Draven galloped forward on his Nightmare Horse, wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve in a hurried, clumsy motion. He could still taste the lingering scent on his lips and teeth—that warm, sweet, intoxicating flavor that refused to fade.

  Taking a deep breath, Draven forced himself to calm down. He veered sharply onto the path leading toward Village No.1. He had to pick up Ragnar before continuing on to Selene City.

  Meanwhile, the situation within Selene City was rapidly evolving.

  After Clara's discreet appearance, everything seemed to shift into fast-forward. In less than an hour, the mangled corpse of a succubus—its head so brutally damaged that the face was unrecognizable—was dumped in front of the Lord's Hall, right in the center of the plaza, for all to see.

  The blood hadn't even dried yet. The air was thick with the metallic stench of blood and a sickly-sweet undertone.

  Deputy Lord Freya knelt beside the corpse, one knee to the ground, her expression solemn and silent. There was no trace of grief on her face—only a strange composure, as though she knew she was merely following a path that had been laid out long ago.

  She wasn't there to defend herself. She was there to provide an explanation on behalf of the succubi, to the minotaurs and the Frostwolves.

  Minotaur leader Torvald arrived with a team of elite guards. His massive figure loomed over the crowd like a stone wall. In his hand, he held his younger brother's severed horn. His eyes were cold, fixed on the body for a long time.

  He said nothing, but his brow was furrowed, his gaze hesitant. The body was too damaged to identify, but the magical residue and aura suggested it had once belonged to a high-ranking succubus with considerable power.

  Wolf stood at the back of the crowd, expressionless. He had never met Nick, but even he could tell the body wasn't just some random grunt. In terms of sincerity, the succubi had done enough.

  Still, a few individuals knew the truth behind this performance.

  Freya remained kneeling, her heart in turmoil. She feigned piety, head bowed, but her mind was racing.

  She knew full well—that corpse wasn't Valeria.

  After returning from the hall earlier, she had immediately sent people to find Valeria, intending to convince the gentle-natured young succubus to sacrifice herself willingly for the sake of the tribe. She had even prepared a tearful, moving speech and some well-practiced crocodile tears.

  But to her surprise, Valeria had vanished without a trace. Her men returned empty-handed.

  Without a moment's hesitation, Freya had blasted the messenger's head to pieces. When the blood splashed on the hem of her skirt, she hadn't even flinched.

  Just another dead body.

  Since Valeria had fled, she would simply use someone else in her place. It didn't matter who. Anyone could be"Sabina."

  "No one will bother to check her identity anyway."

  She gave the order to flay the body, destroy the face, break the limbs, and inject corrosive potions. What was left of Sabina was the disfigured husk now lying on display. Then Freya had marched into the plaza with great fanfare, dragging the corpse along.

  Her attitude was firm, her tone sincere, as though she truly believed sacrificing a tribeswoman was a noble price to pay for peace.

  She was waiting for Selene to appear. She thought things would unfold like a well-rehearsed play: Selene would rage, she would plead for forgiveness, and in the end, her repentance would be accepted, securing her position once more.

  But what she never expected—was silence.

  Complete, deafening silence.

  She had been kneeling for a full thirty minutes now. Her knees were numb, cold sweat trickled down her forehead, and the sun blazed against her back. More and more onlookers had gathered—some whispered, some remained blank-faced, others looked on coldly—but no one came forward to speak for her.

  Inside the hall, Selene reclined lazily on her throne, idly admiring her well-manicured nails.

  She had no intention of stepping out right away. She saw through Freya's little scheme the moment she laid eyes on the corpse.

  "Trying to fool me?" Selene sneered silently.

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  She had already received word from the serpentkin Gregor. Valeria's disappearance was no coincidence—it had been orchestrated by Selene herself. As for Freya, she had long been marked for removal; the opportunity simply hadn't come—until now.

  But the time to act was not yet ripe. Selene needed to keep the situation stable, wait for Draven's arrival, and then strike decisively.

  She had to play her part well—appear even more commanding, even more composed than before.

  At her side stood Lydia, who had always remained close during times of crisis. But this time, a hint of satisfaction curled on her lips.

  "Your turn now, you wretched woman," she muttered under her breath.

  Ever since Freya's rise, Lydia had endured humiliation after humiliation. Now, watching her nemesis kneeling in the sun like a disgraced criminal, Lydia finally felt vindicated.

  Still, she knew that letting this go on much longer would tarnish the succubi's image.

  So she leaned down slightly and whispered,

  "Selene, it's about time. Letting her kneel any longer will only make us look foolish."

  Selene smiled, her voice soft but laced with irony:

  "Then please, dear Aunt, go and dismiss her for me."

  Lydia's eyes sparkled, as though she had just been granted a reward. Straightening her back, she walked with firm and graceful steps out of the hall, heading toward the kneeling Freya beneath the blazing sun.

  She didn't speak immediately. Instead, she stood before Freya, sweeping her gaze across the crowded plaza.

  Lydia finally raised her head, neither hurriedly nor slowly, as if she were handling a routine administrative matter. Her tone was calm, yet clear enough for everyone in the square to hear.

  She walked to the very center of the plaza, deliberately pausing for a few seconds. Then she raised her hand, signaling for silence, and publicly announced Selene's judgment:

  "Sabina of the Succubus clan, killed Bronan of the Minotaur tribe and Nick of the Frostwolf clan without just cause. The crime is grave and would normally warrant severe punishment."

  "However, since she has already submitted to the law, the matter ends here. No further investigation will be pursued."

  "Deputy Lord Freya, due to negligence in supervision leading to the loss of control of her subordinate—though not the mastermind—cannot be absolved of blame. As a warning to others, starting today, her annual stipend shall be suspended for one year as disciplinary action."

  As soon as she finished, the plaza erupted in murmurs.

  Many of the demi-humans whispered among themselves. Some nodded in approval, praising Lady Selene for being impartial and fair, not shielding her own kin, and handling the matter with appropriate discretion.

  Others frowned, feeling the matter had been dealt with too swiftly—especially the phrase"killed without just cause," which sounded suspicious no matter how one interpreted it.

  Still, deep down they all knew: no matter how dissatisfied they were, they could only keep it to themselves. Power struggles at this level were far beyond their reach.

  Lydia smiled faintly, her face full of understanding and kindness. She reached out and helped the kneeling Freya to her feet, speaking in a gentle tone, like an elder comforting a younger relative.

  "Deputy Lord, don't blame yourself too harshly. It's common for subordinates to make mistakes. Lady Selene is merely making a gesture under pressure from outsiders. You know as well as I do—this territory is vast, and managing it alone as succubi is no easy task."

  Freya forced a smile on the surface, but inwardly, she was seething.

  A dignified Lord-rank powerhouse, forced to put on a performance in front of a crowd, being led by the hand of an old, fading woman—it made her skin crawl. Not to mention Lydia's bony fingers clutched hers tightly, as if afraid she might run away.

  She tried to pull her hand back, but Lydia, ever "kind", pulled her toward the guest hall of the Lord's manor, all the while murmuring some drivel about how"we succubi must stand united to overcome difficult times" and"today's grievance will pass tomorrow."

  Freya cursed in her heart:

  "To hell with your comfort! I'm putting up with this not because you're right, but because I can't afford to snap—yet."

  Still, it wasn't a total loss. At least the situation hadn't spiraled out of control. Selene had chosen to suppress the incident. That allowed her to breathe a little easier.

  "Good. Stabilize first," Freya thought to herself."Once I survive this phase, I'll make sure they pay—both Selene and Lydia. A hundredfold."

  And then there was Valeria—that wretched bitch.

  Her disappearance was growing more and more suspicious. There wasn't much found in her residence, but it was clear she had left with a plan.

  Especially considering how much she knew about the elven princess—if she really leaked those secrets…

  "Where did she go?" Freya kept questioning in her mind."Did she really betray us?"

  Unfortunately, she realized it too late.

  Valeria had already visited the Serpent Ancestor days ago and gained his support and protection. After that, she set a trap—luring Nick out using information from Bronan, and killing him on the spot.

  Then, she shifted the blame onto the already-dead Sabina, making it seem like a chain of tragic coincidences—thus completing the first step of Gregor's plan.

  The second step involved subtly planting evidence—like a whip and some bark—leading Selene's suspicion toward Freya's hidden base.

  The third step was her complete disappearance, vanishing from the public eye with the Serpent Ancestor's help, to prepare for what was to come.

  And now, the final step: offering testimony and fully exposing Freya's conspiracy.

  In the garden pavilion behind the Lord's manor, Selene was staring blankly at the water's surface.

  As Gregor approached with Valeria, Selene's brow furrowed slightly.

  She had just been replaying the details she'd learned from the serpent-folk, growing increasingly unsettled.

  That werewolf Draven—his rise was too fast. The way he'd manipulated internal affairs among the succubi—it couldn't have been mere coincidence.

  "If one day he turns against me too…" Selene's fingers brushed the railing lightly, her expression darkening.

  Just then, Gregor reached the pavilion and was about to bow respectfully—only for Selene to shoot him a cold glance, the kind one might give to a piece of trash ready to be thrown away.

  "Get out."

  Gregor was stunned, unsure what he had done to provoke her. With a bitter look, he glanced at Valeria, as if to say:

  "Good luck. You'll need it."

  Then, he left, tail between his legs, not daring to say another word.

  "What the hell did my main body do this time that I have to take the fall for?" he cursed silently.

  Though not fully independent, his secondary consciousness still retained enough emotion and judgment to feel thoroughly wronged.