Draven crashed heavily into the river, sending a great spray of water flying. The sound exploded through the empty river valley like a thunderclap.

  He hit the riverbed like a boulder, scattering mud and gravel in all directions. Agonizing pain shot through his shoulder, and he could feel a few ribs crack. The icy, bone-piercing water offered little cushioning.

  The river wasn't deep to begin with, and the force of his fall embedded him directly into the silt. The impact and pressure of the water almost crushed his body into a distorted shape.

  With a muffled grunt, Draven struggled to pull himself free from the riverbed. The skin on his palms tore open against the rough stones, and his blood, mingled with mud, bloomed in the water like a vivid red flower.

  He fought to the surface, coughing up a mouthful of murky river water the moment he gasped for air. His breathing was ragged, his chest tight with pain. The heavy wolf-shaped battle armor he wore had soaked through and dragged him down. He had to summon all his strength just to stand upright.

  He glanced around. Nightmare Horse had not resurfaced—it was likely still lying at the bottom of the river. Maybe it was alive, but certainly no longer fit to fly.

  Now standing waist-deep in the water, Draven was in his transformed werewolf form, breathing heavily, his body caked in mud. Blood mixed with water poured from his shoulder and back, dyeing the river around him a deep crimson.

  Just as he was about to move, a sudden surge behind him broke the water's surface.

  His heart tensed. He sprang to the side with his last reserves of strength.

  A split second later, a massive serpent mouth lunged up from where he had just stood, snapping at empty air.

  The crimson python churned the water with its fangs, creating a huge wave. Its blood-red eyes glared with murderous intent, water dripping between its teeth, stained with the blood from earlier.

  Draven turned his head sharply, heart skipping a beat. "Where's Red Serpent?"

  But before he could make sense of the situation, another danger struck.

  From above, a terrifying aura descended, and the whistling of something cutting through air filled his ears. A blood-red spear shot down like a bolt of lightning, aimed to split his skull.

  Draven instinctively raised his battle axe. Blade met spearhead in a brilliant shower of sparks.

  The impact sent a shockwave up his arms, making them numb. His body lost balance, dropping to one knee in the river with a splash.

  Water rushed into his mouth, choking him, but he could not retreat. There was no room to fall back. He pressed the axe tightly against the blood spear, muscles bulging, veins straining.

  And then the python moved again.

  As he struggled to regain footing, the crimson python suddenly dove into the river. Its massive body surged like a speeding train through the water toward him—not to bite, but to ram him head-on.

  Draven had no time to dodge. He gritted his teeth and braced for impact. He released his grip on the axe, letting the python's force send him flying. His body was flung into the air like a broken puppet, skipping across the water's surface several times before crashing into the muddy shore.

  Soaked, armor shattered, blood and mud poured into his mouth. Draven lay motionless for a long moment, gasping.

  But a faint smile curled at the corner of his lips.

  Because he saw it—the river had gone calm. The python was gone.

  At the exact moment of that last strike, Draven had activated Terror Assault.

  This was one of the bloodline abilities he had gained after advancing to mid-rank leader—a short burst of intense psychic pressure capable of disrupting even high-level creatures.

  And that brief instant of confusion had given the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent its opening.

  The powerful bonded beast had been lying in wait, hidden beneath the water. The moment the python approached, it struck—sinking its fangs into the python's neck and coiling around it, dragging it into the depths.

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  Back when Draven had fallen from Nightmare Horse, he had already planned everything in his mind. The mental link with the King Serpent had instantly transmitted his battle intent.

  Although they had successfully eliminated the giant python, Draven himself was nearly mortally wounded. A furious roar echoed from across the river—Red Serpent's voice. Losing his guardian beast had sent him into madness.

  Draven slowly stood, blood still seeping from the cracks in his armor. He leaned on his axe, steadying himself with sheer willpower.

  Red Serpent glared at him in fury, eyes bloodshot and devoid of reason. He couldn't comprehend how this had happened.

  He had been guarding against intervention from the City Lord's forces the entire time, but never imagined Draven could use a mid-rank bonded beast to kill his guardian creature.

  "How did you do it?" Red Serpent gripped his spear tightly, face pale with rage. But he already knew—

  the river was no longer safe.

  If the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent could devour even the Crimson Python, why couldn't it devour him too?

  This serpent was far more dangerous than any typical beast—but Red Serpent knew, with chilling clarity, that the real threat wasn't the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent. It was the werewolf leader standing before him, burning with vengeance.

  Red Serpent slammed down from the sky, landing hard on the muddy riverbank. Water and sludge splashed in all directions. He towered over Draven by a full head, his body wrapped in crimson-scaled armor, still radiating the residual force of his previous battle.

  By contrast, Draven looked like a broken soldier dragged off the battlefield—soaked in blood, his shoulder still dripping water, the fur on his face matted and wet.

  Red Serpent grinned, his fangs stretching nearly to his cheekbones.

  "No more river to shield you. Let's see if that pet snake of yours still dares show itself."

  His voice was low, seething with barely-contained rage. He sounded like a butcher staring down the last prey that couldn't escape.

  Draven said nothing. He merely glanced toward the distance. From the forest across the river came several sharp, agonized screams—accompanied by the wet, grotesque sounds of flesh being torn and devoured.

  Red Serpent's eye twitched. He knew exactly what those sounds meant.

  "You dare send that serpent to devour my kin?" he growled, his fists clenched so tightly the bones cracked audibly in the air.

  Yes. That's exactly what Draven had done.

  With the White Serpent absent, the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent rampaged like a wolf among sheep.

  There was no retreat in this battle. Draven wasn't about to let a single opportunity to weaken his enemies go to waste. Without the protection of a leader-class guardian, the serpentkin soldiers were powerless against the contract beast's slaughter.

  It moved through the forest like a living blade—devouring enemies whole, one after another. Not a sound or struggle could escape its hunt.

  Red Serpent wanted to turn back, to protect his people—but he clenched his jaw and resisted the urge. He knew that killing Draven would cause the serpent to vanish with its master.

  "I only need to kill you," Red Serpent said darkly. In that instant, the blood-colored spear in his hand sprang to life, lunging forward with a speed that was nearly impossible to follow.

  Draven was already at his limit. He managed to twist his body slightly, but it wasn't enough.

  The spear pierced through his shoulder, lifting him high into the air and pinning him there.

  Draven let out a cry of pain as blood burst from the wound like a geyser, splattering across the riverbank—and onto Red Serpent's face.

  Red Serpent licked the blood from his cheek. The taste thrilled him. It tasted like victory.

  "You're finished," he said coldly. With a casual tug, he yanked the spear from Draven's shoulder. Draven's broken body fell like a rag doll, landing hard and carving a deep, bloody crater in the mud.

  Red Serpent didn't hesitate. He wasn't going to give his enemy even a second to recover.

  He raised his spear, pouring every ounce of his strength into it, and stabbed downward with a piercing screech of air. He was ready to end this shameful chapter—now.

  But the moment before the spear struck, it stopped—frozen in place.

  There was no warning. Time itself seemed to freeze, as if some unknown force had locked the world in place.

  Red Serpent froze, confused. He tried to turn his head, to see what was happening behind him—but his body wouldn't respond. It was as if invisible chains had bound every muscle. Even breathing was difficult. A chilling pressure surged from behind him—vast, unrelenting. It felt like death itself.

  Draven lay flat on the ground, his face streaked with blood. He smiled faintly as his eyes lifted to the figure now slowly emerging from the blood mist.

  "You finally came…" he whispered, voice hoarse and weak.

  From the scarlet mist, a figure took shape behind Red Serpent—a woman cloaked in a deep purple robe, radiating a cold, deathly aura.

  Her feet didn't touch the ground, yet she stood as firmly as if planted on solid earth. Though sunlight had just broken through the clouds, she carried with her the chill of midnight.

  It was her—Lord Selene, Draven's final trump card.

  "Behind you!" Draven screamed, his voice hoarse with desperation and warning.

  But it was already too late.

  From the shadows, a spiral-shaped spike silently lunged forward—piercing straight through Selene's chest.

  The weapon was grotesque, as if forged from twisted serpent bones—white, sharp, and spinning, with enough force to pierce steel.

  Selene's body jerked violently. Blood burst from the wound as a hole the size of a fist opened in her chest.

  She didn't fall. Despite the mortal wound, she simply turned her head slowly, staring at her attacker.

  It was a lanky, monstrous creature—serpent-headed with a humanoid body clad in black armor, a long snake's tail trailing behind. He still gripped the spinning weapon, a cold smirk on his face.

  "Beast Demon?" Selene's voice was quiet, but her gaze remained calm.

  She looked closely at him, then her brow furrowed slightly.

  "No… you're nothing but a fading soul," she said coldly.