Bran's shoulders and lower back ached as if a wild beast had trampled on them. He glanced down at his palms; his knuckles were swollen about half a circle thicker, and faint gray wolf fur had started to sprout on the backs of his hands. His heart pounded fiercely against his chest, and his breathing changed.

  That's right—he had awakened his bloodline. The true werewolf bloodline.

  It wasn't that the blood wine's magic was too strong; it was that he had already been close to crossing that threshold. A few days ago, he and Rurik had recklessly downed wolfblood wine together, nearly breaking through the limits of their bodies.

  Now, the blood wine that had been sealed away for over ten years delivered the final blow. The long-accumulated changes inside his body finally erupted.

  Bran wagged his thick, fluffy tail happily as he eagerly followed behind Draven, his eyes fixed on the water pouch in Draven's hand, clearly itching for another sip.

  But before he could say a word, the pouch suddenly vanished right before his eyes!

  He froze, utterly baffled, like he'd just seen a ghost in broad daylight. Draven only smiled quietly and said nothing.

  He didn't like to explain everything. As the leader, sometimes knowing too much wasn't a good thing. Mystery was part of the prestige.

  Of course, when needed, he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. He took the lead clearing the roads, lifting stones and carrying timber alongside the kobolds.

  With the leader personally involved, the kobolds' speed picked up considerably, and the entire camp buzzed with activity like an anthill.

  Before long, the section of road connecting to the stone gate was cleared. The path cleaned yesterday linked with today's progress, finally allowing passage.

  Supplies were pushed through cart after cart—no more hauling bags over muddy paths.

  Draven snapped his fingers, signaling the minotaurs and boars repairing the stone walls to pause, put down their tools, and join the moving effort.

  Even Viola was busy, leading Alaric and Ayla to watch the little ones, ensuring they didn't cause trouble while the adults worked.

  The whole camp seemed driven by a single force, running back and forth twice before moving everything inside the stone walls.

  Draven exhaled deeply. He had had enough of tent life—small, cramped, stuffy, no room even to stretch properly.

  Now that the nomadic camping was over, he decisively plopped down in the only stone house.

  While speaking, he gestured for Viola to bring in the animal hides to lay out in front of the hearth.

  He planned to sleep well tonight—and hopefully, use the chance to strengthen his relationship with Viola.

  Of course, Bran wasn't ready to give up. Clutching his worn-out animal hide, he followed inside, hoping to sneak in and stay.

  Draven promptly kicked him out.

  Ragnar finally had a proper duty—he immediately jumped onto the stone slab guarding the underground chamber, looking every bit the loyal treasure guardian.

  The village only had this one stone house; everyone else had to keep sleeping in tents. Draven ordered the slaves to start setting up the tents.

  No sooner had he spoken than the skinny slaves, thin as twigs, immediately lowered their heads, ready to leave.

  He frowned and called them back, casually pointing to a vacant spot: "Set them up here."

  The slaves hesitated, then knelt down in unison, shouting, "Thanks to the leader's mercy!"

  In the beastfolk tradition, slaves and masters were different kinds of people. They had no right to live together, let alone camp inside the stone walls.

  Slaves were tools, labor, the first meat shields against monsters in wartime. Even in peace, they had to stay on the outskirts, always ready to be the first sacrifice to feed the beasts.

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  Some nobles even regarded slaves as winter provisions, to be cooked and eaten when starving.

  And now, Draven was letting them pitch tents inside the stone walls. To them, this was a tremendous grace.

  The little ones' tents were temporarily set up in the square outside the stone house, watched over by Rurik and Bran on either side. Draven didn't want the half-grown brats wandering at night and turning the freshly cleaned camp into a mess.

  As for building houses? Don't even think about it.

  There wasn't even decent wood or stone yet; for now, tents had to suffice. Once they had enough prey and gathered resources, they would consider building a real home.

  The good news was that the stone walls were basically repaired. Though the broken main gate hadn't been restored, they had erected a sturdy wooden fence to temporarily block small monster raids.

  Standing in the square, watching the busy people and beasts, Draven breathed a small sigh of relief. The village finally looked like something. Though it was still far from the blueprint in his mind, at least this was a start—a foothold that could stand firm.

  Draven personally walked to the corner piled high with supplies and sifted through to find the most important items. He didn't hand them over to anyone else because these supplies were too critical—if even one was lost or damaged, it would cause trouble.

  Food was the top priority. Draven kept a small portion as daily rations and personally carried most of the rest down into the cellar.

  He frowned as he moved the supplies. Stored food could only serve as emergency relief, not as a steady diet. From now on, everyone had to figure out how to get their own food.

  Living off reserves was unrealistic. Sooner or later, he had to train this group to become real villagers who could support themselves.

  Besides the food, the most important item among the supplies was the statue of Selene. He personally opened the wooden box and carefully lifted out the life-sized statue of Selene.

  Draven placed it on the altar in the center of the square, facing the stone house. Sunlight shone on the statue, reflecting a strange radiance that made people instinctively want to bow their heads in worship.

  The statue was just a decoration for now; it had not yet been activated. On the next full moon night, he would personally conduct the sacrificial ritual.

  At that time, he hoped everyone would stand in the square—free people and slaves alike—and kneel to pray to Selene. He intended to plant faith back into these beast-like minds.

  Weapons were also sorted and put away carefully. Spearheads, arrowheads, and iron tools were temporarily stacked in a corner of the stone house, to be counted and distributed later.

  As for axes and hammers, the kobolds were already using them, which saved him a lot of trouble.

  There were also a few special items crafted by the dwarf Edric, like saws, iron shovels, and chisels, all carefully wrapped in animal skins.

  The iron pot had been replaced with a new two-handled model, perfectly hung over the fire pit. It seemed like a small thing, but that pot would decide whether they could have hot soup at night.

  These were all their possessions. Nothing else. These things couldn't support a kingdom, but they were enough to support a village.

  Once the outside hauling and organizing were nearly finished, Draven called several people into the stone house. He lit the fire pit, the orange-red flames flickering and casting shadows on the walls.

  This was the first time in over ten years the hearth in the stone house had been lit again. Although it was the season between spring and summer and not cold, Draven just liked the way the firelight reflected on faces.

  He sat in the main seat, his expression serious. This was not a time for jokes. On his left was Viola, who looked calm and composed.

  On the right sat Rurik and Bran. Though uncomfortable in their seats, they understood the leader was about to speak seriously.

  Opposite them sat Alaric and Ayla, two half-grown children with eyes full of nervousness and curiosity. Titus sat near the door.

  Draven cleared his throat and began to give orders.

  "Starting today, Rurik and Bran, you each form a hunting team. Each team should have twenty people, all chosen from the slaves. They will alternate days—one team goes out hunting, the other stays in the village for training and guarding."

  He looked at Alaric and Ayla. "You two, besides taking care of the little ones, you must start teaching them to read. We need to raise the next generation—not just beasts who know how to fight, but ones who can write their own names."

  Draven added, "I'm assigning three Black Wolf slaves to you to help with heavy work. Don't just make them run errands; teach them something."

  As for the kobold Titus, he also made arrangements. "Your squad remains, but no longer under the supervision of the Boar people. Manage yourselves. Work well, and you'll get meat."

  There were only fifty-two slaves left. Draven emphasized, "The Minotaurs and Bears are too stupid; they're not going into hunting teams. The remaining females and weak kobolds fall under Viola's management."

  He paused, his voice growing cold. "Especially breeding. Don't be fooled by how skinny and hungry they are. After two hot meals, they start thinking about having babies."

  "I used to be lazy about it, but not anymore. Now that we have a village, there have to be rules. From now on, anyone who wants to live in the same tent must first tell me. Without my permission, don't even think about sharing a tent."

  He sneered. "All female slaves are my property. You don't get to do whatever you want with them. They'll be allocated according to their behavior. Don't treat this place like the wild."

  He stood up and walked to the door, pointing outside. "One more thing. Very important. It's about waste."

  "From now on, no one is allowed to relieve themselves anywhere in the village." Draven's tone was stern. "Hear me clearly: anyone who urinates or defecates inside the stone walls will be whipped. Serious offenders will be driven out of the village. Digging a pit in a corner to do your business isn't hard."