A sudden unease crept into the heart of the Serpent Ancestor. He began to regret underestimating this serpentkin.

  From the very moment the word Evil God slipped from Gregor's mouth, a chill surged up from the depths of the Serpent Ancestor's soul. His scales tensed instinctively, and his body curled slightly, like a beast facing a long-forgotten nemesis.

  That name—Evil God—hadn't been uttered in at least ten thousand years. He couldn't even recall the last time he heard it. That war, buried deep in the vaults of history, was something few dared to even mention in this era.

  And now, a mere low-rank bloodline warrior had spoken it aloud? It was beyond the Serpent Ancestor's comprehension.

  His mind spun rapidly, linking every possible thread connected to this event. Among them, one stood out above the rest—the strange, indomitable contract. A pact so powerful it felt like a deal struck with a force far older than himself.

  Could it be that someone else had survived that apocalyptic war—someone who had retained their clarity even more thoroughly than he?

  The Serpent Ancestor locked his eyes on Gregor. His pupils narrowed, and a faint tremor escaped his throat. It wasn't ordinary fear—it was a fear laced with reverence and hesitation.

  But Gregor did not press further. He simply stood there in silence, his gaze calm and detached, as if waiting for a beast to walk into its own trap.

  The faint curve of Gregor's lips hinted at cold confidence. That composed, dominating aura—it was unmistakably like his master, Draven.

  Their minds were fully linked. Draven's memories, emotions, even fragments of personality shaped Gregor's decisions.

  He knew that pushing the Serpent Ancestor now would be pointless, even dangerous. The old thing would only become more guarded. But as long as Gregor kept the upper hand—let him think he was in control—everything would unfold to their advantage.

  Sure enough, after a brief silence, the Serpent Ancestor finally spoke.

  "You're right," he said, his voice heavy, as if dredging up a memory long buried."I was once a divine general under the Beast God… But I am no longer who I was."

  As his deep voice resonated, the story slowly unfolded.

  "This body is not my original form. After that great war, my true self was nearly torn apart—only a fragment of my soul remained, drifting at the edge of the continent. Just when I thought it was the end, I encountered a dying spectral serpent. It was in even worse shape than I was… but it still had an intact body."

  The Serpent Ancestor closed his eyes briefly, his tone darkening."I had no choice. I used the last of my consciousness to force my way into its soul, suppress its instincts, and seize control of its body."

  "Since then, I've remained dormant, only beginning to awaken in recent years. But I am no longer the same. My vessel, my abilities, even the source of my bloodline—they are no longer pure."

  He paused for a few moments, then added, barely audibly,"I didn't betray the Beast God. I just didn't want to die."

  Gregor listened intently—more seriously than the Serpent Ancestor had expected. He didn't interrupt, nor did he react strongly. He only gave a small nod.

  The tale, overall, matched what the Serpent Ancestor had previously revealed about his identity. But Gregor still felt something was being hidden.

  When he naturally followed up by asking the Serpent Ancestor's original race and true name, the old serpent once again fell into silence, refusing to reveal a single word.

  Clearly, the Serpent Ancestor knew this was the crucial piece. To speak his true identity would be to expose his deepest vulnerability. So he would rather cling to the name Serpent Ancestor than give away anything more.

  In the dominant mind, Draven reflected quietly. He knew very well that forcing more answers through the contract was futile. The Serpent Ancestor could simply stick to the bare minimum within the allowed terms—that was the loophole of any contract.

  On the flip side, once the relationship turned hostile, the old serpent would lose all value. After careful consideration, the best path forward remained the same: keep the ancient creature docile and gradually extract every ounce of value from him.

  Gregor turned away, seemingly letting the matter drop. He gave the Serpent Ancestor a calm, even warm smile."I believe you. Once I break through to the Leader rank, I'll help you return to that level as well."

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  With those words, he turned and left the stone hut, leaving the Serpent Ancestor curled silently in the corner.

  As the words sank in, the Serpent Ancestor's lips slowly curled upward. A smile hidden beneath his reptilian features. Yes, just like that, he thought. Once he gets a taste of benefit, he'll be mine to control.

  The Serpent Ancestor comforted himself, even believing that everything was within his grasp.

  Each harbored their own schemes, convinced they had the upper hand.

  …

  At dusk, beside the pond of Village No. 3, a tall figure stood silently by the water's edge.

  Gregor held a newly crafted bone spear in his hands, its pale white shaft glinting with a cold light in the twilight. His eyes were fixed on the water's surface, not missing even the faintest ripple.

  Suddenly, his arm moved. The spear struck like lightning!

  With a splash, a fish was pinned precisely on the tip. It thrashed wildly, but within seconds, its body began to go limp.

  The fish impaled on the harpoon thrashed violently, its body contorting rapidly toward its central axis, as if compressed by an invisible force. Within just a few breaths, the entire fish shriveled like it had been steamed dry under intense heat, transforming into a faint wisp of bluish smoke that dissipated into the air.

  Gregor's snake-like eyes widened slightly as he stared at the now-empty tip of the bone weapon. He could hardly believe what he had just witnessed. That wasn't a simple killing strike—it was complete annihilation.

  This kind of power was far more chilling than mere slaughter. He could feel it clearly: the fish's life essence hadn't dispersed but had instead been drawn into the bone weapon and, through some eerie mechanism, partially transmitted into his own body.

  The energy was faint—like a drop of water falling into a lake, barely noticeable. Yet it was unmistakably pure, uncontaminated primal energy, coursing through Gregor's flesh and blood. It was little, but it was potent.

  The Serpent Ancestor had been right. The bone weapon truly possessed the ability to devour life essence and aid in cultivation!

  Meanwhile, in the wine cellar of Village No. 2, Draven leaned against a plain wooden table, lightly rubbing his storage ring with his fingertips.

  His eyes were fixed on a vicious-looking blood-red spear resting nearby—a trophy taken from the corpse of the Red Serpent, which had played a critical role in past battles.

  That spear also had a special property: it could absorb the power of fallen enemies. But compared to the eerie bone weapon Gregor wielded, it was inferior in every way—less efficient, slower, and far less pure.

  What disturbed Draven most was that he had never encountered or heard of a magical artifact of this caliber—not in any historical records, nor in any of his battle experiences. Even the inherited memories of the little octopi contained no mention of such bone weapons.

  He tried once more to question the two tiny creatures about the evil god and the bone weapon, but they replied in unison: those things were "unspeakable, unthinkable, unknowable."

  Draven fell silent. He didn't press them for secrets they clearly didn't want to reveal. Instead, he sank into a long, pensive silence.

  "Evil god, bone weapon, Serpent Ancestor…" These terms pierced his mind like nails, driving new cracks into his understanding of the world.

  This world was already full of mystery and absurdity. But now, it felt as though an even older, more dangerous veil was being pulled back.

  He sat for a long time in the corner of the wine cellar, without saying another word, as if waiting for an answer—or perhaps not expecting one at all. Until, at last, Viola appeared in a rain cloak, stepping through puddles to knock gently on the wooden door.

  Draven snapped out of his thoughts and sighed softly as he stood up. Despite his heavy contemplation, he didn't sink into despair. Instead, he felt a heightened sense of alertness—and even anticipation—for the world around him.

  When he stepped out of the cellar, a fine drizzle was falling. The sky was gray and overcast, and the air carried the scent of damp earth. He stretched out his hand, catching a few droplets of rain, and the cold touch slowly settled his swirling thoughts.

  Some things would take time—but some real-world problems couldn't wait.

  During lunch, Liliana beamed with excitement and declared,"The orchard is finished! Want to come inspect it this afternoon?"

  Draven smiled and nodded approvingly."Nice work, Liliana."

  Of course, he knew the heavy lifting had been done mostly by the treants. Their natural affinity for the land made them perfect for this kind of labor—resilient to the weather and extremely sensitive to changes in the soil.

  Led by Acorn Oak, several of the treants had thrown themselves into the orchard's construction with barely any rest.

  After lunch, Liliana immediately grabbed Draven's hand and dragged him outside—clearly not willing to wait until afternoon.

  Draven could only sigh and throw on a raincoat to follow her. Liliana's boundless energy added a spark of vitality to the gloomy, rainy day.

  The orchard, located on the hillside across from the pond, had taken real shape.

  Various fruit trees had been planted in orderly, terraced sections—persimmons, apricots, apples, berries. Despite the cool and damp season, they held onto their stubborn greenery. The stones scattered along the hillside had been carefully stacked to one side—clearly the work of someone meticulous.

  Draven's eyes lit up as he thought, Perfect—these stones can be used to reinforce the pond's edge to prevent erosion from the rain.

  Liliana, standing to one side, had a proud expression, as if she'd built the entire orchard by herself.

  "Liliana is the best and most capable~!" Draven teased, stretching out the words.

  The girl grinned from ear to ear, clearly delighted, looking like she might float away with joy.

  Then Draven took her on a little tour of the area. They discovered several large composting pits. Acorn Oak explained that they had already learned the basics of composting and fermentation.

  Draven took the opportunity to share a few things from his memory—how to make biochar fertilizer, disinfect soil with lime, and the basics of fruit tree grafting.

  Though it was only surface-level knowledge, it was more than enough to be treasured by the isolated treants. They listened attentively and immediately began discussing the ideas among themselves, huddling together even as the rain fell.

  Liliana didn't understand a word of the technical terms, but she gazed at Draven with sparkling eyes, thinking he sounded more learned than ever.

  "Draven is amazing!" she cried, bouncing into his arms and planting a kiss on his cheek with utter seriousness.

  Draven supported her little body with one hand, a smile tugging at his lips, a warmth blooming in his chest.