Over the past few days, Draven had been closely monitoring reports of the Ghost-faced Owl. On clearer days, he would even ride his Nightmare Horse personally to patrol the surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of the magical beast.

  Unfortunately, the skies remained gray and the ground muddy. The beast seemed to have vanished without a trace. Then again, perhaps it was for the best—this was the rainy season, and the northern demihuman tribes had remained unusually quiet.

  That afternoon, Draven sat in the chieftain's hall, thumbing through a thick mushroom compendium to pass the time as he awaited news.

  The book had been compiled by the elf Sylvia. It cataloged both edible and poisonous mushrooms commonly found around the village. With much effort—and the sacrifice of over a dozen rabbits—Sylvia had managed to gather a decent collection of samples.

  She categorized the mushrooms meticulously, with neat handwriting and detailed illustrations. Each page was covered with diagrams and notes, and the whole thing had been bound into a surprisingly weighty volume.

  "Look, I've recorded all the common mushrooms," Sylvia declared proudly, lifting her chin. The confidence radiating from the elven girl made her seem especially radiant.

  Had she not deliberately kept her distance, Draven might've reached out to pinch her cheek in praise. Instead, he simply gestured toward the table and offered a sincere compliment:"Well done. This will be a big help."

  Privately, he sighed in relief. The completion of the compendium meant the rabbits had survived their fungal trials—if they hadn't, Viola's beloved bunnies might've been the next test subjects.

  Draven handed the book back to Sylvia and asked her to make a few more copies for the library. Treants, beastkin, werewolves—everyone could benefit from this knowledge.

  He casually brushed his fingers over the delicate script, and an unbidden memory of that night's touch crept into his mind. He stole a glance at Sylvia, a flicker of nostalgia passing through him.

  Sylvia, ever perceptive, immediately noticed his gaze on her hands. She quickly rose and fled the hall with a flustered expression. Her movement resembled an escape, but it also felt like she was hiding something.

  Back in her stone hut, the elf girl leaned against the door and murmured to herself,"He couldn't possibly know, right?"

  In truth, she didn't dislike the werewolf chieftain. Otherwise, she wouldn't have stayed here at all. But at this point, her emotions toward him were too tangled to unravel.

  He had Viola. He had sweet little Liliana. He had the entire village around him. As a highborn elf, Sylvia couldn't help but feel like an outsider.

  Her noble heritage made her reflect on all this with a heavy heart, and the pride of the high elves only deepened her loneliness.

  To have such a sacred, noble elven princess at your side—how could you not pursue her?

  But even that had to be done with finesse. Precisely because of Sylvia's exceptional background, Draven knew he couldn't be too direct or aggressive.

  She had to fall for him completely—only then could he withstand the future pressures from the elven kingdom.

  Meanwhile, the Serpent Ancestor had also begun to move in the shadows. Ever since he had offered the Bone Relic to Gregor, he had become the young serpentman's closest confidant.

  To the outside world, Gregor was known as one of Chieftain Draven's top lieutenants, giving the Serpent Ancestor perfect cover.

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  No one dared to defy Gregor—not even Green Serpent, who had been named village chief of the snakekin.

  In recent days, Gregor had been heading out early and returning late, braving the rain as he and the Serpent Ancestor scoured the forests. They were no longer content with small prey; they needed higher-tier magical beasts to further enhance their strength.

  The Serpent Ancestor followed closely behind, clearly sensing the pure, volatile bloodline energy coursing through Gregor's body. That was the Bone Relic's doing—granting him the potential to rapidly approach the peak of a bloodline warrior. One more breakthrough, and he could achieve a second awakening.

  The Serpent Ancestor was filled with anticipation: if Gregor reached the level of a chieftain, his influence and authority would soar. And with that, the Ancestor could extract even more value from him.

  This gave the Serpent Ancestor a plan. He intended to help Gregor obtain permission to restore his strength to that of a chieftain. In his eyes, Draven was merely a mid-tier leader, far weaker than the combined might of himself and Gregor.

  Once their power rose together, they could easily capture Draven. Killing him wouldn't even be necessary—the Serpent Ancestor was confident he had ways to make the Black Werewolf suffer unbearably, perhaps even damage his mind and reduce him to a drooling prisoner.

  Once Black Flag Territory truly fell into their hands, they'd have all the time they needed to research and unravel the secrets of the binding contract.

  The Serpent Ancestor's pitch-black eyes glanced sidelong at the young serpent man before him, and he let out a hoarse yet confident chuckle.

  "What I give you now, you'll repay me double in the future."

  Gregor had been trudging around for a long time before finally stopping, looking around at the rain-soaked leaves and muddy ground with a sigh of frustration. It seemed they'd return empty-handed yet again.

  He knew all too well that his body had limited potential—achieving a natural awakening was almost impossible. Without the help of that bone artifact, he wouldn't have even reached the peak of a bloodline warrior.

  His greatest hope now lay with Draven, waiting for him to provide a mid-tier magic core.

  But he didn't want to wait anymore. As a second consciousness, he was intimately aware of the main consciousness's deep desire for strength. Though the Black Flag Territory had taken form, it still lacked solid foundations—especially the power of chieftain-level warriors.

  "Do you have a way to quickly find a magical beast?" Gregor suddenly asked.

  The Serpent Ancestor's eyes gleamed slyly as he whispered,"There is a way. The only question is—do you dare use it?"

  Gregor frowned, a sliver of caution rising in his heart. The Serpent Ancestor's proposed method was even more extreme than he'd feared.

  "Hang a serpentfolk upside-down in the forest, bleed and skin them, then sprinkle my secret-recipe potion," the Serpent Ancestor's voice oozed temptation."The hidden magical beasts will definitely be drawn in."

  "You and I together— even a chieftain-level magical beast might not be able to withstand us."

  As the Serpent Ancestor laid out his plan in detail, Gregor's expression turned cold.

  "No," he said."They're my people."

  "We're going to take over Black Flag Territory eventually. They are our foundation of strength. We can't waste them like this."

  "Give me the potion recipe first. I'll figure out the bait myself!"

  The Serpent Ancestor's lips twitched in displeasure—he clearly resented Gregor's softness. In his mind, power was the only thing that mattered. A few dead serpentfolk were a small price. With enough strength, even more tribesmen could be conquered.

  Besides, the Black Werewolf had somehow gathered several hundred slaves in a short time. Both his power and numbers were surging—his advantage was obvious.

  The Serpent Ancestor tried once more to persuade Gregor, but was firmly rejected again.

  "I told you," Gregor said,"what I want is a strong and complete Black Flag Territory."

  "You have no right to bargain with me!"

  Suddenly, Gregor drew the snake-headed scimitar from his waist, his face steely as he stared down at the Serpent Ancestor.

  "Believe me," he added coldly,"if I kill you, Draven would probably applaud."

  The Serpent Ancestor was momentarily speechless. That strange trust between Gregor and his master was still a mystery to him—and it was exactly what gave the serpent man the courage to defy him. Without understanding this bond, the Serpent Ancestor didn't dare act rashly.

  He had no choice but to temporarily compromise and handed over the secret potion recipe.

  This potion had actually been a carefully laid trap. The Serpent Ancestor had hoped that, once Gregor used the bait, he could seize control over him by holding the incident over his head.

  But Gregor hadn't fallen for it, and the Serpent Ancestor had once again lost the upper hand.

  "That boy doesn't act like a serpent at all," he cursed inwardly, watching Gregor meticulously copy the potion recipe.

  From the very beginning, he'd tried to dominate their interactions—yet now he was only growing more passive and suffering greater losses. Things were far from going according to plan.