When Selene heard the guards report that the werewolf chieftain Draven had requested an audience, she raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

  "What does he want?" she asked casually.

  "He said he's here to offer some delicacies," the guard replied in a low voice.

  Selene let out a soft chuckle, her eyes flickering with a hint of disdain and mockery.

  Hadn't she made her attitude toward Draven clear enough last time? And yet he still dared to come and curry favor? A mere chieftain of a low-ranking tribe, trying to mimic those self-styled clever men, offering petty gifts to attract her attention?

  Meanwhile, Draven was making his way toward the lord's hall, completely unaware that her impression of him was plummeting by the second.

  This time, he wore neither that obsequious smile that annoyed her so much, nor the overly eager look he had shown before. Instead, he behaved with unusual caution—bowing his head, standing upright, saying no unnecessary words, and avoiding excessive eye contact.

  Perhaps it was precisely this careful restraint that softened Selene's mood a little.

  Her patience had been wearing thin lately. The monetary reform was progressing much slower than she'd anticipated. The various tribes were showing strong resistance to the new system, and many chieftains flatly refused to cooperate. Bit by bit, her temper was fraying.

  Leaning back on the throne, resting her chin on her hand, she gazed down at the werewolf chieftain below.

  "You say you brought delicacies?" Her voice was cool, tinged with skepticism and scrutiny.

  If he truly brought something exceptional, she might forgive the interruption. But if he presented some rough orc rations, or bizarre ingredients she loathed, she would have no qualms about humiliating him on the spot.

  Draven seemed completely unfazed by the coldness in her tone. He turned and gestured to Rurik behind him to set down the items.

  Selene descended from her throne, her skirt brushing the polished stone floor as she walked with graceful ease. Drawing closer, she lowered her gaze to inspect what they had brought.

  A chill glimmer flashed in her eyes, her lips curling ever so slightly.

  "Are you mocking me?"

  Her voice was gentle, but unmistakably sharp. Fish and mushrooms? And he dared call this a delicacy?

  Among the demihumans, mushrooms were generally considered poisonous—only a few rare varieties were edible. And fish, with its pungent stench, was so detested that even during famines, few would touch it. Did he take her for some primitive savage? Trying to fool her with such ingredients—wasn't that an insult to her taste?

  Draven looked up, his expression sincere and tone composed.

  "Please, Lady Selene, allow us to make use of your kitchen. It will only take a short while. Then you'll see—this is far more than mere food."

  Selene blinked. That response sparked a flicker of curiosity. She happened to have some time on her hands—and she needed a target to vent her frustration. With a wave of her hand, a maid stepped forward to lead Draven and his follower to the kitchen.

  She was curious to see what tricks he could pull off with such pitiful ingredients.

  Draven followed the maid to the manor's kitchen. The moment he stepped inside, he paused in awe.

  It was his first time seeing such a kitchen—spacious, bright, and incredibly clean.

  The cooking and storage areas were clearly separated. The walls were lined with various pots and blades, all gleaming from meticulous care. He even spotted a magically temperature-controlled stove and a self-cleaning sink.

  In comparison, the Black Flag Tavern was little better than a primitive campsite. Even as chieftain, he normally had to make porridge over an open hearth, using a stone-stacked stove.

  Here, the kitchen alone was as large as his entire audience hall.

  The storage racks were stocked with everything: from common poultry and fish to rare magical beast meat, goblin spices, and vegetables and dried fruits in every imaginable color. Even during the rainy season, the meats remained fresh—proof of both ample supplies and advanced preservation methods.

  Draven took a deep breath and suppressed the envy in his heart. He wasn't here to admire a kitchen.

  "Let's begin," he said to Rurik.

  Rurik quickly unpacked the ingredients from the wooden box and began washing and slicing them with practiced ease—so fast that his hands blurred.

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  Meanwhile, Draven took the chance to wander around the kitchen under the pretense of searching for spices. In truth, he was discreetly storing unfamiliar ingredients from the pantry into his spatial ring—ingredients the Black Flag Tavern had never even heard of.

  Elven chilies, black garlic, moonshadow salt… All these unheard-of delicacies on the frontier—there was no way he'd pass up the opportunity.

  "After all," he murmured,"you need seasoning to cook."

  Rurik caught a glimpse of his chieftain's little side operation and broke into a cold sweat. He picked up his pace as well, afraid Draven might get carried away and swipe an entire pot.

  Soon, the ingredients were prepped. Rurik gave a discreet nod of reminder. Only then did Draven stop, clapping the dust from his hands with a satisfied grin.

  No wonder he had kept Rurik as his right-hand man for so many years—his actions were reliable as always.

  Draven gave him a satisfied glance, then ordered,"Go roast a fish over there. I'll handle the rest."

  Rurik said nothing, silently accepting a fresh fish and efficiently began preparing it.

  Meanwhile, Draven got to work on the mushroom salad. He used several types of wild mushrooms he had brought from the Black Flag Tavern. He sliced them finely, added salt and seasonings, mixed everything well, then set it aside to marinate.

  He then took out a special iron pot he had brought with him—something he had bartered for during a deal with a merchant caravan. It was far sturdier than the thin pans back in his territory.

  He tossed a small lump of beast fat into the pot. As the fire heated it up, the fat began to melt with a loud sizzle, releasing a rich, savory aroma into the air.

  He sped up his movements, stir-frying the mushrooms first once the oil was hot, then adding more seasoning. He was careful not to overdo it—partly because he didn't want to overwhelm the mushrooms' natural flavor, and partly because Selene was known to be particular about taste.

  Next came the braised fish and a pot of hearty fish soup. As steam rose from the pots, the mouthwatering aroma seemed to take on a life of its own, spreading through the entire kitchen and making it impossible to ignore.

  The succubus maids lounging at the kitchen door had originally been leaning idly against the frame, murmuring among themselves, wondering if their werewolf commander had lost his mind—trying to please Lady Selene with fish and mushrooms? Was he trying to get himself killed?

  But as the smell intensified, their ears perked up and noses twitched. One of them even poked her head in for a better look.

  Draven ignored them, fully immersed in his cooking. For a time, the only sounds in the kitchen were the rhythmic stir of ingredients and the crisp clink of spatula against pot.

  Finally, four dishes and one soup were ready.

  He found a large silver serving tray in the kitchen and carefully arranged the five dishes on it. Each plate had been wiped spotlessly clean, their rims free of any grease, with a few green leaves added for decoration—just some forgotten garnish from the kitchen corner, but he thought they looked nice.

  "Let's go," he nodded to Rurik, who picked up the tray without a word. The two of them exited the kitchen, one after the other, heading toward the back garden.

  To be honest, Draven didn't feel entirely comfortable in the back garden. Last time he was here, he had made a fool of himself in front of Selene and had almost wanted to dig a hole and crawl into it.

  This time, he didn't dare even look up at her—like a student facing a strict teacher in a bad mood, afraid one glare might get him verbally eviscerated.

  Inside the pavilion, Selene lounged lazily, one leg draped over the other, idly swirling her wine glass. Her gaze swept over him slowly, coolly. Draven felt a chill run down his spine. Bracing himself, he stepped forward and carefully set down the tray, lifting the lid with utmost caution.

  The aroma exploded out instantly. The rich scent of oil mixed with the freshness of mushrooms and the warmth of fish soup, grabbing everyone's attention like a hook.

  Even Selene, cold and still as an ice sculpture, showed a flicker of surprise. Her brow arched ever so slightly.

  Draven smiled inwardly. He knew this was his chance. He began introducing the dishes:

  "This is charcoal-grilled fish, seasoned with several mountain herbs. This one is braised fish, based on a human recipe I modified. The soup is made from fish bones—good for the stomach. Then we have a cold mushroom salad and a light stir-fried mushroom dish, both freshly made."

  After his explanation, he didn't invite her to eat right away. Instead, he picked up a fork and began tasting each dish himself, bite by careful bite.

  Even though he had cooked everything himself, he acted like a cautious chef, afraid she might find something off.

  He ate carefully, occasionally nodding and muttering little comments, as if to reassure her that it was safe—no poison here.

  When he finished, he set down his spoon, gave her a respectful nod, and added,"Watch out for the fish bones." Then he stepped aside to stand quietly with Rurik.

  In truth, from the moment he uncovered the dishes, Selene's attention had already been caught. She wasn't hungry per se—just curious about what this werewolf was up to.

  She picked up her fork and cut a piece from the grilled fish, bringing it close to her nose for a sniff. Her expression shifted ever so subtly. The moment the fish touched her tongue, her eyes widened slightly.

  The skin was crispy, the flesh tender—not at all the fishy mess she had expected. Instead, it carried a complex but pleasant aroma, like dried grass warmed by the sun, blended with beast fat.

  She could sense that the flavor came from specific herbs—some familiar roots and a few unidentifiable ingredients. She chewed slowly, eyes calm, clearly analyzing the dish.

  Then she picked up a spoon and tried the soup. Bits of fish skin and mushroom floated in the simple yet inviting broth.

  One sip turned into two before she realized. The soup's freshness cut right through the lingering oil from the grilled fish, bringing a refreshing, soothing sensation.

  The warmth traveled down her throat and spread to her chest, and for a moment she wanted to close her eyes and savor it.

  She finally looked up, her gaze falling lightly on the patiently waiting Draven. The chill in her eyes had noticeably lessened. She didn't say a word, but her expression said enough.

  Draven saw her take a third sip of the soup and finally let out a breath of relief. He knew—this meal had touched her.

  She tried all five dishes. At the end, she raised her cup of monkey wine and took a sip, her expression drifting into a distant, thoughtful look.

  She said nothing, as if absorbing the layered satisfaction brought by the food and wine.

  After a long pause, she waved a hand, dismissing the maids.

  Rurik got the hint and quietly followed them out, leaving Draven alone in the pavilion.

  Selene's gaze lingered on the dishes on the table. She tapped her fork lightly against a plate, producing a crisp sound.

  "Speak," she said."You're not just here to serve dinner, are you?"

  A faint smile played at her lips, her eyes tinged with curiosity.

  Draven straightened up and grinned. From inside his coat, he drew two thin leather-bound booklets and carefully handed them over.

  "Of course not. I know a meal alone won't keep your attention. But I believe these will."