Draven had actually been mentally prepared long ago, so he was not surprised by the outcome.

  The power of the bloodline weapon could only be unleashed when its wielder could activate the bloodline energy within themselves.

  Everyone's bloodline energy was different, and not being able to use it wasn't strange at all.

  Before leaving, with a "let's just try it" attitude, he lent the great axe to Rurik, just to verify his own guess.

  They had lost their homeland from the start, and the bloodline inheritance was nearly broken, so they had to figure things out on their own.

  Draven briefly told Rurik about the magic herbs and instructed him to take good care of them. Once they reached their new territory, they should find a chance to transplant the herbs.

  Rurik held the flowerpot, his eyes shining with excitement, and suddenly said, "Boss, I think you should make a leather sheath to carry the great axe on your back. That way, you won't have to keep holding it."

  Draven was momentarily stunned, then smiled and said, "Then you make one for me."

  Rurik was immediately dumbfounded, not understanding what he meant.

  Draven laughed heartily; he completely understood Rurik's feelings. It was just like when he used to give his leader a sincere suggestion and the leader replied, "Good idea, you go do it," effectively passing the responsibility onto him.

  To prevent Rurik from silently cursing him, Draven took a magic core from his pocket and handed it over. "Don't be silly, you can't do it for free!"

  Rurik accepted the core, happy like a child, and immediately ran off.

  "Damn it, if only my old leader had been this good at using people, I wouldn't have gotten scolded so much." Draven shook his head, trying hard to shake off those old memories.

  He saw Rurik proudly showing off the magic herbs to several troll guards and quickly followed.

  Draven himself was curious about what these magic herbs actually were. Unfortunately, neither the troll guards nor Garruk recognized the plants.

  However, Garruk suddenly said something that caught Draven's attention: "I heard human mages can use an identification spell to recognize all magic herbs."

  Draven had heard this rumor too, but he had never met a human and didn't know if it was true, nor was he sure whether demi-humans could learn human magic.

  These magic herbs once again reminded Draven of his own shortcomings and awakened a deep longing within him.

  As time went on, he grew increasingly curious about this strange and mysterious world. He wanted to know what kind of place this really was, and whether it was possible to return to the world called Earth. This was actually the deepest secret desire in the heart of every transmigrator.

  But he also clearly understood that these questions far exceeded his current abilities and were impossible to answer.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  He tried to get closer to Garruk, but after inspecting the herbs, Garruk immediately reverted to his usual cold attitude.

  Damn trolls—simple-minded yet so indifferent. Draven cursed silently as his enthusiasm was doused cold.

  With no other choice, he refocused his attention on the team.

  By midday, the kobold hunting party gradually returned.

  Kobold Titus had brought back a good haul this time. Using the bow and arrows given by his master, and relying on the tribe's keen sense of smell, he had hunted three squirrels, a wild chicken, and two wild rabbits.

  Though the number seemed small, in this dense jungle, bringing back this much food was considered a great success.

  Although prey was abundant here, it did not mean it was easy to catch. Ordinary demi-humans who had not awakened their bloodline powers were roughly as strong as humans.

  The beasts were extremely alert, making hunting far from easy. You couldn't catch them, and no matter how fast you ran, it was useless;

  those that couldn't escape would use various disguises and hiding techniques. If food were that easy to get, slavery wouldn't exist.

  Draven took the wild chicken and rabbits, while the three squirrels were distributed among the slaves.

  Kobold Titus wore a grateful smile, his eyes full of contentment.

  But at lunchtime, Draven harshly punished Titus.

  "From now on, whoever dares to eat fresh cassava again, I'll deal with them severely!" Draven's voice was low and firm, leaving Titus no chance to argue.

  Draven didn't explain much and simply announced the first rule he set for the slaves.

  Cassava, a common wild plant, could be used as food or to brew blood wine.

  But it was also poisonous and had to be peeled, chopped, and dried first for the toxins to dissipate. Eating fresh cassava directly would cause toxins to accumulate in the body.

  Draven had seen too many demi-humans desperate from hunger shove freshly dug cassava into their mouths. A time or two might be fine, but eating too much would poison the heart.

  Those originally healthy demi-humans would suddenly clutch their chests in pain, faces twisted, then convulse and curl up within seconds, dying in the end. Everyone knew fresh cassava was poisonous, but they never cared.

  Draven didn't bother explaining these scientific facts to Titus. He guessed the kobolds probably dug up cassava while hunting and forgot the danger out of hunger.

  Poisonous or not, as long as they didn't die, the slaves probably thought. If it were someone else, let them die as they please; but slaves were Draven's property, and their lives belonged to him.

  This punishment still didn't satisfy Draven. He summoned the three werewolves among the slaves—Morne and two others—and ordered, "If anyone dares to steal and eat fresh cassava again, report to me immediately!"

  Afterward, he glanced at the weak Titus lying on the ground, feeling a bit softened inside. "From now on, add two more chunks of cassava to every meal." He said coldly, then turned away to enjoy his roasted rabbit.

  Titus lay face down on the grass, tears silently streaming down. He buried his face deep in the ground, feeling a complicated gratitude in his tears. Yes, gratitude. Such feelings were extremely rare in the world of slaves.

  Titus had never thought anyone would care about them so much. Hunger and beatings were daily routine. No master avoided vital spots when striking;

  no master held back and only hit the buttocks. Even fewer would increase their daily ration after forbidding them from eating fresh cassava.

  Draven unintentionally earned the slaves' gratitude—

  all because of the food shortage. If there was enough food, he wouldn't bother with the slaves over these things.

  Chewing on the delicious roasted rabbit, Draven pondered the future food supply.

  He noticed Bran and Rurik secretly casting respectful glances at him and slapped them lightly, annoyed.

  "Bran, you need to work harder and awaken your bloodline sooner." He said while chewing the rabbit. "It's not that I won't give you a magic core—it's just that you haven't awakened yet, so you can't absorb it."

  Among the three of them, only Bran was still a regular member of the tribe. Although demi-humans looked rough and simple, and Bran was especially careless, some things still had to be said clearly.

  Thinking of this, Draven sighed, silently complaining: being the leader isn't easy—too many troubles.

  Listening, Bran actually felt a little happy. After drinking the blood of the magic wolf with Draven and the others last time, he felt he was close to awakening.

  But unexpectedly, Rurik took the lead and awakened his bloodline first.

  Bran felt envious and unconvinced, and raised his lips slightly, "Just wait and see, I will be awakened soon too!"