It wasn't just Viola—even Draven felt like something was missing from daily life. Though the young fox couple had never been particularly talkative, they were never lazy when it came to their work. Especially in the winery, they took on every task without complaint or hesitation. Now that they were gone, the immediate burden fell squarely on Draven's shoulders—once again, he had to personally manage the winemaking operations.

  He didn't want to get involved himself, but there simply wasn't a better candidate. So he called over Morne and two other black werewolves who had once been enslaved and now enjoyed their freedom.

  The three of them had already settled in the Black Flag Territory. They not only had new homes, but had also found partners willing to share their lives. All in all, they were lucky. If they hadn't met a lord like Draven, they might have ended up as cannon fodder on some distant battlefield.

  Draven taught them the techniques for brewing fruit wine and cassava wine, emphasizing clear divisions of labor and meticulous recordkeeping. As for bloodwine and monkey wine—types that involved arcane rituals and magical resonance—he would never entrust those to outsiders. It wasn't just about guarding the recipes; these brews were integral to the entire territory's power system.

  Viola was too busy. The young fox kits were still growing. Sylvia was an outsider, and Liliana had to manage matters on Flower Fruit Mountain. When he tallied it all up, Draven realized he had no choice but to personally oversee the production of bloodwine.

  When he stepped into the cellar, that familiar, slightly sweet and metallic scent of fermentation immediately hit him. The wine cellar had been expanded and now looked completely different. Jars were lined up neatly, and ventilation and temperature control had been significantly improved.

  These were all arrangements Alaric had made himself before he left. Draven knew he was reaping the benefits of someone else's labor, saving him a great deal of trouble.

  Two little octopuses lay perched at the edge of the wine jars. The moment they saw him, they extended their red tendrils and let out a series of cheerful gurgling sounds.

  Draven felt a sense of warmth at their presence. He knew they longed for fresh bloodwine—but right now, he simply couldn't provide any. The rainy season had arrived. Magic beasts were harder to find, and the spoils brought back by hunters weren't even enough for rations, let alone the high-concentration plasma needed for brewing.

  "Bear with it for now," he said, patting one of the octopuses gently on the head. Then suddenly, something came to mind.

  He retrieved a slightly blood-scented beast-hide scroll from his storage ring—the secret technique provided by the Serpent Ancestor. Though he had read it before, he had never gotten around to verifying its authenticity.

  "Here, let me read you a passage," Draven muttered, crouching beside the octopuses and beginning to read the ancient words aloud. He had only spoken a few lines when the cellar echoed with two shrill, panicked screeches.

  "Bloodthirsty Dark Arts!" the two octopuses cried out in unison, their tentacles curling tightly in fear.

  Draven froze. He quickly rolled up the scroll, his brows furrowing deeply."You recognize this spell?"

  The octopuses began chattering anxiously. It took Draven a while to piece together what they were trying to explain.

  According to their inherited memories, this so-called "Bloodthirsty Dark Art" wasn't just some typical black magic—it was an ancient, forbidden spell.

  Over ten thousand years ago, when the Evil Gods invaded the Beast Realm, it was precisely through this technique that they managed to slaughter a vast number of beast deity followers in a short period of time.

  It was a cataclysm that nearly tore the world apart. This spell had been one of the most infamous and terrifying tools of that destruction. Draven's face darkened.

  The Serpent Ancestor, that old bastard—always claiming to serve the Beast Gods faithfully—had handed him something that originated from the Evil Gods' lineage? How could that possibly make sense?

  True, the contract they shared prevented the serpent from lying—but that didn't mean he couldn't omit the truth. The fact that the Serpent Ancestor had never mentioned the origin of the Bloodthirsty Dark Arts was more than enough to raise suspicion.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  A so-called loyal servant of the Beast Gods, passing down an ancient forbidden evil spell as part of his inheritance? He was either insane—or he had betrayed the Beast Gods long ago.

  A cold smirk curved on Draven's lips, and a sharp glint flashed through his eyes. He had made up his mind. The Serpent Ancestor could no longer be allowed to act unchecked. Regardless of whether he had once been a friend or an enemy, now he had to undergo a full investigation.

  With a thought, Draven sent this entire string of intel to his Second Consciousness via their soul-link. Far away in Village No. 3, Gregor's body trembled at the sudden flood of information.

  He slowly narrowed his eyes, the corner of his mouth curling into a cold smile."The secret art you gave me last time was too conspicuous. Give me another."

  Curled up in the corner, absorbing the thin traces of magic, the Serpent Ancestor suddenly opened its eyes. Hearing those words, its previously lowered head snapped upward.

  The distance between Village No. 3 and Draven was vast. Without the protection of the main consciousness or the support of faith, the Serpent Ancestor's cultivation was agonizingly slow. Its strength had been stuck at the upper-tier of the beginner level for ages. It longed to break through, to return to its former glory. But without external aid, even a single step forward seemed utterly unreachable.

  Now, Gregor's voice—though icy—was enough to reignite its hope.

  The Serpent Ancestor slithered slowly out from the shadows, its long body moving with eerie grace like a streak of black ink. It stopped in front of Gregor, lifting its head, eyes glinting with undisguised pride.

  "You fear that secret art was too obvious? Then try this."

  As it spoke, it opened its maw full of backward-curved fangs and slowly spat out a grayish-white bead. Its surface was coarse, but it emanated a disturbing chill.

  Gregor didn't reach for it immediately. His gaze remained cold as he studied the bone bead, brows slightly furrowed."What is it?"

  "A bone artifact," the Serpent Ancestor said softly, its tone laced with pride and a trace of reluctance.

  "If you feed it enough energy, it will not only become a powerful weapon but can also fuse with your body—accelerating your growth and letting you break past your current limits."

  Gregor remained silent, his mind racing through the shared memories of the main consciousness.

  He remembered that chaotic battle—the Serpent Ancestor's confrontation with Selene. Back then, the serpent had wielded a spiraling bone spike that pierced Selene's magic shield in a single blow.

  He had thought the weapon was destroyed in the skirmish, but now it seemed the bead before him might be its core.

  After a brief pause, he slowly bent down and picked up the bone bead.

  "How does it work?" he asked, eyes locked on the Serpent Ancestor, his voice calm but laced with caution.

  "Simple. Drip your blood onto it," the Serpent Ancestor hissed."The artifact will fuse with your skeleton. It will become part of you—and you part of it. The bond is irreversible."

  Meanwhile, Draven sat at a wooden table surrounded by rows of wine jars, consulting the two little octopuses about the bone artifact's origin.

  The octopuses exchanged a few tentacles, then both shook their heads. Their inherited memory held no knowledge of such an item.

  Draven's heart sank slightly. No records meant the artifact was beyond the comprehension of common beastkin or even demigods.

  After a moment of hesitation, he finally sent a command: Fuse it.

  After all, the serpent's body was just a vessel. Even if something went wrong, the loss wouldn't be irreparable.

  Receiving the directive from the main consciousness, Gregor's eyes sharpened. He pulled out a dagger and made a small cut on his fingertip. A drop of blood fell and soaked into the bead.

  Instantly, the bead lit up. The dull gray-white surface transformed into something translucent, like flawless white jade under the blood's influence.

  Then it began to melt—like wax over a flame—turning into a thick, viscous fluid that seeped into Gregor's body through his fingertip.

  A searing pain surged through him like wildfire. Gregor gritted his teeth, his cheeks twitching as his fingers trembled uncontrollably. But he resisted the urge to sever the infection at its source, instead locking his eyes onto the Serpent Ancestor.

  "Don't worry. The pain is normal," the Serpent Ancestor murmured in a slow, almost reverent tone, like a priest comforting a novice during their first rite.

  Eventually, the torment subsided.

  Gregor looked down at his hand. With a mere thought, a bone-white dagger began to grow from his palm. It looked completely natural, as if it had always been part of his body.

  Cold and razor-sharp, its surface was perfectly smooth. Though its shape was plain, the pressure it exuded was unmistakable. He stared at it, a flicker of complex emotion crossing his eyes.

  "Do you feel it?" the Serpent Ancestor chuckled softly, eyes gleaming.

  "Once you pierce someone with that blade, it'll drain their flesh and blood essence—nourishing and strengthening you in return."

  Gregor lowered the dagger, and with another thought, it vanished as though it had never existed. He looked down at his unmarred palm, his gaze now even more composed.

  "Bloodthirsty arts. Bone artifacts..." he muttered."This so-called divine general—perhaps we should talk. About your connection to the dark gods."

  The Serpent Ancestor's smug expression froze.

  The moment Gregor uttered the phrase dark gods, its enormous serpentine body shuddered violently, as if electrocuted.

  "How do you know about Them?"

  Its voice trembled, pupils constricting into thin slits. It was clear—the terror was real.

  Had it possessed hands, they would've already been pointing accusatorily at Gregor.

  But it had none. And Gregor had no intention of answering. He simply stared back in silence, his gaze cold, layered with unreadable depth.