
*Same kind.*
And a strong one.
Feeling the overwhelming pressure, Adam acted on instinct. He leapt off the wall, landed smoothly, and vanished into the night before the other could catch sight of him.
The brown-furred werewolf crouched at the window, both hands braced on the frame. He scanned the shadows below but saw only the faint wisp of a retreating silhouette.
*"That kid…"*
He reverted to human form and hopped back inside, tightening the sash on his robe.
From deeper inside the hall came another figure—a man in noble attire, balding slightly at the temples. Baron Mansla.
He walked with unshakable calm, though if one looked closely, they'd see a strange sigil glowing faintly on the back of his hand—a pattern of semi-circles and triangles wrapped in arcane runes.
"Who was it?" the baron asked.
"Just a kid," the werewolf muttered. "Good instincts though. His bloodline hasn't even awakened yet, but he still managed to force his way into my sensory domain. Even escaped cleanly. That kind of control over one's awareness? Pretty rare, even among us. The warlocks would eat that up."
Baron Mansla's eyes narrowed. "Seems like everyone's crawling out of the woodwork since that damn witch doctor died."
He glanced down at the damaged hallway floor and the claw marks on the window frame, clearly displeased. The sigil on his hand pulsed faintly as he added coldly, "Next time, don't make a mess in my house."
"Yeah, yeah." The werewolf scratched his face, tossing a glance at the sigil before nodding. He didn't seem bothered by the baron's arrogant tone.
Nobles were different from their kind. They drew power from their bloodline too—but they weren't alone in that power. They carried entire legacies within them.
Which made them even more dangerous.
———
After making a few more rounds to ensure he wasn't being followed, Adam gave up on finding other non-humans that night and returned straight to the attic.
*"That Baron Mansla… he's more of a wild card than I thought."*
Adam rubbed his temples. Not only was the baron secretly funding bandits outside the city, he was also harboring werewolves inside it.
And this was Roia, capital of the Holy Sonorous Kingdom—a theocracy where the Church kept nobles on a tight leash. Getting chummy with werewolves here? That took serious nerve.
*"Maybe I overestimated myself."*
Things had changed. His plan needed adjusting. Adam started mapping out the social web of Roia's southern district, reorganizing his next moves from scratch.
Eventually, his thoughts gave way to sleep. Curled up in a corner of his bed, he drifted off—quiet and small, but far from helpless.