Draven sneezed, nearly slipping off the back of his Nightmare Horse. He wrinkled his nose and muttered,"Who's talking behind my back again?"

  The experimental phase of the demon-luring formula had finally yielded results. Gregor tested it using several rotting beast corpses and successfully attracted a low-level demon beast. The creature nearly shattered the trap with its jaws, but was ultimately subdued by the Serpent Ancestor's venom.

  Draven was quite pleased. He had already instructed Viola and the others to brew several more vials, to be used for luring demon beasts. Their blood could then be refined into a new batch of bloodwine.

  He planned to promote this bloodwine as a specialty of the Black Flag Territory. Aside from its intense flavor, it offered a slight boost in physical strength—making it a decent low-grade combat beverage.

  Besides, the full moon was only a few days away. He didn't intend to take it lightly; demon beasts would still be needed for the sacrificial ritual. He believed that stronger offerings would yield greater rewards.

  As he and Viola discussed the preparations for the ritual, the Ghost-faced Owl finally sent a signal. This time, however, the distance was too far for him to switch perspectives directly—he could only sense a vague direction through the bond.

  Not willing to waste a single moment, Draven mounted his Nightmare Horse and charged off in the direction indicated by the bond.

  On the way, he made a detour to Village No. 1 and brought the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent along. He had gotten used to bringing this cold-blooded creature with him whenever he ventured out. It was good for scouting—and could be a lifesaver in tight spots.

  But as they crossed the boundary of the Black Flag Territory, a strange feeling crept over him. The Ghost-faced Owl's position was now uncomfortably close to the neighboring lands. Any further east, and he'd be entering territory controlled by the Rhinoceros Men.

  He stopped before a roaring waterfall. The thundering sound filled the air, and on the stone wall beside it was carved the Black Flag Territory's boundary marker. Draven frowned deeply.

  This was the final border marker. Beyond it, he might be considered a trespasser. He wasn't afraid of a fight—but wars always slowed down development. He much preferred building roads, planting herbs, and expanding fields within his domain.

  But his hesitation vanished in an instant. He forcibly switched into the Ghost-faced Owl's perspective. The image flickered—and two massive beasts came into view: short-horned demon bulls.

  Each stood at least four to five meters tall, muscular and thick with coarse, dark gray fur. A stubby bone horn jutted from each of their foreheads. Their dull eyes exuded an inexplicable pressure.

  "Hell… they're right there?" Draven swallowed hard.

  His eyes lit up. Two short-horned demon bulls—enough blood to fill a dozen barrels. If he could catch them, not only would it suffice for this sacrifice, it might cover the next one too.

  He dismounted, leaving the Nightmare Horse beside the waterfall. Patting its neck gently, he whispered,"Wait for me. Don't wander off."

  Then he removed the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent from the horse's head. The creature yawned lazily, but tensed the moment it was picked up, letting out a low hiss.

  "Easy now. You'll get your turn," Draven whispered, pulling a demon lizard cloak from his inner pocket and quickly wrapping himself in it.

  The moment the cloak activated, his figure seemed shrouded in mist, blending into the environment until he was nearly invisible to the naked eye.

  He knew this advanced cloak was one of his biggest advantages. He could approach his prey undetected and strike at the perfect moment.

  Short-horned demon bulls were usually gentle by nature and showed little aggression toward humans or demi-humans. But if they strayed into demi-human settlements, you could forget about them being friendly.

  The problem was their sheer size and weight—and their complete disregard for direction. Once, an entire Lizardfolk village had been flattened by two wandering demon bulls. Not a single brick remained.

  They weren't intentionally aggressive—they just didn't bother turning when they ran. Anything in their path got crushed.

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  If not for their herbivorous diet and weak sense of territoriality, many mid-tier beast species would've been wiped out by them already.

  Draven crouched behind a rock, eyes locked on the two demon bulls ahead. They were peacefully munching on a patch of wild grass, occasionally lifting their heads to chew, then slowly moving to another spot. They looked completely unalert.

  He planned to wait for the Ghost-faced Owl to point him toward a good route to flank them. Then the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent would initiate the assault. When the bulls charged in rage, that would be his cue to act.

  He crept along the tree trunk, making his way toward the hiding spot of the Ghost-faced Owl. The creature, cloaked in black feathers, had once again wedged itself into the foliage, nearly invisible.

  Just as Draven leaned in, the Ghost-faced Owl turned its head—and nearly scared him off the branch.

  Draven reached out and grabbed the Ghost-faced Owl's body. The familiar scent calmed the little creature almost instantly.

  It fluttered its wings and returned to the branch, but couldn't help staring at Draven's face, its big, round eyes full of confusion.

  "Stop staring. It's me," Draven sighed, a little helpless.

  He knew what the problem was. The Basilisk Cloak had excellent camouflage abilities, allowing the wearer's body to blend almost perfectly with the surrounding environment. Even exposed skin would appear visually blurred.

  To avoid scaring the Ghost-faced Owl, Draven had deliberately pulled back his hood to show his face. But clearly, his sudden appearance had startled the creature instead.

  He put the hood back on, hiding the contours of his face, and stopped paying attention to the owl. His gaze turned toward the distance—two Short-horned Demon Bulls grazing with their heads down.

  Although still some distance away, their massive bodies were impossible to miss. Even through a patch of forest, their four-to-five-meter-tall frames stood out like small cabins on the open plain. Their fur was a dry, earthy yellow, shimmering faintly in the sunlight.

  Draven suppressed all of his aura. He knew well that these demon bulls didn't have sharp hearing or smell, but they were extremely sensitive to vibrations in the ground.

  One careless step could alert them. Carefully, and under the cloak's protection, Draven moved closer, each step as light as a falling leaf.

  The closer he got, the more he could feel the oppressive presence of the demon bulls. They resembled regular cows in shape, especially the curved, short horns on their heads—like oversized versions of ordinary horns.

  But some parts were drastically different, like their hooves. Unlike a regular cow's cloven hooves, the demon bulls had thick, elephant-like feet—solid, rock-like gray hooves with broad bases, as wide as millstones.

  One bull was larger than the other—clearly a pair, male and female. What surprised Draven was that the female was actually bigger than the male.

  Her frame was broader, her shoulders and back thicker, with muscles rolling beneath the skin like waves. In terms of aura, both had reached mid-tier Intermediate Beast levels—comparable to Draven's current combat strength.

  He narrowed his eyes and studied them closely. Intermediate beasts weren't easy prey anymore. Even for him, underestimating them could be deadly—especially since this was a pair. Even if he successfully ambushed and killed one, the other could instantly go into a berserk rage and counterattack.

  Still, he didn't back down. He quickly reviewed possible strategies in his mind. He had the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent, capable of lightning-fast lethal strikes—perfect for finishing or ambushing.

  And he had the Basilisk Cloak for stealth approaches. But he couldn't help but regret not bringing Ragnar this time. That violent, brutal demon wolf would've been perfect for distracting one of the bulls while Draven took out the other.

  The Ghost-faced Owl remained perched on a nearby branch, but it was completely useless. As a low-level beast, it didn't even have the guts to get close to intermediate ones.

  Draven crouched behind a tree root, staring at the pair of bulls for several seconds before finally making up his mind. He knew capturing one alive would be extremely risky—but the rewards would be tremendous.

  "Screw it. Capturing one will already be worth it," he muttered to himself.

  The Short-horned Demon Bulls had clearly sensed danger too. Though they hadn't pinpointed Draven's exact location, they simultaneously raised their heads, all four enormous eyes scanning the forest, warm white vapor puffing from their nostrils.

  In that instant, the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent shot from Draven's sleeve like a bolt of black lightning.

  The female bull didn't even have time to moo. Her body vanished into the serpent's mouth, consumed completely and without a trace.

  The male bull's eyes instantly turned blood-red. It raised its head and roared in fury. Its rear legs tensed, lifting its body upright, then both front legs slammed down like thunder.

  The ground quaked violently. Dust flew into the air. Draven staggered and lost his balance, falling out from behind the tree.

  His stealth immediately failed—the Basilisk Cloak's camouflage shattered under the intense tremor, exposing him fully in the sunlight.

  The Short-horned Demon Bull locked onto him at once, let out a low, thunderous bellow, and charged forward with lowered head. Its short horns were razor-sharp, looking like they could shred anything in their path.

  Draven clenched his teeth. He hadn't wanted a head-on fight, but now he had no choice. The ground beneath him rippled like waves, making it impossible to regain his footing or flee.

  But just as the bull was about to hit him, Draven suddenly leaped high into the air—his body soared over two meters. While airborne, he transformed into his towering werewolf form.

  Now nearly the same size as the demon bull, he descended like a blade, aiming precisely at the bull's back.

  He didn't draw his Blood Demon Weapon. Instead, he used his"Phantom Glide" ability to slide down the bull's spine, merging both claws into a hammer shape and slamming them down hard on the back of the bull's skull.

  A thunderous crack echoed through the forest. The bull let out a muffled groan, its legs buckled, and it crashed heavily to the ground. Its body convulsed—still not fully dead—when a massive serpent mouth suddenly lunged from the side, swallowing up the last breath of the demon beast.