Sylvia had a very small appetite. Though she often praised the flavor of the magic beast meat roasted by Draven, the amount she actually ate was astonishingly little—usually just a single bite before stopping.

  Her movements were graceful, as if eating were more of a ritual than a necessity.

  Draven noticed that she would occasionally retrieve a few brightly colored fruits or a small spoonful of golden-glowing honey from the silver bracelet on her wrist and taste it delicately.

  The taste seemed to improve her mood. Draven couldn't help but steal a few extra glances at the bracelet, suspecting it was a high-grade spatial item—perhaps something reserved for nobles, possibly even more advanced than his own storage ring.

  Still, he didn't ask. Everyone had their secrets, after all.

  Now that he had the Nightmare Horse for travel, he no longer needed to rush back to Village No. 2 before sunset. Before heading out, he had already informed Viola that he would be staying the night in Village No. 1 and having dinner with Bran.

  When he arrived, Bran was tearing into a large chunk of roasted meat, eyeing Draven with a look that clearly asked, Should I excuse myself now?

  But the chieftain paid him no mind. Instead, he was completely engrossed in conversation with the catgirl Sylvia, discussing topics Draven couldn't quite follow.

  Actually, Draven was simply eating while explaining the current state of the Black Flag Territory to Sylvia—how the villages had started from scratch, how they dealt with beast attacks, how resources were allocated, how the guard teams were trained, and what kind of infrastructure development he planned to push forward.

  Then he tentatively asked Sylvia, as an outsider, whether she had any suggestions that might help improve the Black Flag Territory.

  Sylvia didn't show any impatience. In fact, she listened intently. Occasionally she nodded, sometimes shook her head slightly, and even countered with precise questions like,"How is your water supply distributed?"

  "What channels do you use to obtain building materials?" Her tone was calm and gentle, but her questions were sharp and focused.

  The way she spoke—combined with her innate nobility—gave Draven the illusion that he wasn't speaking with a catfolk girl, but sitting in a routine meeting with an executive from a major corporation.

  He even thought back to the countless dull but obligatory business briefings he had attended in the old world. Only this time, surprisingly, he was actually enjoying the exchange.

  When they finished eating, the two of them lingered for a while longer.

  Off to the side, the Serpent Ancestor was still busy carving out magic arrays, with an air of don't bother me, I'll be up all night.

  When the Serpent Ancestor finally completed the last inscription, Draven personally tested it. He struck the stone wall with full force, and the structure held steady—no cracks, no tremors.

  It confirmed what the Serpent Ancestor had said: the wall was now strong enough to withstand even a full-powered attack from Bran.

  But that didn't mean Draven was ready to stop fortifying their defenses.

  He ordered Acorn Oak and the other treants to continue gathering stone. He wasn't content with just one ring of walls. What he wanted was a true fortress—something that could hold out even against an entire orc army.

  On the way back, Sylvia showed great interest in the slow-moving treants working around the village.

  She hadn't expected to see treants in the Black Flag Territory. Ever since the extinction of the wood elves, treants had nearly vanished from the continent.

  According to the Empire's archives, they were considered an endangered ancient species—many young nobles had never even seen one with their own eyes.

  Draven noticed the curiosity in her tone but simply smiled without explaining further.

  He didn't want to mention the forced contract—it was too hard to accept, and even harder to believe.

  All he said was that the treants were discovered by chance and agreed to stay after some communication. He didn't say a word about the contract's terms.

  Still, he was deeply concerned about the extinction of the wood elves. He felt there was more to the story—something hidden.

  He'd asked Liliana before, but the little druid always dodged the question, pretending not to know and slipping away on some excuse.

  The Nightmare Horse galloped silently in the night wind, two figures riding on its back.

  Sylvia's cheeks were slightly flushed. Whether from the wind or something else, Draven couldn't tell.

  When they returned to Village No. 2, Viola was already standing at the gate waiting for them.

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  As Sylvia leapt down from the horse, a trace of flustered expression still lingering on her face, Viola's gaze shifted slightly.

  Draven, entirely guilt-free, casually released the arm he had around Sylvia's waist and strode over to pull Viola into a hug.

  Viola was completely different from Sylvia.

  Her personality was fiery—just like the red fur of her foxkin tribe. She made no effort to hide her emotions.

  She threw herself into Draven's arms, her tail instantly curling around his waist, a playful smile on her lips.

  Draven bent down and kissed her, not holding back.

  It was a deep kiss, as if he were saying I'm back through his lips.

  Viola melted in his embrace, breathless, her fingers lightly tapping his chest twice.

  They stood like that, leaning against the tall stone wall, watching the vast forest under the night sky.

  "Starting tomorrow," Draven said in a low voice,"Sylvia will work with you.

  It's time to step up our efforts in breeding and agriculture."

  Viola's face remained buried in his chest as she softly responded with a quiet.

  Draven looked down and saw that the little fox girl's eyes were shimmering with tears. A thin layer of moisture clung to her lashes, like dew on grass by a freshly stirred stream.

  He let out a loud laugh and, before she could react, suddenly bent down and scooped up her legs, lifting her entire body into his arms.

  "What are you doing?!" the little fox girl cried out in surprise, her fists landing softly on his chest without the slightest threat.

  Draven chuckled in a low voice and turned to stride toward the room.

  At the same time, Sylvia was lying quietly on the guest bed. Moonlight streamed through the window and spilled across the floor. She stared at the ceiling, but her mind was still replaying everything she had seen earlier that day in the Black Flag Territory.

  The treefolk, the layout of the village, the defenses of the walls, and the mental state of the residents—all of it floated through her mind like scattered puzzle pieces not yet assembled.

  "What can I actually do to help?" she murmured to herself.

  She was trying to think seriously, but the sounds around her made it harder and harder to concentrate. At first, it was just a few soft laughs, on and off. Then, broken breaths.

  Eventually, it was like someone had pressed play inside her brain—an indistinct, rhythmically suggestive melody began echoing unbidden in her head.

  Sylvia rolled over in frustration, trying to find a better sleeping position. But when she turned her head, she was met with a pair of large, crystal-clear eyes staring straight at her.

  It was Liliana—the little druid girl—lying on the bed next to hers, her cheek pressed against the pillow, staring without blinking.

  "Why aren't you asleep yet?" Sylvia whispered.

  Liliana didn't answer. She just grinned and rolled onto her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

  The next morning, breakfast was a simple meat broth and some fruit. The broth was smooth, but Liliana kept licking her lips from time to time, as if savoring something far sweeter.

  Across from her, Sylvia sat with her head down, slowly nibbling on a piece of fruit. She ate very slowly, clearly reluctant to make eye contact with anyone.

  Draven noticed, but said nothing. Something about the atmosphere just felt... off.

  He swallowed the last bite of dried meat, looked at Sylvia, and said casually,"Today you'll go with Viola. Watch how we handle farming and breeding."

  "Okay," Sylvia nodded lightly and didn't ask further.

  He had business to discuss with the monkeyfolk village—plans for wine production needed to be finalized.

  On the way, he passed the great river and paused to watch the current. Fishing had been on his mind for a while. They still relied mainly on hunting for meat, which wasn't sustainable in the long term.

  He mulled over how to build a proper fishing net. Sending people into the water to grab fish by hand was just too inefficient.

  He knew how fishing nets worked. The problem was materials. The beastfolk used nets made from twisted animal hides when hunting, but those were only good for land animals. The gaps were too big—useless for catching fish.

  To make a real net, he needed fine, strong plant fibers. A few wetland hemp species popped into his mind. Maybe he could try harvesting some later when he had time.

  When he reached the monkeyfolk's cave, the familiar damp smell greeted him. As before, the old chieftain Goldmanes came out personally to welcome him. His face wore a smile, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

  "You're back already?" he asked with a laugh, scratching his head. There was no displeasure in his tone.

  Draven walked up with confidence and clapped him on the shoulder."Not here to trade this time—came to talk about a partnership."

  When he mentioned wanting the monkeyfolk to take over wine production, Goldmanes was momentarily stunned, then his whole face lit up. After asking a few questions and understanding the plan, his expression turned serious.

  The golden-furred monkeyfolk weren't good fighters and had little interest in hunting. Their strength had always been winemaking. Their brews were well-known among nearby tribes, but they'd never had the motivation or need for large-scale production.

  "If you're trading for cassava, then we're more than happy," Goldmanes said with a grin.

  Though their life seemed carefree, they had hidden concerns—especially food. Wine wasn't a meal, and it couldn't be drunk daily. Trading for food with Black Flag Territory was like a gift from the heavens.

  The agreement was quickly settled, and the mood remained light and cheerful.

  Draven didn't leave right away but stayed to chat with the old chief. In his words, he kept hinting at how short-handed they were and how many plans were stalled. What he really wanted was to probe whether the monkeyfolk might be willing to send people to help.

  Goldmanes understood perfectly but kept steering the conversation elsewhere—talking about the early bloom of flowers in the mountains, a monkey falling out of a tree recently, the cave being too damp—never once taking the bait.

  They had lunch with the monkeyfolk. The dishes were mainly wild fruits of various colors, plus some charred roasted roots. Tasty, but hardly filling.

  The best-tasting fruits were all tiny, about the size of bird eggs, eaten in one bite. The bigger fruits were either sour or bitter when bitten into.

  Afterward, Draven rubbed his stomach, feeling as though he'd just had a thin rice porridge—barely enough to line the bottom. He thought to himself, No wonder these monkeyfolk brew wine all the time. They can't even fill their bellies—without some alcohol, they probably wouldn't make it through the night.

  He said his goodbyes to Goldmanes and, on the way back to his territory, found himself pondering another issue: aside from grains, should they try planting fruit trees too?

  If a few could be successfully transplanted, it might help diversify their food sources. Fruit trees weren't as delicate as crops—maybe they'd take root easily.

  On the way back, he made a detour to Village No.3—the gathering place of the snakefolk.

  As he walked into the village, the fire pit in the main hall was burning hot. Green Serpent was lounging lazily in a chair, holding a crude clay bowl of wine, with wisps of meaty aroma still clinging to its rim. He was clearly living well.

  As soon as Draven stepped through the door, Green Serpent saw him and instantly sobered up. He hurriedly set down the bowl and came over in a rush.