The wine cups clinked softly. The old chieftain of the Goldmanes Monkey Tribe narrowed his eyes slightly, as if the wine had carried him back to many years ago.

  "You know," he said,"that was back when the previous rhino chieftain was still in charge."

  A trace of nostalgia flickered in his eyes. It had been a harsh winter many years ago—so cold that even the beasts of the mountains refused to show themselves. During a monster hunt, the rhino chieftain had been severely injured. The wound became infected, leaving him almost completely immobile.

  And right at that time, the beasts of the plains began to stir, a sure sign of an imminent large-scale assault.

  "They had no choice but to come to us, heads bowed," Goldmanes chuckled.

  The monkey people were never known for their combat strength—individually weak, their tribe was small. But they held a very unique piece of territory: a massive karst cave.

  The cave was vast, deep, and twisting. It had excellent ventilation, and an underground river flowed through it, solving both drinking water and waste disposal needs. With food stockpiled in advance and the entrance sealed, no beast tide—no matter how fierce—could breach this natural fortress.

  Goldmanes had been a young monkey back then, but he had witnessed that catastrophe with his own eyes. The rhinos came in large numbers, bringing with them crude baggage, wounded kin, and heavy hearts.

  "Since then, they've always remembered our kindness," Goldmanes said with a sigh and a smile."Sure, they're not the easiest folks to get along with, but they've never forgotten that favor."

  He chuckled."Those big guys have terrible tempers. Always roundabout when dealing with us monkeys. But when something happens—especially over near the Godwar Hills—they're the first to come give a heads-up."

  Draven listened quietly, rotating the cup in his hand. He could hear a hint of helplessness in the old chieftain's voice, so he asked with a smile,"So the rhinos are difficult to get along with?"

  That question hit the old monkey right in the feels. He slapped his thigh, sloshing wine onto his hairy leg without a care.

  "Oh, you have no idea!" Goldmanes began to rant."Those rhinos? Stubborn to the bone, few words, and when they do speak—it's sharp enough to cut!"

  What followed could have lasted the entire night. If Draven hadn't steered the topic, the old man might have gone from complaining about ancestors to dissecting their eating habits.

  Still, through this long-winded venting, Draven managed to form a picture of what rhinos were like in Goldmanes' eyes: muscle-bound, thick-headed oafs.

  "There was this one time..." The chieftain suddenly chuckled, his voice lowering."As thanks for our help, the old rhino chieftain insisted on offering me their most beautiful female—said it was a gesture of goodwill, a lifelong bond."

  Draven nearly spat out his wine.

  "You know how it is," Goldmanes swirled his cup."We monkeyfolk aren't tall. Adult males barely top five feet. That rhino woman though? Must've been close to ten feet tall." He gestured wildly with his hands.

  "Not just tall. Her skin was grayish-white, thick and calloused like stone. And the horn! A short, fat one right in the middle of her forehead. Looked like she was gonna gore you to death in your sleep." The old chief shook his head as he spoke.

  Draven couldn't help glancing at the monkey guard by the door—a sturdy frame but painfully short. It really made one wonder how they'd managed to dodge such an"arranged marriage."

  "If I had refused, the rhinos would've thought we looked down on them." The old chief made a face like he'd just bitten a bitter root."That rhino woman… sigh. I still see her in my dreams, you know. That face—it's burned into my memory."

  Draven barely kept his laughter in. He twirled the cup again, almost asking,"So what happened? Where did she end up?" But he swallowed the words. Too personal.

  Comedic as it sounded, the conversation gave Draven quite a bit of useful information.

  According to Goldmanes, the current rhino chieftain was a mid-tier bloodline warrior, backed by seven or eight others of the same rank.

  As a whole, the rhino tribe wasn't top-tier among beastkin, but they weren't weak either. In the short term, they posed no threat to the Black Flag Territory.

  And with Goldmanes practically labeling them as blockheads, Draven felt even more at ease. A harmless neighbor was a good neighbor.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  At the very least, they wouldn't play tricks, didn't understand politics, and were easily grateful when given the slightest benefit.

  Still... Draven couldn't help wondering what that rhino beauty really looked like.

  A ten-foot-tall female with gray-white skin and a horned forehead. A deep, gravelly voice. Movements that, while heavy, might carry a certain primal, forceful grace.

  "Could be... interesting," he thought to himself.

  After all, his Blackwolf Clan wasn't exactly small either—the average male stood over two meters tall.

  After chatting with the old monkey chieftain Goldmanes for quite a while, and stuffing himself with sweet-and-sour fruits along with a few cups of monkey wine, Draven finally bid farewell to the talkative elder.

  Under the old chieftain's reluctant gaze, Draven mounted his Nightmare Horse. The shadowy beast leapt up, its hooves pounding the air and sending ripples through the sky.

  Draven turned back mid-air and waved, a polite smile still on his face. But as the wind drowned out the sounds of farewell, that smile gradually faded.

  It wasn't Draven's first time visiting the monkeyfolk territory, but something felt different this time. He could sense it clearly—despite the old chieftain's seemingly sound health and the life-extending effects of bloodwine, there was still that inescapable, suffocating aura of death drawing near.

  "Hope he can make it through this winter," Draven muttered under his breath.

  As a lord, he understood all too well that no tribe, not even the most obedient monkeyfolk, could avoid unrest after losing their leader.

  That kind old man might not have much time left, but Draven knew he couldn't dwell on emotions. He had more pressing matters to deal with. So he tugged the reins and galloped back toward Village No. 2.

  By the time he returned, the rain had just stopped. The roads were still soggy and full of potholes that squelched with every step.

  But oddly enough, Draven felt his mood lift. Because as soon as he landed, he saw Liliana riding on the neck of a short-horned demon bull, strutting around the training field like a little queen.

  She waved proudly, showing off to a group of wolf pups trailing behind her. They stared up at her with wide, sparkling eyes, their envy practically dripping off them.

  That demon bull wasn't just any mount. Unlike contract beasts, it still retained its wild nature. Even though Liliana had tamed it, only she could ride it so brazenly around the village.

  Watching her ride with such flair, the gloom in Draven's heart completely dissipated. But the ease didn't last long.

  In the next second, he noticed that the training field—just barely flattened out—was now completely destroyed. The demon bull's massive hooves had turned it into a swamp, as if a battle had been fought there.

  Draven's mouth twitched. Fury bubbled up in his chest. He stormed over and yanked Liliana off the bull, tucking her under his arm like a sack of potatoes.

  "Who told you to bring the demon bull into the village?" he growled through clenched teeth.

  Liliana puffed her cheeks, ready to protest—but before she could utter a word, a sharp smack landed on her backside, crisp and decisive.

  The little girl instantly fell silent, and the bull, understanding the mood, slowly walked out of the village with its tail swaying behind. Its retreating figure looked both proud and casual—like a mischievous kid who just kicked over a mud pie and refused to apologize.

  Standing at the edge of the muddy field, Draven stared at the crater-filled mess, his face twitching with frustration. But then, a sudden spark of inspiration lit up his eyes.

  Liliana, still clamped under his arm, noticed the shift in his expression—from displeasure to a weird, plotting grin—and immediately felt uneasy.

  "What are you scheming now?" she asked, tilting her head.

  Draven didn't answer. He just grinned wider, then suddenly tossed her into the air and caught her effortlessly, resting her firm little butt on his shoulder as he carried her on his back.

  Liliana wrapped her arms around his neck and nestled her head against his shoulder with a content hum.

  "Why are you suddenly smiling?" she asked curiously.

  Draven still didn't reply, only grinned more wickedly. He had just thought of a new plan: roads! It was time to start building a road system across the Black Flag Territory. But not with manpower—with demon bulls.

  Let the short-horned demon bulls stomp the paths into shape first. After the rainy season, they could handle drainage and reinforcement. It might just work.

  But he also knew now wasn't the time to act. Starting construction during the rainy season was asking for disaster. He had to wait for clear skies.

  ...

  Meanwhile, in the back garden of the Lord's Manor, a rather tense strategy meeting was underway.

  Selene had gathered with her aunt Lydia and Deputy City Mistress Freya—a rare trio of powerful women in one room. What was supposed to be a simple planning session had been derailed by Lydia's provocations.

  "My caravan has been in intensive training for a full week," Lydia said with a tight-lipped smile, her tone seemingly casual, but every word carried a barb."The fighters are performing well, and the route is already mapped out. If not for the bad weather, we'd probably have departed by now."

  As she spoke, she threw a side glance at Freya—equal parts smug and scornful.

  Freya responded with a graceful smile, full of charm:"I could never compare to you—your talent pool is endless, and your resources practically overflow."

  "But still, I managed to put a team together," she added lightly."They're training daily now. Though they lack experience, I suppose they'll have to learn from the best—you."

  Her words sounded polite, but the subtle jab was unmistakable. The tone was soft, her posture humble, but the powder keg was lit.

  Lydia clenched her teeth and cursed silently. Where the hell did this woman find so many people? Intelligence had said she was still one team short! Fury burned in her chest, though her face only showed a stiff, forced smile.

  Selene, seated nearby, wore a complex expression. She knew all too well—these two women were like fire and gunpowder. A single spark and things exploded.

  And yet her aunt still thought she could dominate Freya. In Selene's view, that was pure delusion.

  At the very least, Lydia was no match for Freya, who had the power and presence of a true lord.

  Sensing the rising tension, Selene hurried to change the subject, steering the conversation toward the specifics of business operations.

  This was Freya's forte. Instantly, she was in her element—speaking fluently, with clear figures and well-organized points, even analyzing profit fluctuations in precise detail.

  Lydia sat on the side, seething in silence. Her ears felt like they were on fire, and in her mind, she cursed that damned woman a hundred different ways.