In the tavern, Rurik sat by the window, half a cup of blood wine in hand, his expression complicated. His gaze kept drifting to the three stagmen sitting opposite him.

  They were the three Dorian brothers, bloodline warriors of the demi-human race, belonging to the stagmen lineage. Rurik had been frequenting the Succubus Tavern recently and had finally met them here—a rare gain during these days.

  Since Draven left Selene City, Rurik had many burdens on his shoulders. Angelica had quickly brought in a rabbit demi-human sister from the old tavern to join the Black Flag Tavern.

  With two voluptuous and distinctively spirited bunny girls, the tavern's business flourished, and Rurik's life became unusually comfortable for a time.

  More importantly, this freed him from the tavern's daily trivialities. He was fond of Angelica and truly grateful to her. But this also heightened his sense of urgency.

  Rurik never forgot the leader's orders before departure: income was secondary; the key was to gather intelligence and recruit capable people.

  That was his real mission in Selene City. The tavern was just a tool—the true value lay in expanding Black Flag Territory's intelligence network and power base.

  On the intelligence front, he could barely deliver a decent report. Spending his days in the tavern, relying on his sharp hearing and detailed memory, he had already gathered quite a few important clues and pieces of news. But when it came to recruiting talent, he was completely at a loss.

  In a place like Selene City, recruiting people wasn't hard. The difficult part was recruiting truly useful ones.

  Especially bloodline warriors. Ordinary demi-humans who survived in this city had mostly already allied themselves with powerful factions, like the minotaurs, leopards, or serpent tribes. Even those who lived independently usually had some special skill.

  Bloodline warriors were even more pragmatic. They cared about the stability and future prospects of a faction. Black Flag Territory had been established less than a year ago—in other words, its roots weren't yet firm.

  In their eyes, such a fledgling power was too risky. To put it bluntly, one beast tide could wipe out the entire territory any day.

  Moreover, rumors were spreading that Black Flag Territory recruited bloodline warriors only to use them as cannon fodder. The so-called defense against the first-year beast tide sounded glorious but was really just sending lives to die!

  Rurik knew very well the source of this rumor: the old tavern where Angelica had worked. Not only had the Minotaur Tavern lost business, but one of their most sought-after bunny girls had jumped ship.

  There was no way they could swallow this grudge. Spreading false rumors was normal.

  But since it involved one of Selene City's four major tribes—the Minotaur clan—even if they knew, they couldn't take it further. Black Flag Tavern was still too weak to confront them.

  Helpless, Rurik turned to the Succubus Tavern. This tavern was Selene's property—expensive but safe. Those who drank here were either wealthy or powerful, or both.

  His gamble was that here he could find truly valuable collaborators. Fortunately, he was right.

  The Dorian brothers were the ones he met here. Like him, they were looking for opportunities in this city.

  "We can join, but we need a bloodline weapon!" This was the reply Rurik received when inviting the three stagmen brothers to join Black Flag Territory.

  Rurik hesitated. Bloodline weapons were no ordinary items. They could awaken potential in a demi-human's bloodline, were extremely expensive, and scarce in number.

  He did have one on hand, a spare left by Draven, but sending it out directly still made him reluctant.

  More importantly, the brothers' reason for wanting the weapon wasn't for the development of Black Flag Territory but for revenge.

  Rurik looked at the brothers' upright figures; the stag antlers on their foreheads shimmered with a faint silver glow—an indication of their bloodline awakening.

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  Their steps were light and their eyes alert; their bodies were naturally suited for swift movement and reconnaissance, making them ideal scouts and messengers. In short, Black Flag Territory desperately needed people like them.

  But when the brothers spoke of their past, Rurik finally understood their true purpose.

  Dorian, Samuel, and Alec were the younger brothers of the four siblings of the stagmen tribe. Their sister, Martha, was not only the tribe's top warrior but also the true pillar in their hearts.

  A month ago, Martha took her brothers hunting as usual, targeting a lone Ironhide Bull. It was a tough battle.

  The four of them worked together, nearly exhausting their bloodline powers, before finally killing the Ironhide Bull. Though that magical beast was only a low-rank one,

  its combat and defense capabilities far exceeded others of the same rank. Even mid-rank bloodline warriors might hesitate to provoke it lightly.

  Its armor, hard as gold and iron, was prime material for forging armor.

  Martha and her three younger brothers gathered around the massive carcass of the ironclad bull, their faces beaming with joy. Fresh blood still dripped from the beast's throat, but in their eyes, this was no longer a dangerous monster—it was a gateway to their future.

  The ironclad bull, though only a low-rank magical beast, had a metallic shell perfect for forging armor. And the heavy magical core embedded within it was extremely valuable, nearly equivalent to three months' worth of provisions for their tribe. With this haul, they could finally repay their people and even help Martha break through to become a chieftain.

  The four siblings eagerly set to work skinning the beast, extracting the core, and cutting the meat, full of hopes and dreams for the future. However, disaster silently approached at their moment of least vigilance.

  Suddenly, heavy footsteps sounded from behind the bushes. Then a group of large, imposing Minotaurs appeared before them—at least seven strong, each wielding a crude iron battle axe, their eyes cold and unfeeling.

  Leading them was a man with two thick, curved bull horns atop his head, wrapped in gleaming copper plates that caught the sunlight with a chilling glint.

  "This bull belongs to us," Bronan declared in a hoarse but commanding voice. Without waiting for the deerfolk to explain, he snorted lightly through his nose, releasing a nauseatingly oppressive aura that instantly enveloped the entire clearing.

  The three Dorian brothers became instantly alert. They knew what this meant: the Minotaurs were not here to negotiate—they were here to steal.

  Martha stepped forward. As the eldest and strongest among the four, she refused to back down. She lowered her voice and explained that they had personally hunted the ironclad bull, and there was no dispute over it.

  But Bronan merely sneered, refusing to listen. He curled his lips and accused them of interfering with the Minotaurs' hunting grounds. Then, with a wave of his hand, two Minotaur warriors charged forward.

  The battle was inevitable. Martha fought fiercely, but she couldn't withstand Bronan's powerful punch infused with bloodline energy.

  The sound of cracking bones echoed as her legs were broken on the spot, and her body was thrown backward, crashing against a rock before finally stopping. Her armor was dented, and her breath was weak.

  The three Dorian brothers' eyes turned red with fury as they rushed to shield their sister and fought to the death. They gritted their teeth and unleashed every technique they had trained for. Though covered in wounds, they refused to retreat even an inch.

  Just when their lives hung by a thread, a shadow suddenly stepped out from the trees—a troll wearing a patrol uniform.

  The troll glanced sideways at Bronan, said nothing, drew the greatsword on his back, and slammed it into the ground, sending a cold sweep across the area.

  Bronan snorted in disdain, shook his cloak, and turned to leave. He knew better than to continue fighting under the watchful eyes of the patrol.

  The deerfolk siblings survived, but at a terrible cost—Martha was crippled. And the ironclad bull was ultimately taken by the Minotaurs.

  Back in their tribe, Martha seemed like a different person, sitting in a corner in a daze all day, unresponsive even to her brothers' pleas. She stopped training and speaking, as if overnight she had turned from a hopeful tribal leader into an empty shell.

  From that moment on, the three Dorian brothers silently vowed to seek justice for their sister. They swore to kill Bronan, even if it cost them their lives.

  But ideals aside, they knew well that the three of them alone were no match for Bronan. He was the son of the Minotaur clan chief, raised from childhood in the bloodline pools, and backed by the entire tribe.

  Even though Bronan's reputation in Selene City was notoriously bad—mocked as a resource-rich but useless wastrel—no one dared to provoke him. So the brothers decided to take an extreme path: to exchange themselves for the power to exact revenge.

  "We're not afraid to die, but we need a bloodline weapon," Dorian said in a low voice.

  They did not intend to hire some strong assassin. Bronan's background was too formidable, and no one was willing to provoke them. After several failed negotiations, they resolved to take matters into their own hands. But to kill Bronan, even by ambush, they needed the power that only a bloodline weapon could grant.

  It was at this critical moment that Rurik met them. After hearing the brothers' story, he remained silent for a long time. He knew why Bronan was a laughingstock in Selene City—not because he was weak, but because he was reckless to the extreme.

  A high-rank bloodline warrior who spent his days bullying low-rank demi-humans in taverns and forcibly taking resources. He even once kidnapped a foxgirl at the market, an act that enraged Selene herself, who ordered his permanent exile from the city.

  Yet even such a man had not been truly defeated. Bronan regrouped a hunting party outside the city, claiming to hunt demons but actually pillaging the wilderness.

  His gang was more like bandits than a formal military force. Both Rurik and Bran had been bullied by them in earlier days. Were it not for Draven's caution, their fate would have been no better than that of the deerfolk.

  How could Rurik possibly bear the responsibility of provoking a Minotaur clan chief that even the leader dared not challenge?