The rainy season was a nightmare for the Beastkin. Torrential rain poured relentlessly over their soaked villages, breeding only irritation and restlessness in their hearts.

  On days like these, hunting became nearly impossible. Worse yet, the rain didn't simply pass with the wind—it dragged on for days, sometimes weeks or even a month or two of uninterrupted grey skies and drizzle. Sunny days were a rare luxury.

  For a tribe that relied almost entirely on hunting to survive, an extended rainy season was nothing short of a disaster. The soaked ground made tracking difficult, animals vanished into hiding, and prey became scarce. Every year, some of the elderly or frail tribespeople would succumb to hunger and cold.

  However, Draven wasn't too worried about food shortages. The granaries of the Black Flag Territory were well-stocked—enough to feed three villages for a decent stretch of time.

  What concerned him more was how the prolonged bad weather was stalling the construction and development of their territory. For a tribe, stable living conditions and the opportunity to grow mattered far more than temporary relief from hunger.

  Inside a stone hut, Viola was carefully sewing a thick piece of animal hide onto a wooden frame, just as Draven had instructed. It was a rudimentary umbrella frame—something the Beastkin had never seen before.

  Draven had grown quite dissatisfied with the current situation. So, he decided to make umbrellas. Not exactly an invention, really—just a few sturdy wooden sticks lashed into a frame, with waterproof hide stretched over the top. The design was crude and couldn't be folded, but at least it kept out the wind and rain and made going outside easier.

  By the time the umbrella was finished, the rain outside was still falling, but the wind had lessened and the downpour had eased into a gentler drizzle. Draven stepped out with the rough umbrella in hand, intending to take a walk through the village to see if the storm had caused any damage.

  The moment he opened the door, he saw two small heads poking out from the next-door stone hut. Two young girls had somehow dragged their bed to the doorway and were lying side by side, watching the raindrops fall with fascination, completely ignoring the weather.

  Sylvia looked a bit uncomfortable and turned her head away, trying not to stare. But curiosity got the better of her, and she snuck a glance at the strange object in the werewolf chief's hand.

  Liliana, on the other hand, was far more energetic. She let out a gleeful shout, jumped up from the bed, and with a light leap, launched herself into Draven's arms.

  The towering werewolf caught her effortlessly, his arm curving around her back so she could rest comfortably on him. Then, almost absentmindedly, he handed her the umbrella. Liliana had clearly never held one before, but she quickly got the hang of it, twirling the handle and beaming with joy.

  The two walked off together, chatting and laughing as they passed the doorway. Sylvia watched them, feeling an unexpected pang of emptiness in her heart.

  Carrying Liliana on his back, Draven strolled around the village. The walk improved his mood somewhat. The reinforcements suggested by the Serpent Ancestor had worked—the houses were untouched by the storm.

  Puddles had formed all across the ground, turning everything to muck. Only the path leading to the chieftain's hall and the square in front of it were paved with stone, making them the only clean walkways.

  By the time they returned, Draven's shoes were caked in mud. He took them off at the door and stepped inside with Liliana still on his back.

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  Inside, Viola was busy simmering a pot of braised meat, and the rich aroma quickly filled the entire room.

  Draven set Liliana down, and the two of them eagerly scooped meat out of the iron pot. Biting into a piece of juicy, marbled meat, Draven let out a satisfied sigh.

  "For the next month or two, getting meat this fresh won't be so easy," he said with a touch of helplessness and regret in his voice. He offered Viola a seat and served her a piece as well.

  Viola accepted it and took a small bite. All of them in the Beastkin tribe understood too well just how hard the rainy season could be.

  The mood grew a bit quiet, until Draven suddenly smiled and said mysteriously,"In a few days, I'll take you both into the mountains to find something delicious."

  In past rainy seasons, Draven and Bran Rurik had barely managed to scrape by with wild berries and a few special prey animals from the mountains. It was always a struggle to make ends meet.

  Feeding the three of them relied mostly on Draven's skill in finding food.

  When summer arrived, the rain-soaked mountains and forests always brought surprises. Most beastkin weren't picky about what they ate, but Draven had long since learned to savor nature's gifts.

  The three of them sat around a large pot of braised meat, eating it clean for breakfast. Liliana ate too much and held her belly, letting out dramatic groans that were clearly playful but still amusing to watch.

  By the time breakfast was over, the rain outside had mostly stopped. Draven ignored Liliana's groaning—he had more pressing things to do. He needed to help Viola gather all the little ones in the village and bring them to the chieftain's hall.

  During the rainy season, the children could no longer attend literacy classes outdoors like they usually did. Everything had to be moved indoors.

  Education in Black Flag Territory had always been sporadic. It mostly depended on whether Viola and the others had time.

  If they did, the kids got proper lessons. If not, they were simply left to play games with Liliana.

  But recently, Draven had added a new subject: storytelling, taught by Sylvia.

  In the chieftain's hall, Draven moved the long tables and chairs aside and let over twenty children sit directly on the floor. Alaric and Ayla stood on either side to maintain order.

  Sylvia stood before the children, slowly telling stories about the world.

  They weren't just tales of the beastkin's lives—they were about the vast world far beyond what the children had ever imagined. Draven had asked her specifically to tell these stories, hoping to broaden the children's horizons.

  Sylvia's storytelling was vivid, her voice slow and rhythmic like a bedtime story. Not only were the children captivated, even Draven and Viola were drawn in, listening quietly.

  Of course, the little ones treated it all as just stories. Draven didn't expect them to gain much knowledge from it. More importantly, he wanted them to develop curiosity and a sense of the wider world.

  Perhaps this knowledge would never be useful. Perhaps they would never leave their small corner of the beastkin lands. But Draven still wanted them to know there was something beyond.

  Draven noticed a tiny black wolf cub sitting in the corner—Arnold, the youngest among the Black Wolves—listening especially intently.

  The little guy held a charcoal pencil and scribbled on a wooden board as he listened. He was only four or five years old, but acted like a little adult.

  Draven was just about to get up and see what Arnold was writing when a frenzied roar suddenly echoed through the village.

  He froze for a moment, then a grin spread across his face. He quickly stood up and called to the kids,

  "Keep listening! Don't panic, don't run!"

  Then he dashed toward the source of the sound. That roar—he knew it well. It was the release that came with a bloodline awakening! He had seen it happen several times before.

  Sure enough, he soon arrived near the cluster of stone houses where the kobolds lived. Along the way, kobolds were fleeing in panic from the large house.

  Seeing the villagers fleeing in such disarray didn't make Draven angry—in fact, he couldn't help but laugh.

  He had thought the next to awaken would be Alaric, but to his surprise, it was Titus, the kobold.

  Draven shouted,"Why are you running? Come with me and see your kobold bloodline warrior!"

  The panicked villagers paused at the sound of their chief's voice, slowing their retreat. When they heard what Draven said, their faces lit up and they turned to follow him back.

  That made Draven especially pleased. Kobold bloodline warriors were extremely rare—even in Selene City, they were hard to come by.

  It wasn't that awakening made a kobold inherently powerful—but because the awakening itself was so rare.

  Draven quickly reached the front of Titus's stone house. From inside came intermittent roars and the sounds of things crashing around. The air was tense and chaotic.

  Draven didn't hesitate. He strode straight into the house.