Angelica's eyes were full of worry and reluctance as she followed Draven's figure with her gaze. Deep down, she knew this parting might last a long time—or worse, they might never meet again.

  Draven gently lifted the two young rabbitkin children onto the head of the Nightmare Horse, that massive beast of a steed.

  Rurik stood nearby, holding the sobbing Angelica close. Though his eyes shimmered with unshed tears, he did his best to stay composed. His voice was low but steady as he murmured to her,"Don't worry. The village is fine—everything is okay."

  "There's enough food and water, and plenty of kids around. Tibbit and Riven will have lots of friends to play with."

  "The chieftain even said those little ones will learn to read and pick up some real skills once they're there."

  His words were like a calming salve, slowly washing away the storm of anxiety in Angelica's heart.

  Feeling Rurik's warmth and hearing his quiet reassurances, she began to feel a bit more at ease.

  At first, the chieftain had seemed terrifying. He struck Rurik the moment they met, which left a lasting fear in Angelica's heart.

  But over time, she realized this leader wasn't as cold and ruthless as he appeared. He had his own principles—and more importantly, he was reliable.

  What she never expected was that this seemingly dependable leader would soon do something so shocking involving her two little brothers.

  After a brief farewell, Draven met up with Bran just outside the city gate. The five hundred slaves had formed neat ranks along the main road, drawing plenty of attention. The guards were unusually alert, their eyes wary.

  Draven led the Nightmare Horse, calling out to Bran to prepare for departure. The Blackwolf slaves were far more lively than the serpentkin or kobolds, whispering among themselves, a flicker of long-lost hope shining in their eyes.

  Perhaps the bond of blood made them dare to believe in this chieftain who shared their lineage.

  But Draven knew better. No matter how desperate they were for freedom, slaves were still slaves. His rules were already set. If they wanted to change their fate, they'd have to earn it.

  Once the procession was a safe distance from Selene City, Draven gave the order to halt.

  He instructed the slaves to tear strips of beast-hide cloth from each other's rags—just enough to blindfold themselves. As the fabric was torn, their already tattered garments fell into further disrepair.

  Many of the female slaves were left with exposed skin on their chests and waists. But their emaciated bodies inspired no desire—only discomfort, even revulsion.

  Draven urged them to blindfold themselves quickly, tie the cloth tight, and stand still. Once everyone had stopped moving, he mounted the Nightmare Horse, shielding the eyes of the two rabbitkin children to keep them from witnessing what was about to happen.

  Suddenly, the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent launched from his side, moving so fast it left a blur in the air.

  In the eerie silence of the wild, the slaves were swallowed one by one into the serpent's gaping jaws. The scene was surreal and deeply unsettling.

  Draven's mouth twitched, but he wasn't truly concerned. He knew the serpent wasn't devouring them in the literal sense.

  They were being stored inside the serpent's belly, a mysterious space hidden within its body.

  Only the two rabbitkin children remained outside. Draven personally tore strips from their clothing and blindfolded them, then gently placed them into the serpent's mouth as well.

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  "All done," Draven muttered.

  Bran climbed up onto the Nightmare Horse, gripping the reins. The Nightmare Horse kicked off with explosive force, launching them skyward—two riders and an invisible mass of passengers speeding toward the distant Black Flag Tavern.

  Just as the beast soared into the sky, a faint black shadow darted through the trees nearby, vanishing deep into the heart of the city.

  At that moment, Selene sat in her garden, perched on a stone bench. A few carefully prepared dishes sat before her—recreations from a cookbook, made by her personal chefs.

  She sampled each one, brows furrowing slightly. None of them tasted quite like what the werewolf chieftain had once cooked for her.

  With a wave of her hand, the maids quickly stepped forward and cleared the dishes.

  "Tell them to keep trying. This isn't good enough," she said coldly, pulling a white silk cloth from her sleeve and delicately dabbing the corners of her mouth.

  Suddenly, a shadow flashed into her line of sight, kneeling silently before her and whispering the latest report.

  Upon hearing it, Selene's brow furrowed sharply, clear dissatisfaction etched across her face.

  She hadn't expected Draven to transport the slaves in such a bizarre manner—far beyond anything she had anticipated.

  She had planned to wring a bit more leverage out of the werewolf chief, only to be outmaneuvered herself. And now, in the heart of the rainy season, the mountain roads would be slick and treacherous.

  It was almost an impossible task to bring five hundred slaves safely back to the territory without sufficient escorts. With only their meager numbers, the dangers along the way were self-evident. Moreover, Draven had no external support for this mission.

  At the Lord's Mansion, they had been expecting the werewolf chieftain to come seeking help in person. Instead, they received a completely unfamiliar group of guests.

  It was a squad composed of several succubi, who stopped at the gate of the Lord's Mansion under the astonished gazes of the guards.

  "Please inform Lady Selene that our kin from the south are in trouble and need her assistance!" said the leading succubus.

  These succubi hailed from the south, forced to flee and lose their homes due to the oppression of blood elves. Amalia, their elite, was chosen to go ahead first, bringing both a plea and a probe.

  ...

  At this moment, Draven had only one goal in mind: to finish the mission as quickly as possible. He had started marching in the middle of the previous night, and logically should have arrived by noon that day.

  But he didn't appear above Village No. 2 until the next morning, riding a Nightmare Horse and moving slowly.

  He dismounted dizzily, handed the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent to Bran, and ordered him to arrange for the rabbit cubs and slaves who had been"spit out."

  Just as Viola and the others stepped forward to greet him, Draven merely waved his hand, signaling them to help. He himself staggered toward the stone hut.

  Viola immediately sensed something was wrong and rushed to support him. The moment she touched Draven, she realized the problem—his body temperature was incredibly high, scorching hot to the touch.

  She stood on tiptoe, forcefully touching his forehead and gasping in alarm. His forehead was as hot as if it were on fire. Viola immediately helped him stagger back to the stone hut step by step.

  By the time they reached the door, Draven was already fumbling wildly with his clothes. He didn't stop until he was completely naked, then collapsed limply onto the bed.

  He himself felt extremely unlucky—he had encountered heavy rain throughout the entire journey to and fro. As a werewolf chieftain with powerful bloodline strength, he had never expected to be troubled by a cold and fever.

  Lying on the bed, he only felt dizzy and light-headed. He barely managed a smile, signaling to Viola not to worry and urging her to help take care of Bran and the slaves first. Arranging five hundred slaves was indeed no easy task.

  Viola fetched cold water, dampened an animal hide, placed it on his forehead, and carefully covered him with a fur pelt before leaving with relief.

  As soon as she stepped out of the stone hut, she suddenly remembered that Sylvia had said she could heal. She quickened her pace and found the feline-shaped elf.

  When Sylvia arrived, Draven was already drowsily asleep. Seeing the animal hides propped up high, Sylvia's little face blushed, and she secretly clicked her tongue.

  In a daze, Draven heard someone murmuring incantations, and a comfortable warm current slowly enveloped his entire body. Immediately after, a cold little hand gently pressed against his forehead.

  Thinking it was Viola returning to stay with him, he instinctively reached out, grabbed the arm, and gently pulled, hugging the person into his arms. The icy touch instantly made him feel much more comfortable.

  Sylvia had intended to focus on casting the spell, but was startled by the sudden embrace. Her body tensed, and she tried to break free.

  But even a sick werewolf possessed astonishing strength. Coupled with his scorching-hot chest, she instantly lost the strength to resist.

  Just as she was about to use all her might to break free, the dazed Draven tightly held her little hand and slowly moved it downward until she was forced to grasp Draven's penis. Sylvia was completely stunned, allowing Draven's big hand to guide hers up and down.

  "Viola, help me... I'm so hot..." Draven whispered in her ear.

  Only then did Sylvia realize he had mistaken her for someone else!