Green Serpent might look relaxed on the surface, but in truth, there was no shortage of things on his mind. Under his command were fourteen hunting teams, each of which had to head out in rotation every day. Route planning and area assignments all required his personal oversight.

  Let alone the beasts that could appear at any moment, sudden weather changes, or any number of other emergencies—he couldn't afford to truly let his guard down.

  Draven walked in and casually spread a map across the table. He pointed to a flat area not far from Village 3 and said,"I need you to spare one hunting team and clear this land. I'm going to build an orchard."

  "Orchard?" Green Serpent blinked, frowning. For a moment, he didn't quite grasp what Draven meant.

  Draven didn't rush him but patiently explained. He got straight to the point:"A place for planting fruit trees—like apples, grapes, wild berries. Don't worry about what it's for. I just need that land cleared. Cut down the trees, pull up the grass, loosen the soil, level it out. That's all. The rest isn't your concern."

  He didn't want Green Serpent digging into too many details, like why not just pick fruit from the wild. It was better to cut the conversation short—just get the land ready, nothing more.

  Beastkin were reliable when it came to executing tasks, but the problem was that they often lacked conceptual frameworks. If you didn't explain clearly, they might take too many liberties and end up creating a mess. That's why Draven was never afraid of being wordy—it was better than redoing the work.

  Green Serpent nodded without further questioning. He understood this wasn't his area of expertise. Whatever Draven wanted to do, he would follow orders. Land clearing, to them, was just a matter of putting in more manpower anyway.

  Naturally, the actual planting and tending of the orchard wouldn't fall to them. Draven had already decided that the treefolk from Village 1 would take over that responsibility.

  Out of the five treefolk, picking one to tend the orchard full-time would be enough. As long as the varieties were chosen properly, survival rates wouldn't be a problem.

  As for the types of fruit trees, Draven already had ideas. He planned to focus on varieties suitable for winemaking—like wild grapes. He even wanted to try propagating them through cuttings, to see if they could take root in the new soil.

  And if it didn't work, he'd call Sylvia in. As an elf, she had a special bond with plants. Who knows—maybe just standing there would be enough for the trees to blossom and bear fruit.

  With that matter settled, Draven went to check in with the second consciousness, Gregor, confirming that there had been no unusual movements from the Serpentfolk tribe.

  Since that last battle, the Serpentfolk had grown remarkably well-behaved and pragmatic. They hadn't brought up anything about sovereign independence again.

  Once he confirmed everything was stable, he returned to the village.

  Just inside the gates, he was amused by what he saw: a group of kids from Black Flag Territory, full of fighting spirit, were swarming the training field.

  It turned out their old wooden sticks had been upgraded—they were now wielding properly shaped wooden spears and short blades.

  Draven stood watching for a while. The kids were mimicking adult combat drills—formations, charges—and doing it surprisingly well. He suddenly had a feeling that their futures might truly be different from what they used to be.

  He quietly backed away a few steps, not wanting to get accidentally hit and end up black and blue—how embarrassing would that be?

  As he walked deeper into the village, he noticed the expressions on many villagers' faces were noticeably more relaxed. No longer hollow-eyed or malnourished, they now had some color in their cheeks and more smiles on their faces. Their movements were no longer sluggish, and they worked with more energy.

  Draven felt a bit emotional. Just a few months ago, this place was a ruin, home to a bunch of slaves living like livestock. Now it looked like a real village—orderly, hopeful, and changing.

  He circled around to the back of the village and found Viola and her team.

  The little fox girl was crouched in front of a pile of pottery, carefully inspecting the jars and pots fresh from the kiln. Two young girls, who adored her, mimicked her posture, learning how to spot cracks or warping.

  The first new kiln in Black Flag Territory had been built by Viola herself. Though small, it already met the village's basic daily needs.

  Draven had originally opposed building a kiln in the village. He was worried it would produce smoke and harm the air quality.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  Viola had simply smiled and said,"We Fire Foxes don't burn charcoal." She had carved a magic formation inside the kiln and fueled it with her own magic power. Within minutes, the kiln blazed like an erupting volcano.

  What used to take more than ten hours to fire now took only a few. Draven had watched it several times and still felt like he was witnessing a magic show.

  Of course, the pottery wasn't delicate—mostly basic items like water jars, spice containers, and small bowls. But it was a good start.

  Draven also tried to pass on his own rudimentary understanding of ceramics to Viola. He wasn't an expert, but at least he could point in the right direction. As long as they were willing to keep experimenting, it was entirely possible they'd eventually produce high-quality wares.

  He didn't interrupt their inspection. Instead, he unfastened his belt and quietly sent the Serpent Ancestor over to examine the new kiln. Perhaps it could help reinforce the structure and even optimize the magic formation.

  Leaving the kiln behind, he stopped by the rabbit hut.

  The newly built rabbit hut already housed over a hundred rabbits. According to Viola, some of the does were already pregnant.

  Litters of baby rabbits would be born, and the village's meat shortage would ease significantly. It truly felt like everything in Black Flag Territory was moving in a better direction.

  Draven stood inside the rabbit shed, holding two plump white rabbits in his hands, squinting as he inspected them carefully. The harvest today was decent, and the little fox girl had been doing better and better lately—tonight's dinner had to be a proper feast to reward her.

  After picking out the ingredients, he carried the prey back to his house and swiftly got to work at the wooden table.

  The rabbits were skinned, their innards removed one by one. He chopped the meat into small chunks and tossed them into a large ceramic basin, rinsing the blood away with warm water until the liquid turned clear.

  Then he poured in some cassava wine, grabbed a handful of coarse salt, a few dried herbs, and freshly picked horseradish from the field, kneading everything together to marinate the meat.

  By the hearth, a large iron pot rested on a stone rack. Beast fat melted inside, bubbling with an increasingly rich aroma. He pinched some powdered spice—his substitute for chili—and sprinkled it in. Within moments, the whole room was filled with a mouthwatering scent.

  Draven dumped all the marinated rabbit meat into the pot at once. The meat rolled and sizzled in the bubbling oil as he stirred it with a wooden spatula, occasionally tapping the pot's rim to control the heat. When the meat turned golden and fragrant, he gave it a final sprinkle of seasoning and stirred thoroughly, the rich smell enough to make anyone's mouth water.

  "Done." Draven wiped sweat from his forehead and lifted the pot onto the wooden table. Three rabbits' worth of meat sizzled with an irresistible aroma.

  Viola and the others gathered around—some keenly watching his cooking technique, others staring blankly, especially Liliana, whose mouth nearly drooled as she watched.

  Within minutes, the pot was scraped clean. Almost all the meat had been devoured. Draven stared at the bottom of the pot, took a sip of bloodwine, and sighed inwardly: Still not full.

  It wasn't that the food wasn't enough—it was the people. Like trying to feed a bottomless pit.

  Leaning back in his chair, he brought the wine cup to his lips and couldn't help but daydream about a bowl of white rice.

  If only I had a bowl of steaming rice to go with this rabbit stew—that would be true happiness.

  But sadly, here in Black Flag Territory, they'd barely even seen a grain of real rice.

  After eating and drinking, he didn't rush to send people away. Striking while the iron was hot, he turned to Liliana and said,"Help me out with some work tomorrow, and I'll make you another pot of rabbit."

  Liliana's eyes instantly lit up. She didn't say anything, but her ears twitched with excitement.

  Draven nodded with satisfaction. It would be a shame to waste a naturally gifted digger like her.

  He had already chosen a sunken area outside the village. The plan was to have her dig it deeper, raise the edges, and seal the opening—essentially turning it into a small fishpond.

  "Fish should be eaten fresh. The river's too far, takes dozens of miles to reach it. We'll raise our own from now on," he muttered to himself.

  Once the nets and fingerlings were ready, the place would come into use. Fish stew, grilled fish, pickled fish—he was already planning the menu.

  Just as he was thinking about this, he saw Liliana dragging Sylvia out of the house in a hurry. Both looked flustered. Draven tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. Weren't those two always the ones who clung to the house the most? Why are they running faster than rabbits today?

  He was curious, but didn't overthink it. Instead, he sat back down to continue drying meat by the fire. Night fell. The hearth crackled and popped, light and shadow danced across the room, and the lingering aroma of rabbit still hung in the air.

  "They're not up to something weird in there, right?" he muttered under his breath.

  The house quieted, leaving only him and Viola. They chatted idly while flipping the meat. Life was peaceful and warm, like this simple evening by the fire—steady and real.

  Meanwhile, in the stone house, Liliana had already pulled Sylvia onto the bed. The two girls sat facing each other, bodies close, breaths mingling. Liliana's eyes sparkled as she whispered,"Let's do it."

  Sylvia hesitated slightly but nodded. She removed her mask and reached out, interlocking her fingers with Liliana's.

  A faint white light emerged from Sylvia's palm, flowing along her arm into Liliana's body. Liliana took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and was soon surrounded by a gentle green glow.

  Then the light flowed back into Sylvia, like a force being passed between them.

  They seemed to form some kind of strange cycle—breathing, heartbeats, even their spirits syncing. In that soft, continuous glow, their magic power gradually increased. Deep within their bloodlines, a dormant strength was being awakened.

  Outside the door, the Serpent Ancestor suddenly opened his eyes. He sensed the change in energy within the room—that taste, familiar and tempting. He glanced toward the stone house, pupils narrowing slightly, a flash of greed flickering through his eyes.

  He had long noticed the bloodline auras of these two girls—strong, pure, top-grade nourishment. In the past, he'd have barged in without a second thought and devoured them like snacks.

  But not now. Draven's contract loomed over him. Making a move meant death. He licked his lips and could only drool at the door.

  He was trying hard to control himself when he suddenly heard a rhythmic sound from inside the room. His ears twitched, and his expression turned… complicated.

  "Again?" the Serpent Ancestor growled through clenched teeth.

  Agitated, he slapped his tail against the ground—only to realize, after a few thumps, that the rhythm matched the one from inside.

  "Fuck!" Furious, he bit his own tail.