With this battle concluded, the once-arrogant Serpentkin were utterly crushed, and the War-God Hills had taken on a completely new appearance.

  On the third day after the battle ended, the main forces from the Lord's Manor finally arrived. Chief Steward Lydia personally led a well-equipped, disciplined elite corps and launched a full-scale sweep of the Serpentkin villages.

  The once towering stone walls, stretching three to four kilometers, were of no use without enough soldiers to defend them. Scorch marks from the fires still clung to the walls, and some sections had even collapsed entirely, as if telling tales of the recent chaos and slaughter.

  The Serpentkin had never been numerous to begin with, and this recent riverbank battle had drained them of nearly all their fighting strength.

  All that remained were the old, weak, women and children, along with a small group of disorganized stragglers. Bloodied and weaponless, they had fled back to the village, hiding in desperation. But instead of reinforcements, they were met with the cold blades of the Lord's soldiers.

  Around two thousand Serpentkin—men, women, young and old—were all disarmed, bound, and turned into slaves. They knelt on the ground, their expressions blank. Some clutched their children, some whispered prayers, but no one answered them.

  The soldiers of the Lord's Manor drove them onto slave carts with cold efficiency, systematically handling the post-war harvest.

  Truth be told, if the Serpentkin had not already lost their core forces by the river, this operation wouldn't have gone so smoothly. Lydia barely had to lift a finger; the suppression involved almost no bloodshed.

  Even the so-called top rebel leader turned out to be an old Serpentkin hiding in a latrine pit, reeking from head to toe. He surrendered the moment he was kicked out of his hiding place.

  Compared to the fate that might have awaited them had the Serpentkin won, these captives were lucky just to be alive. For beastkin, whose numbers are already sparse, losing an all-out war usually means extinction.

  On the third day after the battle, Lydia departed the War-God Hills with all the spoils and prisoners. More than a dozen heavy wagons were filled with grain, cloth, weapons, and crates of magical potions looted from Serpentkin homes.

  The prisoners were bound and marched in a long line toward the Black Flag Territory's camp, forced to walk under strict guard.

  Along with them went the remains of the troll chieftain Garruk, found deep in a cave.

  Draven had been the one to lead them there. The moment they stepped into the cave, the air was thick with the stench of blood—enough to make one retch.

  In the depths of the cave was a pool soaked with blood, the waters dark and thick, with fragments of bone faintly visible floating on the surface.

  A small mountain of bones had formed, mostly from magical beasts, but also including many humanoid skeletons. Some skulls bore the faint remnants of serpent patterns—obviously Serpentkin.

  Garruk's body had long been torn apart—limbs severed, organs scattered. His personal guards had met equally gruesome ends, ripped to shreds in a display of savage violence.

  Upon witnessing the scene, Lydia flew into a rage. She jumped into the bloody pool, personally retrieving the remains of Garruk one piece at a time, then ordered the cave be collapsed entirely, leaving no trace behind.

  While all of this appeared to be a grand success for the Lord's Manor, Draven couldn't help but feel uneasy.

  He had contributed more than anyone else in the battle, yet neither Lady Selene nor Lydia offered him so much as a thank-you, let alone a reward.

  It was as if they didn't even acknowledge his presence. Draven was annoyed, but there wasn't much he could do—after all, he had planned to stay low-profile from the beginning. He just didn't expect to become invisible.

  Still, when he thought about that succubus figure sealed within his mindscape, a smirk crept onto his lips. That beautiful yet dangerous entity was currently locked by some strange force, her contract slot inactive, and her skills inaccessible for now.

  But Draven knew it was only temporary. As long as he kept growing stronger, he would one day command even the power of the contract.

  "You can ignore me now, but one day, I'll make you regret it."

  He muttered to himself, smiling faintly as he mentally rehearsed a few poses for a dramatic entrance.

  Even though the Lord's Manor had given him nothing, this war had brought him plenty of rewards.

  First, he had successfully broken through to mid-rank commander level before the battle even began. More importantly, the Green Serpent he had sent ahead returned with a massive haul of spoils.

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  The Green Serpent, third elder of the Serpentkin, had never appeared on the battlefield—because Draven had assigned him a different mission: to empty the Serpentkin's vault.

  Taking advantage of the Red Serpent army's departure, the Green Serpent and a few trusted aides encountered little resistance as they looted everything the Serpentkin had stockpiled over the years.

  Grain, cloth, precious metals—those were just the basics. The real treasures were the magical potions. They brought back dozens of crates, many of which contained rare potions that couldn't be bought even in the market.

  But for Viola, the true surprise wasn't the potions themselves.

  Deep within the Serpentkin vault, the Green Serpent had also discovered a carefully preserved cache of magical potion seeds. Once planted, these seeds would continuously produce potion ingredients—an invaluable treasure for the entire Foxkin tribe.

  Viola held that pouch of seeds, her eyes glowing with excitement as she recited formulas and began sketching out expansion plans for her "Fox Garden."

  She even considered planting them in several empty fields south of the Black Flag Territory's camp, aiming to create a full-scale potion farm.

  The little fox girl stood with her hands on her hips, face serious as she declared that she would definitely make those potion seeds sprout and grow. Her eyes sparkled with determination, as if she could already see fields of potion plants heavy with fruit stretching across the future.

  Aside from the potion seeds, Greenscale had also brought back a good number of weapons and equipment—most of them stockpiled by the serpentfolk in secret, prepared for a future attack against the Succubus Dominion. Many of the armors were crude and hastily made, but there were a few solidly crafted weapons made with quality materials. Clearly, the serpentfolk had once dreamed of waging a serious war.

  Of course, Greenscale couldn't have moved all that loot alone. But the guy had a silver tongue—he spun bold lies with such sincerity that no one doubted him. Claiming to be acting on Red Serpent's orders, he led a transport team of over a hundred villagers out of the settlement. At the time, Red Serpent was still alive and busy preparing for battle, so he didn't think to question Greenscale's actions.

  Then the war broke out, and the serpentfolk were utterly crushed. The Lord's forces ransacked their entire village. Ironically, the one hundred-plus people Greenscale had taken with him turned out to be the only survivors. Now they had no choice but to follow his lead.

  Everyone knew Greenscale was the last elder of any standing left in the serpentfolk tribe. What he said, went.

  Then there was the matter of the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent. After devouring so many serpentfolk, they were all presumed to be nothing but serpent-meat paste by now. But Draven had no intention of wasting such labor. He forced the King Serpent to vomit out whatever hadn't been fully digested—shockingly, over two hundred serpentfolk were still alive. They were pale and smelled awful after soaking in digestive fluids, but they were breathing.

  Among them were more than a dozen with warrior bloodlines. Though weak now, with some recovery they could be useful again. This discovery made Draven decide on the spot—these survivors would form the backbone of his future forces.

  With that, it was clear: after the fall of the serpentfolk, Draven was the one who had gained the most.

  His only real regret was the giant red python. It wasn't a magical beast—untamable and not particularly intelligent. In the end, he had no choice but to kill it for meat. He ate well, but something felt missing. How cool would it have been to ride that thing into battle?

  Using Greenscale's connections and influence, Draven quietly organized those 300-plus surviving serpentfolk into his first private army. He stationed them in the forested hills outside the village, began basic training, and armed them with the best gear looted from the serpentfolk's own stores. It wasn't an elite force, but it was loyal—and, more importantly, had no alternatives.

  Draven's gaze was already fixed on the serpentfolk village itself.

  The village was built against the mountains, in a location with ample water and defensible terrain. Its warehouses and residential structures were mostly intact despite the looting. Draven had been waiting—once the Lord's men pulled out completely, he intended to take over.

  "What? Without the Lord's permission?" Draven sneered. "Like they care."

  The succubi's territory was massive. Real control only extended to the central basin and a few mountain zones nearby. Everything else was left to vassal powers to manage themselves. As long as tribute was paid on time, the Lord's household never intervened in how they fought or pillaged among themselves.

  The serpentfolk had once thrived under that very system—until they got greedy. They secretly raised Red Serpent and schemed to claim lord-level power, and that greed was what led to their annihilation.

  From another angle, though, this system was a form of selection. Those who won, who endured, got to keep the resources—and perhaps even a shot at joining the succubi's core power structure. If the serpentfolk hadn't gotten greedy, they might've actually made it.

  Draven wasn't aiming that high—not yet. He hadn't even fully secured control over the Black Flag Territory faction. Honestly, if the serpentfolk village hadn't been such a prime location, he wouldn't have bothered taking it.

  What really worried him now was that his contract slots were full.

  He had five contracts: the Ghost-faced Owl, the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent, the Nightmare Horse, Selene, and the newly acquired Serpent Ancestor.

  Selene was a special case—she had forcibly claimed a slot without his consent. The Serpent Ancestor could kind of be counted as combat strength, at least.

  Draven had even gone to consult the little octopus spirit. Its memory records did mention "god-generals," but no one had ever heard of a "Serpent Ancestor."

  The little octopus had said bluntly: "At best, he's just a figurehead. No real status among the divine ranks."

  Draven suspected the guy was bluffing. He even tried calculating the age—if the Serpent Ancestor really fought alongside the Beast God in the ancient wars, then he must've lived at least ten thousand years.

  The Serpent Ancestor claimed he had indeed followed the Beast God into battle but had been severely wounded during a great war and had fallen into slumber—only to be awakened in recent decades by Black Serpent and Greenscale.

  Draven didn't expose the lie, just gave him a "go on, I'm listening" look.

  Frankly, he found the guy distasteful. The things he'd seen in the serpentfolk's lairs were disgusting. If he hadn't personally witnessed the Serpent Ancestor duel Selene—and felt the divine oppression he emitted—he would've chopped the ancient snake into eight pieces long ago.

  Still, he had to admit: the Serpent Ancestor did grant him a very interesting new skill.