Draven was completely unprepared for the visit from the Rhinoceros Man.

  The next day, close to noon, the sky finally cleared. After a night of heavy rain, the ground remained slick with moisture, and water flowed slowly along the stone-paved paths.

  Draven had originally planned to take Sylvia with him to Selene City, retracing the path where they first met. It was also time to fulfill the deal he had made with Selene—to bring back the promised batch of black werewolf slaves. Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent would help transport them.

  Just as he was putting on his outer robe at the door, ready to set off, Titus rushed over in a hurry."Chief, someone's here from Village No. 1. Bran said he needs you to come over."

  Draven's eyebrows twitched, immediately on alert. Village No. 1 had the Serpent Ancestor. His first thought was that the old snake was stirring up trouble again—could he already be getting restless right after being subdued?

  But before he could ask, Titus added,"It's the Rhinoceros Man from the eastern highlands. Their leader, Sethric, came with some kind of gift for Black Flag Territory."

  Draven was taken aback. Rhinoceros Man? He immediately conjured up the image of that race—tall, thick-skinned, physically powerful, stoic by nature but with a notorious love for alcohol. They rarely took the initiative to engage with outsiders.

  The fact that this tribe was suddenly visiting—and bringing gifts no less—gave him a subtle sense of unease.

  "What kind of gift?" he asked.

  Titus scratched the back of his head, looking slightly puzzled."Five Tauren. All tied up. All warriors. One of them is at chieftain level."

  Draven was silent for a moment before letting out a helpless chuckle."What kind of custom is this? Sending relatives as welcome gifts?"

  His plans were forced to change. He pressed a gentle kiss on Sylvia's forehead and patted her shoulder comfortingly."Looks like we'll have to leave a bit later."

  Draven mounted his Nightmare Horse and sped toward Village No. 1. As he approached the village entrance, he saw a line of Rhinoceros Men standing there, each gripping a thick wooden club, looking like they were ready for battle at any moment.

  At their feet lay five Tauren warriors, tightly bound. One of them radiated the pressure of a chieftain-level figure. Though his face was pressed to the ground, the muscular lines of his body were unmistakable—full of raw power.

  Draven walked into the village chief's longhouse. Inside, there was no sign of the Serpent Ancestor—only Bran and a tall, unfamiliar figure sitting by the fire pit. Meat chunks were boiling in a large iron pot, filling the air with a rich, savory aroma.

  Several empty blood-wine jars rolled across the floor—it was clear they had already drunk quite a lot.

  Bran, his face flushed red, was laughing heartily as he slapped the gray-skinned Rhinoceros Man on the shoulder."Sethric, my good brother! Haha! Drink deep, eat hearty!"

  Draven stood in the doorway, the corner of his mouth twitching. It was obvious Bran was already drunk—and hadn't figured out exactly who he was dealing with.

  Sethric wore a simple, honest-looking grin, and didn't seem to harbor any hostility.

  Draven stepped forward with a polite smile, though his eyes had already sharpened."Apologies—my brother doesn't hold his liquor well."

  He shot a look at Alaric, who immediately understood and moved to support the swaying, drunk Bran.

  Draven knew Alaric was sharp. He could tell Sethric wasn't someone to take lightly. Sending Bran away now would give him the breathing room to handle the real business.

  As Alaric left, he glanced back at Draven with a subtle warning in his eyes—Be careful. This Rhinoceros Man is a bit odd.

  Draven gave a faint nod.

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  With Bran gone, the atmosphere in the longhouse immediately quieted. Steam rose from the fire pit. Draven sat down but didn't speak right away, instead observing the Rhinoceros Man in front of him.

  Sethric didn't seem rushed. He slowly gnawed on a chunk of beast meat, grease glistening at the corner of his mouth, his eyes fixed steadily on Draven.

  He had recognized immediately that this werewolf chief wasn't some entry-level leader. That oppressive presence alone was enough to dispel the illusion of low rank.

  He cursed the monkey who gave him the intel. This is what you call entry-level?

  But ironically, this only made Sethric feel more at ease. He hadn't just come to deliver a gift—he came to test. And so far, his judgment seemed correct. This werewolf was dangerous—but also trustworthy.

  He took a huge swig of blood wine, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and grinned, revealing a row of yellow teeth."Haven't had a drink this satisfying in a long time!"

  Draven chuckled lightly, not responding immediately. Instead, he smoothly followed the topic."Then have some more. There's plenty of meat in the pot too."

  Outside, the Tauren warriors were still tightly bound, lying motionless on the wet, muddy ground. No one mentioned them.

  Sethric's bull-like eyes rolled around and landed on the empty blood-wine jar. He smacked his lips and rubbed his slightly bulging belly.

  Although he still wanted to eat more, he finally held himself back. That face, which always wore a simple and honest smile, now showed a hint of eagerness and flattery.

  "The wine from Black Flag Territory is really good. And this meat—way better than those old mountain goats I remember," he said.

  He paused, as if carefully choosing his next words, then straightened up and said seriously,"I've eaten so much of your food and wine. We Rhinoceros Men have our ways—we don't come just to freeload. Alpha of the Werewolves, about those gifts outside the door... are you satisfied?"

  Draven didn't answer immediately. He merely smiled and gestured lightly with his hand."Just call me Draven. We're friends—no need to be so formal."

  Then, in a slow, measured tone, he asked,"Are prey that scarce in your highlands these days?"

  That question made Sethric's expression shift slightly. He glanced around at the wine jars and chewed-up bones scattered on the ground, looking a bit sheepish. Then he sighed, muttering under his breath, and patted his belly.

  "To tell you the truth, it's not that there's no prey in the highlands," he said, shaking his head with a tone full of helplessness."The problem is that we Rhinoceros Men are slow runners."

  Draven raised an eyebrow, signaling for him to go on.

  Sethric waved his hand dismissively, picking up a half-gnawed bone from the floor as he continued grumbling."You've seen us—we're big, we've got muscle, we've got strength. That's all good for fighting. But when it comes to catching a mountain deer or wild chicken? Forget it. The prey are too fast, and we're mostly left gasping behind them."

  "Especially now, during the rainy season. The ground's slippery, feet sink into the mud, and sometimes we can't even get out of the valley in a whole day. We eat a lot, move slow—it's not that the prey's gone, it's just that we can't catch it!"

  Draven couldn't help but chuckle as he listened.

  Sethric gave a bitter laugh."One of our tribesmen eats more than three of your Black Flag Territory soldiers—adult werewolves, mind you! What I dread most every morning is the line of people asking me,‘Chief, what's for breakfast?'"

  It was just like what Draven had heard before. The Rhinoceros Men were indeed powerful fighters, but in the world of beastfolk, they had never risen to prominence. A big reason was simple—they ate way too much.

  The rations one Rhinoceros Man could consume would feed a whole squad for three days. They weren't soldiers—they were walking grain silos!

  Draven laughed again, this time while closely observing the Rhinoceros Man chief's expression. Despite Sethric's seemingly honest and na?ve appearance, there was more than just simplicity in those bovine eyes—every now and then, a glimmer of cunning flashed through.

  Then Draven asked,"By the way, what's the story with those five Tauren?"

  The question immediately perked Sethric up. He grinned broadly, a glint of pride in his eyes—finally, they were getting to the real matter. He proceeded to explain everything in detail.

  It turned out those Tauren weren't captives he had defeated, but envoys sent by Torvald. They were trying to leverage the Rhinoceros Men's familiarity with the terrain to convince Sethric to launch an attack on Black Flag Territory.

  Clearly, Torvald had already begun to suspect Draven.

  "Torvald made it sound all noble—‘unite against the werewolves' and such—but if it really came to a fight, he wanted us Rhinoceros Men to charge in first. While they sat in the back, drinking wine and watching," Sethric growled, his voice rising with anger.

  "Sure, I'm afraid of retaliation from the Tauren. But I'm even more afraid of sending my tribesmen to die for nothing. It's not that I lack loyalty—but I'm the chief. I have to stay alive to lead them forward. I don't want revenge. I want my people to survive—not starve, not be cannon fodder."

  Draven nodded and fell silent for a moment. He understood. If he had been in Sethric's position, he likely would've made the same choice.

  A true leader's first duty is the survival of their people—not pride or appearances.

  He looked at Sethric—the one who claimed to be afraid, yet still chose to stand with Black Flag Territory. Draven made up his mind.

  "Sethric, I accept your gifts. From today on, Black Flag Territory welcomes the Rhinoceros Men. Whatever you need in the future, just say the word."

  "In Black Flag Territory, we never shortchange our friends."

  A flash of light gleamed in Sethric's eyes. He broke into a wide grin, like a child who had just snagged an entire wild boar.

  "Black Flag Territory is the new brother of the Rhinoceros Men!"