Draven sat alone in the chieftain's hall, staring blankly at the map spread out before him. His gaze lingered on the vast blank area to the north, emotions swirling in his chest.

  He knew he was asking for too much—land, resources, safety, and time. But reality rarely offered many choices. He clenched his fist and told himself to stop dreaming. Manpower was limited. If he got too greedy, things would fall apart.

  The danger to the north wasn't imaginary. No one was eyeing Black Flag Territory yet, but that was only because it wasn't worth noticing—for now. Once it began to grow, those eyes would swarm like flies. They had to become strong before that happened.

  He already had some ideas—especially after witnessing the massive profits Klaus's caravan had brought in. Since then, those thoughts refused to be pushed down. He needed to act quickly.

  So he summoned Rurik, who was helping Viola in the livestock zone. The two of them sat at a wooden table in the corner of the hall, lowering their voices to discuss the plan.

  "I'm sending you to Selene City first," Draven said, pulling out a few hand-drawn sketches showing potential liquor distribution routes. "You need to get a foothold there and establish a channel to sell both bloodwine and monkeywine."

  Rurik blinked, both excited and nervous. "You think I can handle it alone?"

  "You're not alone," Draven shook his head with a smile. "You've got these brews as your trump cards. Use them right, and that's more than enough to open doors."

  Still, he knew the liquor business in Selene City wouldn't be easy. Old powers dominated the market, especially the succubi clans, who controlled much of the supply chain. Without their cooperation, anyone trying to enter would quickly be shut out.

  "That's why I need to reach out to the lord's manor first," Draven continued. "I'll go myself. See if there's an opening we can exploit—and get a read on what this Selene really wants."

  The next morning, Draven and Rurik set off, delivering several jars of bloodwine to the monkeyfolk. The old monkey chief, Goldmanes, greeted them personally, his approval of the wine's quality practically written on his face.

  "You're getting better at business," Goldmanes said with admiration, eyeing the blood-red glow of the jars. "We'll have to learn from you sometime."

  Draven simply smiled, knowing surface-level flattery didn't matter. What mattered was their willingness to keep doing business.

  Taking off from monkeyfolk territory, Nightmare Horse soared into the sky with flames trailing behind. Rurik clung to Draven's back, giddy with excitement. "This is the longest I've ever flown! It's amazing!"

  Draven didn't turn around, just smirked. "Better get used to it. There'll be plenty more chances."

  True to its reputation, Nightmare Horse raced through the air like fire incarnate, carrying them to Selene City before nightfall.

  Returning to familiar ground, Draven led the way, Rurik trailing behind while leading Nightmare Horse. As they passed through well-known streets, many people turned to stare—curious, surprised, even awed. After all, it wasn't every day that an beastkin rode a Nightmare Horse into the city.

  Draven instinctively straightened up. He remembered the first time he came to Selene City—just two half-grown kids with him, all filthy, bruised, and nowhere to stay. They'd survived by doing odd jobs and scraping by.

  Now, he had territory of his own, trusted subordinates, and resources to be proud of.

  He had no plans to visit the lord's manor tonight. It was already late—not the right time. Better to return to their old place for a night and make plans tomorrow.

  The little stone house they'd rented was still standing. A bit dusty at the door, but structurally sound. They'd traded a whole low-grade magic beast for it—expensive, but worth it. Property rights in Selene City were clear: if you paid, no one dared take it from you.

  After settling Nightmare Horse, Draven turned to Rurik. "Head to the tavern, get a feel for the scene, see who's active these days."

  Rurik nodded and left. Draven walked down a different alley—he was looking for an old acquaintance: the dwarf blacksmith Edric.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Selene City's most reliable smith was this crusty old fellow with a mess of wiry beard.

  "Edric, remember me?" Draven pushed open the shop door. Heat rushed out—the forge was burning hot.

  "Well, if it isn't the scrappy little wolf cub," Edric looked up, one brow raised, eyes crinkling into a grin. "Wearing a storage ring now? Fancy!"

  Draven grinned and pulled a pale bone from his ring, handing it over. "Take a look. Think you can make something cool from this?"

  Edric took the bone, eyes narrowing as he examined it from every angle. "Snake bone? No—beast-serpent bone. Nice quality. Hard, with lingering magic. A chieftain-class creature?"

  "You've got a good eye, as always," Draven said with a nod of respect.

  There were still two skeletons displayed in Village No. 1 — after all, they were the guardian beasts of the serpentfolk, each possessing leader-level combat power in life.

  The shape of the snake bones was extremely unique: slender, curved, and with many joints. They were not suitable for direct grinding into weapons. Using them to build houses? That wouldn't work either.

  Moreover, the bones of exotic beasts were not the same as materials from magical beasts. Most people had no idea how to process them, and no one dared to accept them as trade in the market.

  But Draven was different. This time, when he came to Selene City, he specially brought several samples of snake bones. He wasn't naively expecting to exchange them for gold or money; he just wanted to try his luck. Find a truly skilled blacksmith who might be able to turn waste into treasure.

  Edric was the person in his mind. This dwarf blacksmith lived in the southern district of Selene City, in a shabby house that was always smoking.

  The forge burned from morning till night, and there was always a pile of unfinished weapon parts by the door. This old dwarf was grumpy and had a messy beard, but his craftsmanship was truly excellent.

  As soon as Draven entered, he slapped the snake bone samples onto the table.

  Edric glanced at them without saying a word. He reached out, picked up a piece of bone, tapped it a few times with his short rough fingers, then held it to his ear to listen to the sound. The corner of his mouth twitched: "Where did you get this?"

  "Guardian beasts of the serpentfolk," Draven shrugged.

  The dwarf's eyes darkened, and he muttered a curse under his breath: "You're damn lucky, kid."

  A few minutes later, he threw the bone back on the table, his expression serious: "This bone's got potential, can be used. Can't strike it directly, but if ground into powder and mixed with ore, you can cast some very good blades. Sharp, light, tough, with a bit of magical nature."

  "Can you make it?" Draven asked.

  "How much do you have?"

  "Two complete skeletons."

  The dwarf stroked his chin and smiled: "I'll take this deal."

  They haggled beside the forge.

  After some back and forth, they agreed: the two complete snake skeletons would be handed over to Edric for processing, and in return, he would personally forge a weapon for Draven.

  A custom weapon with bloodline resonance. Though the final form couldn't be confirmed yet due to the special material, Draven didn't mind.

  "Even if it's just a short dagger, as long as you make it, I'll be satisfied," Draven said with a smile.

  The dwarf didn't smile but nodded, then put the bone pieces into a box behind the tool rack.

  With the task done, Draven was in a good mood. Night had fully fallen as he left the smithy and headed down familiar alleys toward the tavern.

  The tavern was as noisy as ever, the air thick with the smells of blood wine, sweat, and musty malt.

  He spotted Rurik immediately, curled up at a small corner table, licking the rim of a cup with his tongue. The blood wine was thin and watery—definitely the cheapest kind.

  Draven walked over, glanced at the cup, and smirked.

  "This won't do, Rurik," he snapped his fingers.

  The tavern responded instantly as a rabbit-woman waitress wearing a leather mini-skirt and swinging her ears happily approached. She was voluptuous and flirtatious.

  Draven pushed her toward Rurik: "Tonight's on her. Bring out the best blood wine! Get several bottles!"

  Rurik was completely caught off guard. Suddenly, a soft body pressed into his arms. He instinctively tried to push away, but his hand only met softness. He recoiled, his face burning red.

  The bunny girl, however, was experienced. She giggled and nestled into his embrace, sitting down while hooking her tail around his wrist with practiced ease.

  Draven laughed heartily.

  Late into the night, Draven returned alone to the stone house.

  That night, Rurik lost a bit of youthful innocence. It had been a rather eventful night for him.

  The next day, long after the sun had risen high, Rurik stumbled out from the crude stone house in the tavern's backyard, legs still unsteady. A dreamy smile lingered on his face, as if savoring the memory.

  "If Bran knew, he'd be jealous to death," he muttered. "Last night we were just talking about how great it'd be to touch a bunny girl someday… I did more than just touch."

  The unique youthful shyness on his face was gone, replaced by an undeniable pride and a touch of maturity.

  But he soon frowned. "Weird, why didn't the chief find his favorite cat-girl last night?"

  He grinned and turned toward the stone house. "Could it be that the cat-girl got clingy?"

  He laughed out loud at the thought. But the moment he pushed open the door, he froze as if struck by lightning.

  On the floor lay a catfolk girl, her hands and feet bound with beast sinew, her mouth stuffed with a leather gag, her eyes full of shame, anger, and fear.

  She couldn't move, only making muffled sounds.

  Rurik stood stunned at the doorway, his mind blank. His first thought was: The chief prepared a gift for me?

  But the cat-girl's eyes were too real, filled with helplessness and wrath. He immediately realized something was wrong.

  "This isn't a game…"

  He scratched his head, stepped back two paces, then glanced at Nightmare Horse still standing at the door, but the chief was nowhere to be seen.

  "Where did the chief go?" he muttered.