The werewolf let out a thunderous roar, his chest reverberating with fury, the sound blasting through the forest like a storm.

  He lunged forward, legs slamming into the ground, cracking soil and grass roots beneath him. Like a launched boulder, he hurled himself at the Black Serpent!

  His axe swept out in a wide arc, slicing through the air with a sharp whistle. A flash of cold light gleamed as the blade aimed straight for the Black Serpent's waist.

  But the Black Serpent moved with impossible speed. With a sudden twist of his body, he narrowly evaded the deadly blow.

  At the same time, the werewolf unleashed a burst of psychic energy. A thunderous pressure exploded inside their minds—it was a primal, beastly fury that almost shattered consciousness.

  Draining the last of his strength, the werewolf twisted his body, his massive claw tearing through the air, aiming directly at the Black Serpent's chest!

  With a dull thud, Draven was knocked backward, crashing heavily into the mud. Pain flooded his body, as if his organs had been crushed and every limb twitched with numb agony.

  He stared ahead, unable to comprehend—how had the Black Serpent dodged that sweeping strike? That psychic assault alone should've broken any ordinary man, so how had he emerged unscathed?

  He didn't understand. But he knew one thing—he couldn't hold on any longer.

  At that moment, it felt like his soul was slipping from his body. His vision blurred, his mind grew foggy. He tried to stand, using every bit of willpower left—but not even a finger would respond.

  Suddenly, a familiar sharp voice rang out, followed by the sound of something rolling. A shadow dashed toward him.

  Draven could no longer see clearly, but in that brief instant, the fear and shock in the Black Serpent's eyes—those pitch-black eyes—were seared into his fading awareness.

  …

  When Draven awoke, his first feeling wasn't relief at surviving—it was the suffocating pressure on his chest.

  He struggled to open his eyes, only to find his face buried in something soft and warm. It took him a moment to realize—he was pressed against Viola's chest.

  He coughed violently, instinctively pulling back, scrambling out of her arms. Finally, he could breathe a little easier, but his entire body still screamed in pain, every muscle howling like it had been run over.

  "You're finally awake!" Viola's face was lit with joy, her eyes brimming with tears as she lunged forward, wanting to hug him again.

  Still coughing, Draven raised a hand and shook his head, retreating further. He had good reason to believe that if he'd stayed unconscious a moment longer, he really might have become a corpse.

  Viola's endless chatter buzzed in his ears, full of concern, but his mind was a chaotic mess. Memories flew through his head like shattered fragments. He tried to focus, managing only a weak smile in return.

  "He just woke up, don't pester him," a calm but familiar voice spoke beside him.

  Draven forced himself to lift his head to see who it was. In the next instant, his eyes widened. Instinctively, he propped himself up, placing a clenched fist to his chest in salute.

  "Steward Lydia…"

  He recognized her—the steward of the succubi clan, Lydia. That refined, mature face had flashed through his mind even while he was unconscious.

  But he couldn't help but feel confused. Didn't Rurik and the others just leave? How had she arrived so quickly? It didn't make sense.

  Looking around, he saw only two unfamiliar faces—no sign of Rurik. He frowned and couldn't help but ask:

  "Steward Lydia, did you run into Rurik from our Black Wolf tribe?"

  Lydia shook her head. "No. I came alone. My partner has gone missing. I need to find out what happened to him."

  "Your partner?" Draven was stunned.

  Lydia gave a slight nod, her gaze calm but resolute. "Garruk is my mate."

  Draven's mind blanked for a second. The image of Garruk—the burly, brutish troll chieftain—flashed before his eyes.

  He looked again at the elegant, graceful succubus before him. One thought popped into his head: A strong man paired with an older beauty… maybe that actually makes sense?

  No wonder Garruk always seemed awkward when quoting Lydia—turns out they weren't just acquaintances.

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  Draven didn't bring up Garruk immediately. Instead, he lowered his head, looking toward the ground. He remembered seeing the Black Serpent's head roll to his feet before he passed out—and there it was: the lifeless, fear-twisted face, the body not far away.

  The Black Serpent's eyes remained wide in death, still filled with terror. His face was frozen in an ugly grimace. His body lay twisted, as if he had struggled desperately at the very last moment.

  Draven let out a breath, then gestured to Lydia to follow him into the village.

  Inside the village hall, the fireplace crackled warmly, filling the wooden room with heat. The two of them sat down, and Draven took a sip of water before he spoke.

  "About Garruk… I'm afraid I have bad news."

  He took a familiar spear from his storage ring and carefully handed it to Lydia.

  The moment Lydia took the spear, her expression changed.

  Her hand trembled slightly, her fingertips gently caressing the shaft, as though it were Garruk's own hand. She bit her lip and lowered her head. Her shoulders slumped, and a single tear slid down her cheek.

  A long while passed before she looked up and returned the spear.

  Draven looked puzzled.

  Lydia said, "Keep it."

  "If it weren't for you, I might never have known what happened to him."

  "You nearly died for this. That spear is both my thanks—and compensation."

  Draven paused for a second, then gave a crooked smile, laced with both bitterness and gratitude. He accepted the spear once more.

  Draven took a sip of water, adjusted his posture, and continued recounting the strange events he had discovered in the canyon to Lydia.

  In particular, he described the cave—ominous and foreboding—and the powerful presence that might be lurking inside. This wasn't an ordinary enemy. It could very well be a lord-tier monster.

  Lydia's expression changed noticeably after hearing that. The sorrow from earlier vanished in an instant. She stood up abruptly, stepped closer to Draven, and pressed him for more details.

  "You're certain it was lord-tier?" she asked in a low voice, as if afraid someone nearby might overhear.

  Draven nodded, then carefully described the terrain he had seen, the serpentfolk's unusual gathering, and the oppressive aura that had weighed down on him.

  Lydia fell silent for a long while, her face tense as if she were weighing a difficult decision.

  "I didn't plan for it to go this way," she finally said, her tone shifting. "I heard about Garruk's disappearance from Cedric. He mentioned the four serpentfolk leaders, but I thought it was just another minor skirmish. This is succubus territory, after all. I didn't think anyone would dare stir up trouble."

  Draven could understand her mindset. The succubi were never seen as weak among the regional powers—especially high-ranking leaders like Lydia. People usually went out of their way to avoid crossing them.

  "I assembled a team myself to investigate," Lydia went on. "We were supposed to wait until our elite unit arrived, but I was worried about Garruk. So I came here ahead of them with two trusted subordinates."

  Draven couldn't help but roll his eyes at that.

  Sure, coming early let her take control of the situation—and it probably saved his life. But it also made things a lot more precarious.

  Lydia's reinforcements wouldn't arrive for another three days. Meanwhile, on the serpentfolk side, two of their leaders were missing. Would the others not get suspicious? If they had reinforcements of their own—or worse, a true lord-tier among them—things would spiral out of control fast.

  She probably realized that too, Draven thought to himself.

  As darkness fell, Lydia mounted her pitch-black Nightmare Horse. After giving a few brief instructions, she slapped the horse's flank and soared into the night sky, her figure quickly vanishing into the stars.

  She claimed she was going back to report to the clan and call for reinforcements. But to Draven, this was nothing short of a retreat.

  He stood there staring at the starlit sky for a long moment, unmoving.

  Grinding his teeth, he muttered under his breath, "Didn't you say you loved Garruk?"

  She could have sent her subordinates back with a message. But no—she had to go herself. This wasn't a report. This was escape.

  Draven knew he couldn't stop Lydia. He lacked both the status and the strength.

  All he could do now was survive.

  The two subordinates Lydia had left behind were classic succubi: seductive figures, flawless skin, and barely clothed—exactly what their kind saw as beauty.

  But looks could be deceiving. These women were commander-level in power—absolutely not to be underestimated.

  Behind them stood two Nightmare Horses, high-grade magical beasts that could travel vast distances at astonishing speed. Perfect for a battlefield escape.

  Draven's heart sank a little. Lydia never intended to fight the serpentfolk head-on. She was afraid he'd die out here and had left two living shields behind instead.

  As he looked at the two succubi—completely at ease, without a trace of caution—Draven made up his mind. If he had to die, he wouldn't die like a coward.

  His gaze turned cold as he quietly sent a mental command to the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent beside him.

  In the next instant, the air tensed violently. A crushing psychic assault crashed toward one of the succubi like a tidal wave, while Draven swung his battle axe and cleaved off the other woman's head in a single blow.

  The remaining succubus didn't even have time to scream before the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent swallowed her whole.

  It was a swift and brutal scene. Blood spattered everywhere. One Nightmare Horse collapsed in panic while the other simply snorted and pawed the ground, seemingly unfazed by the slaughter.

  Draven grabbed the standing Nightmare Horse, bit his finger, and used his blood to forge a forced pact.

  "You're mine now."

  He then ordered the King Serpent to spit out the second succubus's corpse. Walking over, he stomped down hard on her chest and snapped her neck without hesitation.

  "Blame your master," he muttered coldly, "She never gave a damn whether you lived or died."

  After that, he erased every trace of the incident. The blood-essence weapons, clothes, personal items—everything was devoured by the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent.

  If the serpentfolk discovered that succubi had been here, it could lead to even more trouble. Draven didn't want to provoke the potential mastermind behind all this.

  In that regard, he and Lydia saw eye to eye.

  The difference was—Draven was far more pragmatic. And far more ruthless.

  "Mate?" he scoffed. "Lydia just needed an excuse to get involved over here. If she found Garruk, great. If not, she wouldn't risk a thing for him."

  Those two subordinates of hers weren't so much reinforcements as they were hostages.

  If fighting broke out, they'd just use the people around Draven to force his hand. They wouldn't lift a finger themselves.

  And they had Nightmare Horses—escape was always an option.

  Draven never feared making the worst-case assumption.

  What he feared was fighting for his life—only to be stabbed in the back by so-called allies.