His appearance had already changed slightly. Originally, he looked quite ordinary, but now he had thick eyebrows and big eyes, with six icy whisker tattoos on his cheeks, giving him a bit of a clumsy, big-cat look. Yet, paired with his sharp white buzz cut and heterochromatic red and blue eyes, there was also a hint of menace.

His height had shot up to 1.7 meters, his shoulders broad, muscles winding around his body like vines—clear and massive—like a sturdy little bear. His skin was as fair as snow, with a healthy pinkish-white tone, not at all frail, but rather exuding a kind of masculine vigor born from the depths of winter.

Owen Clark was shocked, “Damn! If I dye my hair yellow, I’ll be the Hokage!”

The Shapeshifter bloodline had nearly limitless possibilities when it came to altering one’s appearance! Forget Hokage, even being one of the Four Emperors wouldn’t be a problem… except for Big Mom, of course.

The two of them jumped out of the pit and returned to the snowy forest. Anthony caught sight of Owen Clark’s excited face and gave a cold smile. “Pretty excited, huh? Guess what we Shapeshifters are called by other races out in the world?”

Owen Clark tilted his head. “A warrior race?”

Anthony shook his head. “Nope.”

“Transformers?”

“What the hell, try again.”

Owen Clark thought of the village chief’s bookshelf and the “Epic of Odin Continent” on it, which praised powerful races like elves, dragons, and giants, and had a nice-sounding term. “Born strong?”

“None of those. Remember this, and never forget what the other races call us.” Anthony turned and walked into the wind and snow, his voice drifting back, “They call us… mongrels!”

Owen Clark stroked his chin, not feeling angry at all. “In a way, they’re not exactly wrong.”

===Chapter 7: Where is the most basic trust between people?===

After obtaining the Ural White Bear bloodline, Owen Clark’s physical abilities had increased dramatically, almost reaching the level of a first-tier Awakened Warrior, but he was still an elite warrior—what improved was his physical talent.

The interval for a Shapeshifter to fuse with a new race is ten years. This was Owen Clark’s first bloodline fusion.

Back in the village, the two of them ran into Uncle Shadow, cloaked in a black robe, at the village entrance. Anthony curled his lips and proactively stepped aside—only someone even stronger could make a powerhouse wary.

Uncle Shadow walked up, passed by Owen Clark, and said softly, “Come with me.”

He was thin and gaunt, his voice hoarse, like a grinding wheel scraping in his throat. Owen Clark’s excitement from escaping Anthony was instantly doused, and he gave a wry smile. Uncle Shadow didn’t let him rest at all, so Owen Clark could only quickly adjust his mindset and follow Shadow back into the mountains.

From dawn to dusk, the two of them arrived at a crescent-shaped valley. Owen Clark’s eyes widened in disbelief—there were more than a dozen tents in the valley below, with rising cooking smoke shredded into mist by the wind and snow. Owen Clark had been to this valley more than half a year ago, and back then it was completely empty, not a living thing in sight.

Uncle Shadow spoke slowly: “Some time ago, an adventurer team entered the mountains to explore. It was a fourteen-person squad: two official warriors, one elite warrior, two swordsman apprentices, three priests of the fire god Helrius, one shadow sorcery apprentice, one water magic apprentice, and four new-moon level Aksu werewolves.”

Owen Clark blinked. “So?”

Uncle Shadow said blandly, “Kill them all. The tribe does not welcome outsiders.”

Owen Clark was startled. “That’s way too unreasonable!”

Uncle Shadow’s tone was flat. “This world has never been reasonable to us Shapeshifters.”

Owen Clark was helpless. “Uncle Shadow, your outlook is way too dark. What exactly are you trying to teach me?”

“The way of the assassin.”

Owen Clark was speechless and pointed at the Hurricane Hammer. “Have you ever seen an assassin use a hammer?”

“I have.”

Owen Clark was even more speechless.

“You have three days. After three days, I don’t want to see any living person here except you. Only by facing strong enemies can you grasp the true essence of assassination.” Shadow’s tone was indifferent.

Owen Clark shook his head repeatedly. “I refuse!”

Shadow said nothing.

“These people have no grudge against me. I can’t kill them.” As a model youth raised under the red flag, killing some wild beasts was one thing, but killing people indiscriminately? No way.

“The Frost Wolves had no grudge against you either.”

“That’s not the same…” Owen Clark said helplessly. “You’re just twisting the logic. It’s not like I eat people.”

Uncle Shadow turned and looked straight into Owen Clark’s eyes. “Fine.”

Owen Clark looked puzzled. Was Uncle Shadow really this easy to talk to?

Uncle Shadow let out an unpleasant laugh and rasped, “You’ve chosen another kind of training. If you won’t kill, then be killed. In these three days, you must protect them from my assassinations. If, after three days, there are still living people here besides you, then you qualify to receive my training.”

Owen Clark’s vision blurred—Shadow had already vanished. He muttered, “So willful?”

Suddenly, Owen Clark thought of something. More important than protecting them was how to gain their trust. He’d better not get killed the moment he showed up.

In his mind, Demacia said coolly, “The Cold Night Mountains are a recognized forbidden zone for life. There’s no way such a low-level adventurer team would enter. These people were all captured and brought here as tools to train you.”

Owen Clark clicked his tongue. Damn, that’s brutal.

……

There were two warriors standing guard in front of the tents. Owen Clark steadied himself and walked straight over. In his mind, Demacia said helplessly, “If you just walk up to them, they’ll treat you as an enemy. Can’t you be a bit smarter?”