Draven set out with Titus, though truthfully, he didn't hold much hope in his heart.

  As the harpy Cedric had reminded him before leaving—do what you can, don't overextend.

  After all, he'd already succeeded in diverting the attention of the lord's envoys toward the serpentkin. That alone was progress.

  Surely after Cedric's visit, the serpentkin would at least restrain themselves a little. With a lord's envoy present, there was still some degree of deterrence.

  The only reason Draven came personally was out of a sliver of luck—if he could uncover even the faintest clue and shift all the trouble and blame onto the other side, it would be a major success.

  After all, the Black Flag Territory was far too weak. With a powerful neighbor like the serpentkin lurking nearby, how could anyone feel secure?

  Arriving at the great river, Draven transformed into his werewolf form, lifted Titus, and with a powerful crouch, leapt across the wide river.

  In Titus's terrified gaze, the riverbanks rapidly closed in.

  With a heavy thud, they landed on the opposite shore. Draven pointed in the direction where the troll guards had last departed, signaling for Titus to begin.

  Titus looked nervous. He crouched low to the ground, almost pressing his nose against the soil, and searched inch by inch.

  He stood, walked a few steps, then crouched again to sniff. His movements were careful, his gaze focused.

  Draven watched with quiet amusement—this guy was like a living search hound.

  Sure, sending the Ghost-faced Owl might've been faster, but Draven had no better option than to trail behind Titus.

  This method was slow, but they had no choice. Even if Troll Chief Garruk had traveled with heavy beasts of burden, their tracks would've long since been erased by wind and sun after so many days in the wild.

  Eventually, Titus found something—a patch of charred ashes on the ground, faintly tinged with the traces of burned coals.

  "This must've been where they stopped to rest," Draven murmured as he looked at the scorched remains. Garruk and his guards had likely paused here to eat and recover.

  This spot was near the edge of Black Flag Territory's territory, which meant they'd crossed through it smoothly. Beyond this point lay the serpentkin's domain.

  Could it really be, as Draven had suspected, that Garruk had been ambushed by the serpentkin?

  His gaze flickered over the ground, conflicted and full of doubt. He wasn't sure whether to keep pursuing the trail.

  Before making a decision, he opted to rest. He asked Titus to gather dry branches while he took some jerky out of his storage ring, preparing a small fire for cooking.

  The flames flickered, and the scent of roasted meat wafted through the air. Bored, Draven struck up a conversation with Titus, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

  To his surprise, he learned that Titus wasn't even of age yet. Draven looked at the mature face before him in disbelief—he had guessed the kobold to be at least in his thirties or forties.

  After all, kobolds didn't grow quickly.

  Titus gave a bitter smile and explained, "I've been a slave since I was a pup. Never had enough to eat or warm clothes to wear. That's why I look like this."

  Draven fell silent. He knew Titus had no reason to lie about something like this.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Feeling a tug of something within, he placed his hand atop Titus's head, letting a faint trace of bloodline energy flow into the kobold's body.

  In that moment, Draven reevaluated him—this guy had unexpectedly good bloodline potential. Not quite as strong as Bran's, but only a hair short.

  "Titus," he said quietly, "Do you know your potential isn't bad at all?"

  The question stunned Titus.

  As a slave, he had always dreamed of becoming a bloodline warrior. But no one had ever cared about his abilities, much less told him how strong he might be.

  He trembled and knelt down, begging his leader for a chance.

  Titus knew that even with natural talent, awakening one's bloodline alone was nearly impossible.

  Draven looked into his desperate, determined eyes—and quietly nodded to himself.

  This kid, though not very old, showed a maturity and steadiness that was surprisingly impressive. If it weren't for the limitations of his kobold race, he might have become an outstanding demi-human warrior.

  Kobolds—a truly pitiful race.

  The vast majority of kobolds are used as slaves by lords across the land. In the kingdom's society, this race holds almost no status; they are viewed merely as tools or labor, expendable at any time.

  Even the very few kobolds who awaken bloodline powers usually cannot escape the fate of slavery.

  The reason is simple: this race is too weak, stripped of freedom and dignity long ago.

  Kobolds survive in this world solely because of their extremely high fertility and submissiveness. For years, their destiny has been tightly controlled by stronger neighbors and local lords, leaving no real chance for emancipation.

  To this day, Draven had never seen a true leader-level kobold. Even those called bloodline warriors among kobolds were mere legends within the lord's manor—common folk had never laid eyes on one.

  It is said that after awakening their bloodline, kobolds can transform into forms similar to werewolves—tall dog-men, though shorter and less muscular than werewolves. But this was only legend; no one had ever truly seen such a form.

  Looking at Titus kneeling on the ground, Draven did not mind giving him a chance. Deep down, he knew this was just about improving Titus's treatment a bit—like occasionally getting to eat magical beast meat, just like the ordinary kobolds in the village.

  Using some rare magical beast meat to exchange for the hope that Titus might become a bloodline warrior in the future.

  Even if Titus ultimately failed to awaken his bloodline, the loss would not be great.

  Draven nodded and agreed to Titus's request. Titus was so moved he burst into tears.

  When he finally regained his composure, he didn't even bother to eat the savory roasted meat but knelt back down and began searching the ground inch by inch again.

  Draven had originally planned to rest for a while and then head back. But seeing Titus work so hard, he shook his head. "Forget it, let him be. We'll search for a while longer—if we find nothing, then we give up."

  Draven ate his roasted meat quietly, trailing behind Titus. Unknowingly, they had already passed beyond the border of Black Flag Territory's territory.

  When Draven realized it, they were already standing within the serpentkin's domain, which made him hesitate again.

  Demi-humans have a strong sense of territoriality. Just as he couldn't tolerate the serpentkin invading his land, the serpentkin naturally wouldn't allow him to enter freely.

  Just as Draven prepared to retreat, Titus, still lying close to the ground, suddenly became unusually excited. He stood up, his eyes shining as he pointed forward, indicating that the scent was very close.

  Draven's eyes narrowed slightly, a grave expression on his face.

  Could it be that they really stumbled upon something?

  Did the serpentkin really dare to hide their movements here?

  He motioned for Titus to calm down and instructed him to return to the riverbank to wait for him. Draven quietly found a dense patch of grass nearby to hide in.

  Sitting cross-legged, he switched to the Ghost-faced Owl's vision. After all, this was someone else's territory—it was better to be cautious.

  If Titus was right, there were only two possibilities for Garruk's whereabouts: either dead somewhere ahead, or trapped there.

  Either way meant great danger. Draven wasn't willing to gamble his life so easily.

  The Ghost-faced Owl spread its wings and circled slowly in the air as Draven observed the images it transmitted.

  The early summer woodland was lush and green, trees thick, with nothing unusual in sight. Only a certain gorge ahead appeared especially dark, its shadows covering most of it, making it both secretive and eerie.

  Draven signaled the Ghost-faced Owl to fly closer to get a better look. However, this time the bird's transmitted feelings were one of strong resistance.

  This wasn't the first time such an abnormal reaction had occurred—the last time was when encountering the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent. It was precisely the Ghost-faced Owl's reaction that warned Draven of danger there.

  This made him trust Titus's judgment even more. Although he could force the Ghost-faced Owl to approach the gorge, Draven decided not to take the risk.

  Having these discoveries was already good enough; there was no need to test fate with his life.

  The Ghost-faced Owl's instincts were trustworthy—if not for its prior warning, Draven might have already ended up in the serpent's deadly jaws.

  Just as Draven was about to exit the Ghost-faced Owl's vision, a sudden flash appeared deep within the gorge—a cold gleam streaked across.