Bloodwine is an essential tool for the subhuman tribes to enhance their bloodline power. Its effects can even rival that of bloodline-forged weapons, making it an extraordinarily valuable invention.

  In the past, Draven and his companions would only drink a small glass of bloodwine on rare occasions—when they were particularly happy or celebrating something special, often in a tavern in Selene City.

  Even then, the bloodwine they drank there, despite being the lowest quality available, was far beyond anything they could ever brew themselves.

  In truth, very few among the subhuman races possessed the ability to brew real bloodwine. It wasn't because the recipe was elusive or the ingredients overly rare. Rather, true bloodwine could only be made using special brewing urns crafted by the Blood Elves.

  These urns were no ordinary containers—they were built with unique materials and intricate designs that allowed the wine to react with bloodlines in a wondrous way, producing a liquid capable of truly enhancing one's power.

  Draven carefully sealed the ceramic pot and stepped down from the wooden shelf. He understood the critical importance of the five towering urns for their future plans.

  It was his first time seeing the legendary Blood Elven brewing urns in person—five massive, weighty jars, each guarding its own secrets.

  If they could learn to use these urns, they might be able to produce bloodwine continuously. That would offer a tremendous source of strength for their people.

  Draven still didn't fully understand how these ordinary-looking urns could create such an extraordinary liquid.

  Just as he was deep in thought, he heard Rurik's anxious voice calling from the entrance. "Are you okay? You've been down there a while!"

  Draven looked up and responded, "I'm fine. Don't come down yet."

  It wasn't that he didn't trust Rurik—he just hadn't figured out how to deal with this unexpected discovery.

  The urns were an unexpected gift, but there was also a corpse in the basement that needed investigating. His attention hadn't fully shifted from it.

  He walked back toward the body. Despite the overwhelming stench, Draven didn't mind. He squatted down and picked up the piece of beast hide laid across the floor, along with a small wooden stick lying beside it.

  One end of the stick was pointed—it looked like a stylus or writing implement.

  He tried scratching it across a blank corner of the hide. No marks appeared, but he didn't give up. He tucked the stick into his tunic for further study later.

  When he unfurled the beast hide under the torchlight, a dense array of characters slowly emerged.

  The subhuman tribes never developed a unified writing system, but most of them were literate to some extent. Draven, Rurik, and Bran could all read these characters.

  The script they used was the common tongue, inherited from humans. This tradition had continued for many years—elders in many larger villages were responsible for teaching it.

  Draven never quite knew how this practice began, but thanks to it, he could now read what was written on the hide.

  It turned out to be a final testament—left behind by a Blood Elf.

  The letter began with Gareth recounting his fate, which aligned closely with what Draven had already guessed.

  When the beast tide attacked, Gareth had led his slaves in a desperate charge beyond the walls, while he himself retreated into a stone house protected by a magic formation.

  In the end, however, the slaves suffered heavy casualties, the defensive formation was destroyed, and the stone house fell to the attackers.

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  It was clear from the letter that Gareth was not an easy man to get along with. He blamed everything on the kobold slaves he regarded as weak.

  His tone was cold and unfeeling, harshly criticizing the slaves for failing to hold the line and allowing the attackers to breach the stone house.

  But none of that could cover up the fact that Gareth himself had suffered serious injuries.

  After a fierce battle, he was mortally wounded and forced to hide in a sealed chamber beneath the building.

  He had sealed the entrance with a stone slab and used a mechanism within it to eliminate many of his enemies.

  But in doing so, the slab became tightly wedged and blocked by corpses. Gareth no longer had the strength to remove it.

  Knowing he would never escape, Gareth wrote this final letter.

  He used ornate, flowery language to describe the agony and helplessness of dying.

  Draven, growing impatient, skipped over most of the overwrought lamentation.

  He muttered to himself—Blood Elves, just like the other Elves, always so dramatic. He could hardly stand it.

  After detailing his tragic death, Gareth began to recount his life.

  The gist of it: he had been a young man full of ambition and heroism, born unfortunately into a matriarchal Blood Elf clan.

  As a youth, Gareth studied diligently and trained hard, hoping to break free from the shackles of fate and take control of his own destiny.

  In his suicide note, Gareth wrote extensively to denounce the rigidity and injustice of the blood elf matriarchal society. He expressed deep resentment and anger toward the unfair treatment he and other male blood elves had endured.

  Yet, adulthood did not free Gareth from the shackles of fate. On the contrary, his life turned out even more despairing than that of many before him.

  The year he came of age, he caught the eye of a tribal elder's daughter. She forcibly made him her eighth attendant. It was no honor—only a degradation of status.

  To Gareth, this meant being treated as nothing more than a breeding tool, at the mercy of another's whims. The pain and helplessness nearly crushed him.

  Worse still, that elder's daughter was later killed in battle. Gareth and the other male attendants were absorbed into the elder's own household, becoming her personal property.

  From that point on, Gareth's spirit died. He spent years living like a soulless husk under the elder's shadow.

  Until one day, something changed in him.

  Gareth was intelligent and charming—otherwise, neither the elder's daughter nor the elder herself would have taken such interest in him.

  He began to re-evaluate his situation and decided to fight back against his fate.

  Determined, Gareth humbled himself and learned from the experienced ones, mastering many tactics to please the elder and survive in her world.

  Soon, he began to stand out among her numerous attendants, gradually becoming her favorite.

  With the elder's attention and resources, Gareth—despite having missed the prime age for bloodline awakening—managed to awaken his powers thanks to the support he received.

  This made the elder even more obsessed with him. Many of the tribe's secrets were shared with him alone.

  Gareth didn't stop there. While solidifying his position, he secretly delved into the ancient arcane arts of the blood elves.

  Then one day, while lying beside him, the elder revealed a shocking secret.

  A secret powerful enough to revive the blood elf race and reshape their destiny.

  It turned out that the blood elves' exile from their homeland had nothing to do with mercy or grace from the pure-blooded elves. In truth, the blood elves had already acquired power strong enough to rival the pure-bloods.

  Though vastly outnumbered, the blood elves had a force that let them stand toe-to-toe with their oppressors.

  That force came from the Blood Beasts.

  Gareth wrote angrily in his will: "Those hypocritical, cowardly high elves could not face the truth of their ancestors, so they struck down the innocent blood beasts with despicable cruelty!"

  After the blood beasts were exterminated, the blood elves inherited only their mutated genes, and their powers gradually faded to mediocrity.

  That was the real reason they had become dependent on subhuman races ever since.

  The elder boasted to Gareth that their tribe had, by sheer luck, acquired two blood beast eggs.

  This meant the blood beasts could return—and with them, a power far beyond anything the blood elves had ever known.

  Gareth was stunned. But soon, a storm of conflicting thoughts flooded his mind.

  What did the resurgence of blood elf power have to do with him? Wouldn't he still be nothing more than a plaything orbiting that old woman?

  Blood elves are a long-lived race. As their power increases, so does their lifespan. The elder would undoubtedly be the greatest beneficiary if the blood beasts returned.

  That plunged Gareth into near hopelessness. His only plan for the future had been to outlive that old woman and inherit everything she owned.

  But now, it seemed she might even outlive him.

  After much soul-searching, he made a desperate decision.

  With sweet words and flattery, Gareth tricked her into revealing the precise location of the blood beast eggs. To reach them, he even exploited his looks, using seduction to bypass every obstacle.

  Eventually, he reached the eggs.

  Then he faked his death and secretly fled with the two blood beast eggs.

  His escape led him to enemy territory—the land of the succubi. There, he decided to build a new life.

  His plan was clear: hatch the blood beasts, gain power, and fulfill his boyhood dream—to overthrow the matriarchy and create a patriarchal society of blood elves.

  But fate was merciless. Before he could hatch the beasts, a beast tide suddenly ravaged his hiding place.

  Gareth's dream died there, in that dark underground chamber.