The outer garment was crafted from densely woven black fabric, trimmed in crimson at the edges. It fell into a swallowtail cut at the back, lined with pale white and adorned with ornamental patterns. Two rows of round buttons graced the chest, paired with a shoulder cape that gave the ensemble a sense of harmonious refinement.
The trousers bore little decoration, but below them were boots made from the tough hide of an unknown beast, etched with simple motifs. Subtle embellishments completed the outfit—the cuffs, collar, and the buttons of the cape were each inlaid with dark green gemstones, within which faint runes shimmered. A clasp at the back of the cape allowed it to be fastened to a larger cloak, transforming the piece if needed.
Adam cradled the garments and went to change in his room.
Whether due to past malnutrition or his current knightly training, Adam had been growing rapidly. He had once stood at merely one meter fifty, often needing to elevate himself in disguise. Now, he had passed one-sixty, and his height continued its steady climb, albeit more slowly. The clothes seemed to have accounted for this, with ample length left to fold. As he donned them and gazed into the mirror, the reflection staring back at him felt almost unfamiliar.
He had lived in places where comfort was a luxury, where even basic provisions were scarce. Since arriving in Roya and boarding with the Borku family, he hadn't had the opportunity for self-adornment. Yet now, slightly neatened, he descended to the first floor—and even Serene, who had never hidden her dislike for him, appeared momentarily stunned at the sight of him.
"This too," Anthony called, tossing something into Adam's hands. It was a black hat with a wide, curved brim, oval in shape, and a ribbon tied around the crown. A single black feather was pinned to the right side.
Adam placed it on his head. As he stood there, no one could have mistaken him for a common-born child; not even most nobles could nurture such bearing.
He carefully placed the hat and cape into a box and bowed his thanks to Anthony.
"The gemstones at your cuffs, collar, and cape are custom-made," Anthony explained. "I've embedded a few counterspells into them. If hostile mental energy draws near, the collar gem will grow warm."
A moment later, Anthony released a pulse of spiritual energy without reservation. Adam instantly felt the heat at his throat.
"The cuff buttons are linked to your mental force—you can summon a shadow shield with them, strong enough to block most attacks."
"The cape's button may seem useless now, but it's a key—through it, the entire outfit can be transformed. The fabric is enchanted with spellwoven thread. Master the requisite techniques, and you can refine other materials into thread to mend or enhance it."
"And that feather on the hat—it allows you to cast Featherfall. Should you fall from a height, it will slow your descent and ensure you land safely."
"I'm deeply grateful, teacher," Adam murmured. He had nothing else to offer in return. Such a set of attire was not just costly—it was irreplaceable.
Yet the more care Anthony showed him, the more Adam yearned to leave this place.
After a brief exchange about arcane knowledge, Serene stood off to the side, watching Adam with a gaze sharp enough to kill.
Sensing the tension, Anthony wrapped up the discussion and, under Serene's pointed stare, retreated to the twelfth floor to rest.
Adam rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to the fifth floor, checking on the goats that had undergone surgery the day before. They appeared restless, each showing signs of agitation.
"No appetite?" he muttered, glancing at their troughs. The goats hadn't eaten much since the procedure. Yet their wounds had healed remarkably quickly.
"They're too overexcited," Adam noted, focusing on the one that had undergone full castration. "Vitality needs guidance—unchecked, it will spiral into frenzied waste."
While observing the animals, Adam sensed someone approach from behind.
"Is the teacher resting?" he asked.
Serene, who had been tending to the garden, remained silent.
"You know better than I do," Adam continued. "His condition isn't right."
Finally, she turned to him, voice thick with resentment. "And whose fault do you think that is?"
"If you hadn't come, the master could have remained dormant, avoiding most of the symptoms. Your presence is what forces him to awaken so often."
"Then what happened back then?" Adam pressed. "Teacher's mindset is nothing like what a true immortal should possess. Something is broken. And unless that's resolved, none of this will improve. With his power, few things should truly threaten him."
"You don't need to know," Serene replied curtly. She finished her work on the fifth floor and departed without further word.
Frowning, Adam recorded the goats' conditions and made his way to the tenth floor. Unusually, Serene was also there. Upon noticing his arrival, she wordlessly set down her book and left.
Adam watched her go, shook his head, and pulled the book she had been reading from the shelf.
"The Curse of Vampiric Creatures"
The title alone made Adam's expression darken.
Among arcanists, vampires were referred to collectively as vampiric breeds. They had used werewolves as experimental vessels—extracting their bloodlines, modifying them, and then grafting those alterations onto themselves.
Various techniques were used—rituals, spells, and curses.
This book detailed how to strip a werewolf's bloodline, transform it, and weaponize it as a curse, to be inflicted on oneself or others.
"Alva was a master of curses," Adam recalled. Though Serene had refused to divulge the past, she had deliberately left breadcrumbs for him to follow.
"So the foundation of the Elixir of Immortality… was this very curse?"
Thinking of Anthony's increasingly pallid complexion, Adam flipped through the book again. A section had been marked in red—an intricate technique involving layered curses.
"Modify the werewolf bloodline. Reshape it into a curse. Apply it to oneself—or to another."
Holding the book tightly, Adam closed his eyes and imagined himself in Alva's shoes.
A brilliant and ambitious cultivator, seeking to transcend the fleeting lives of mortals. Yet he disdains deformity, refuses to become monstrous like other arcanists who shed their humanity. He yearns to remain wholly human—and still defy time.
But it isn't just about himself. He wants to rewrite the fate of all mankind. Human lives, so brief, are an injustice. His goal is to extend life not only for himself, but for his descendants—for the entire species.
Let the mutants bear the burden of sin. From their twisted gifts, humanity will harvest longevity—refined, purified, sanctified, as if by divine command.
A curse, then. The sin and the gift, separated.
But what if the curse isn't placed on one individual? What if it's split—cast upon two?
Would it duplicate? Or divide?
And how do you ensure the part containing immortality is the one you inherit, while the sin attaches elsewhere?
Adam shook his head. He had hit a wall—his knowledge still too shallow. But at least now, he understood the basic mechanics behind the Elixir's refinement.
A curse forged from the vampiric strain, designed to be shared between two—or more. But the key lies in keeping the sin from splitting. Ordinarily, a layered curse divides equally… especially when sin, a force prone to fracturing, is involved.
Yet the outcome is clear: the Elixir is singular. Only one exists. And more than one has benefited from it.
One is consumed by sin, transformed into a vampiric being. The other inherits undiluted immortality.
And Anthony… Anthony is in this state because he has gone far too long without feeding.