Draven held the bundle of beast-hide manuscripts in his hands, chuckling as if what he held wasn't just a manuscript, but the key to some new world. Sitting in the center of the stone hut, his expression was serious, reading carefully while occasionally murmuring to himself.

  "This is way too detailed, isn't it?" He widened his eyes, his fingertips trembling as he flipped page after page.

  In stark contrast to Sylvia in the neighboring stone hut, the werewolf leader was openly engrossed in his study.

  Meanwhile, Sylvia was also reading through the manuscripts. She squatted beside her bed and carefully unfolded a hidden copy.

  The manuscripts were originally the translations she had returned to Draven, but she had secretly made a magical copy for herself and quietly used an ordering spell to rearrange the chaotic patched-together content back into its original sequence.

  She always felt that Draven wasn't like a typical demi-human—not rough enough, not impulsive enough. He always seemed meticulous, as if he had some plan.

  However, she also knew that she herself, an elf, was probably no longer a true elf.

  Growing up living on the edge of life and death, she hadn't lived as briefly and quietly as other holy maidens. She lived longer, and wilder. Curiosity was like poison; she knew it was dangerous but couldn't help reaching out.

  "What kind of secret arts is this?" she muttered as she flipped open the first page.

  The next moment, she jumped up as if what she held wasn't paper but a freshly forged iron hot off the fire.

  "Ah!" she gasped softly, her face instantly flushing like a boiled apple.

  She quickly threw the manuscript to the floor, covering her face, her ears—including the cat ears on her head—turning pink.

  "This is way too filthy!" she cursed in a voice as tiny as a mosquito, but her eyes couldn't help darting back to the scattered beast-hide sheets on the floor.

  The doorway was silent; no one approached. She quietly leaned over, cautiously closing the door, then slid down to sit against it.

  She picked up the scattered pages again, cursing"pervert,""bastard,""damn werewolf" under her breath, blushing and heart pounding as she continued reading.

  "He definitely did this on purpose! Just wants to see me embarrassed."

  Meanwhile, over at Draven's place, he was critically reading the so-called secret arts page by page.

  He shook his head as he read, as if saying"this won't work,""this is too extreme," but the corner of his mouth twitched uncontrollably, clearly trying to hold back laughter.

  "Blood elves really have all sorts of tricks," he said, putting down the manuscript and taking a deep breath. He noticed sweat forming. The stone hut was small, but he felt the air was stifling and the blood inside him restless, as if some ancient wildness was awakening.

  "So this is another way to use bloodline power," he murmured, images flashing through his mind as if some instinctive memory was forcibly awakened.

  He suppressed the agitation in his heart and paced a few rounds around the hut to calm down. This secret art had something to it.

  At the same time, Sylvia was drowning in extreme shame and anger. Her face was flushed red as she fanned herself with the manuscript, trying desperately to cool down, but the more she fanned, the hotter her face felt.

  "What is this? I must be crazy to read this," she gritted her teeth and screamed, then threw the entire manuscript into the firepit. The flames licked the beast-hide, crackling loudly.

  Yet the words seemed to have already been etched into her mind. She closed her eyes but could still recall every sentence, every detail, even the illustrations clearly.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "I'm done for. I'm no longer pure," her voice choked with emotion, like self-reproach but also filled with a complex helplessness.

  Leaning against the door, she looked toward Draven's stone hut next door and snarled under her breath,"That damn werewolf, he did this on purpose."

  This time, Draven was truly wronged. Sylvia the elf had long forgotten that the original manuscript was something she had proudly kept for her own reading.

  But it was just as well—she had thrown those beast-hide pages into the firepit in a moment of emotional loss of control. If she had seen the later parts, things might have become far more complicated.

  At this moment, Draven's expression had completely changed. He sat on a stone bench, flipping through the manuscript page by page, the smile long gone from his face.

  The earlier secret arts looked like ridiculous tricks—some kind of erotic games whispered among nobles—curious but harmless.

  But when he reached the end of most of the content, the atmosphere suddenly grew heavy. That part was no longer frivolous but cold, cruel, and even tinged with a kind of mad obsession.

  The real secret arts were all targeted at the elven race.

  Experiments using bloodline power, ancient pacts to alter physiology. One secret art even required the heart of a treant to awaken the power of a blood elf.

  "Using the heart of a treant..." Draven whispered, his eyes sharpening.

  He sensed that these spells were not only evil but hid an even greater secret. Over two hundred years ago, the wood elves suddenly vanished from the continent. There were rumors they were wiped out.

  No one knew what had truly happened. Soon after, the treant race, closely linked with the wood elves, also faded from people's sight.

  An ancient race disappeared from the world without even leaving a sound. Draven's fingers tapped on the table, his brow furrowed deeply.

  "Could all this be connected to the blood elves?" He frowned, a bad premonition rising in his heart.

  He thought of Liliana—the little girl always shouting about protecting the forest, who was actually half wood elf by blood.

  She had traveled with her father for years, seeming innocent and lively but actually full of drive. Once she heard anything, not even ten horses could stop her.

  Draven hesitated as he looked at the beast-hide manuscript in his hand. He closed the yellowed pages, unsure whether to tell Liliana about this.

  He had already seen how terrifying blood elves were—not because of numbers, but because each individual was a great threat.

  Let alone Liliana, just the entire Black Flag Territory probably wouldn't stand a chance against a blood elf family.

  There might still be hope in the druid called Benedict, the"father" and"teacher" Liliana always talked about.

  Draven carefully extracted the section about the treant heart, rolled it up, and slipped it into his belt pouch.

  "When he comes to me, I'll hand it over. It's too dangerous for Liliana to know." he muttered softly.

  He knew her temper—if she learned the wood elves' demise was related to the blood elves, she would rush impulsively to their territory to investigate. She didn't care about danger or even life and death.

  Draven sighed and stood up. He was just about to go find Viola to check if there was any progress in the rabbit hut when, unexpectedly, he bumped into Sylvia coming out of the stone hut opposite.

  The cat-girl elf kept her head down, her expression unreadable, but those soft, drooping cat ears betrayed her mood. She was clearly in a bad mood.

  "Sylvia?" Draven called out instinctively.

  Sylvia shuddered like she was shocked, suddenly raising her head. Seeing it was Draven, she froze for a moment, then her face instantly flushed deep red.

  She glared fiercely at him as if Draven had committed some unforgivable crime, then turned and ran away, her tail bristling.

  Draven stood at the door, utterly bewildered."What just happened?" He scratched his head and twitched the corner of his mouth."She's not usually like this."

  Still full of confusion, he went to the breeding area.

  Viola was squatting in front of the rabbit hut, nervously staring inside. She wore tight beast-skin clothing, showing off her figure, entirely focused.

  Her fluffy tail flicked every now and then, showing her excitement. Next to her stood Ayla, the little fire fox assistant, arms crossed and looking ready.

  Since Viola complained about not having enough hands, Draven had assigned Ayla to be her full-time helper. It had proven to be a good decision.

  Draven approached quietly and asked,"Another birth coming?"

  Without turning, Viola nodded, her eyes fixed on the doe lying in the corner.

  Her gaze was so focused it seemed like watching a sacred ritual. Draven had seen this scene more than once before.

  The little fox's breeding business was thriving, and the does were remarkably fertile. But every time a doe was about to give birth, Viola acted like it was the first time—rushing over, forgetting to eat.

  "What's so interesting about this?" Draven shook his head.

  Finally, the doe trembled a few times and gave birth smoothly to nine soft, pink little bunnies.

  Ayla cheered softly and carefully tidied the nest, while Viola's eyes reddened with emotion.

  After everything was settled, Draven couldn't help himself and scooped Viola up in a sideways hug. As she gasped softly, he hoisted her onto his shoulder.

  "Draven!" Viola struggled quietly but didn't resist. Her tail dangled lazily over his shoulder.

  Standing there, Ayla looked at the couple with a barely concealed hint of envy in her eyes.

  That very emotion was caught by Alaric, who had just come out of the wine cellar. He glanced at Ayla's clearly envious gaze at the couple…