"Freya, you just mentioned the Blood Elves,"

  an older succubus spoke from the crowd, her voice low and harsh, as if suppressing anger."We demand an explanation."

  She stood directly opposite Freya, flanked by three other equally grim-faced clanmates. These four were the remaining high elders of the Southern Succubi, their expressions grave, without any warmth— only suspicion and fury in their eyes.

  Freya glanced at them and a cold sneer curled on her lips.

  "An explanation?" She scoffed, lifting her chin and straightening her posture, raising her voice slightly."Four elders, have you forgotten? If it weren't for me, the Succubi clan would have been wiped out in the fires of war long ago."

  She took a few bold steps forward, spreading her arms wide as if displaying her entire body."Look at me. You all looked down on me before because I was just a low-ranking handmaiden. But now? I stand before you as a lord, the leader you have to look up to."

  Her tone grew more passionate, her eyes burning with fierce light.

  "Do you know why that is?" She jabbed a finger hard at her chest."It's the Blood Elves who gave me this power! They gave me the chance to no longer be a servant running errands or fetching water, but to become a strong one who has the authority to command you!"

  "Just as long as you..."

  "Enough!" The four elders almost shouted in unison.

  "The Succubi may depend on the strong, but we must never betray our ancestral spirits!"

  "The Blood Elves were never our allies— they only used us!"

  "You traitor, we should tear you to pieces!"

  Their words struck down one after another, and the confident expression that had just been on Freya's face suddenly faltered. Her eyes began to dart nervously, and her body no longer held so straight.

  She did not retort immediately because she knew well that the death of the Southern Succubi leader was indeed tied to her.

  She recalled the bottle of poison she personally slipped into the daily medicinal soup. At the time, she had been smiling, feeling she had finally risen to a high place, able to look down on the entire Succubi clan.

  But now, those gazes— cold, loathing, and angry— felt like plunging her into an ice cellar.

  Her lips moved, but she said nothing. She was waiting. She knew the situation had changed, but there was still a chance.

  As long as Clara could arrive, everything might still be saved.

  If Clara appeared, she could strike back. Together, they could easily defeat Selene and Draven.

  But where was Clara now?

  ...

  At this moment, at the other end of Selene City, a small team was slowly approaching a stone house— Clara's hiding place.

  Leading the team were Lydia and Cedric, Selene's most powerful and trusted confidants, walking at the front.

  Behind them were four massive trolls carrying a large black throne inlaid with gold.

  On the throne sat a werewolf clad in black heavy armor, legs crossed, left hand holding a cup, right hand resting on the armrest, appearing to enjoy a drink before dinner.

  Clara stood inside the stone house, already sensing the group's arrival. She didn't move, run, or cast any spells.

  She only stared at that throne, her brow slowly furrowing.

  She did not recognize the werewolf, but she knew Lydia and Cedric. She knew these two had always been Selene's closest subordinates, impossible to take orders from outsiders.

  Yet now, they stood before the werewolf like attendants, opening the way for him, carrying an air of solemnity and respect.

  This was not normal.

  What was even stranger was that Clara could not sense the werewolf's strength at all. For a presence that she could not see through to be weaker than her was impossible— it was likely even stronger.

  Clara's heart tightened. A thought emerged: This must be the demon lord behind Selene!

  Her nails dug almost painfully into her palms. The legendary, almost never-seen puppet master had truly revealed himself.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  At that moment, Draven sat on the throne, palms sweating. His heartbeat quickened.

  He tried to act composed, as if all was going according to plan, but in truth, he was more nervous than anyone.

  This plan was led by him. He knew this was the critical moment. If this step failed, everything would collapse.

  But Lydia and Cedric showed no sign of nervousness. They even whispered impatiently to each other ahead, their expressions hinting at annoyance, as if just accompanying some noble for appearances.

  Draven knew this was because they did not know the truth.

  Selene had not told Lydia Clara's true identity, nor how dangerous this confrontation might be. She only ordered them to fully cooperate with Draven, obey his commands as if obeying herself.

  At first, Lydia had refused, angrily confronting Selene:"Are you seriously going to hand the city over to a man?"

  Selene said nothing, only handed her a signed order in her own handwriting.

  Draven knew Lydia had not accepted him— only submitted to Selene's command.

  He could feel Lydia's gaze on him— cold, sarcastic, and tinged with resentment.

  Black Werewolf, just you wait, Lydia cursed inwardly. One day I will find out why Selene is willing to let you interfere in everything. Does she really see you as a man? Or is there some other reason?

  Lydia's face was dark and grim as she strode at the front of the group, her steps quick and impatient. She had little patience left and just wanted to end this messy operation quickly, so she could return and see with her own eyes how Selene would deal with that traitor, Freya.

  At the thought of this, Lydia clenched her jaw tighter, her anger growing. She was supposed to be the one sitting front row to enjoy the show, but that black werewolf had completely ruined it.

  She made a mental note, harsh and unforgiving: this werewolf would pay for this sooner or later. But before she could vent her fury, everything changed in the next moment.

  Draven, walking in the center of the group, had a silver cup between his lips filled with costly bloodwine— though by now, he could no longer taste it.

  The aroma and flavor didn't matter anymore. His heart pounded as if it would burst from his chest. Every step he took, he could feel an ever-growing heavy pressure pressing down behind him.

  Finally, they reached the stone house. Draven gazed into the dim light and saw the cloaked figure inside raise one hand slightly.

  A simple gesture, yet it pressed a signal deep in his heart. This was the prearranged sign— the raised hand meant the person was still inside.

  Draven breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Good, everything was still going according to plan. He steadied his nerves and then did something that left everyone stunned.

  He lifted his foot as if stepping onto an invisible staircase and slowly stepped down midair— one step, two steps, three steps— walking down step by step in the air.

  It wasn't flying, nor gliding.

  It was a baffling action no one could comprehend— as if he was walking on real stairs that no one could see or touch.

  Lydia's face froze completely at that moment. She halted, mouth agape, her mind seeming to empty as she slipped into a daze.

  Cedric was dumbfounded too. Sharp-eyed and experienced with many high-level fighters, even she began to question her own logic at this sight.

  "How did he become a Lord-level?"

  Her voice carried disbelief and fear.

  Among the demi-human races, there was a strict law: except for a few rare exceptions, non-Lord-level warriors could not fly freely, let alone walk step by step on thin air like that.

  Yet Draven was literally walking down step by step, as if the air itself had been paved into a path for him.

  At the same time, a sound came from inside the stone house. Clara stood by the window, her blood-red pupils narrowing slightly. She had seen this too.

  She could fly, but she could never walk down like that. This was not simple flight— it was mastery over space itself.

  No one knew that what Draven had actually done was secretly activating the"Floating Shadow Step" skill's visual effect. But he performed it so well that even he was partly convinced by the illusion.

  While everyone was still shocked, the stone house's door slowly opened. Clara didn't step out, but her action clearly showed her attitude— she was willing to meet this visitor.

  Draven's lips curled into a forced calm smile. He raised the silver cup in his hand and casually tossed it, the cup landing steadily in Lydia's hands.

  Lydia almost reflexively bent down to catch it.

  Clara saw this clearly. She raised an eyebrow slightly— to her, this experienced housekeeper willingly serving a stranger of such power meant that this werewolf's identity was extraordinary.

  Draven said nothing further and strode into the stone house as the door shut behind him.

  What"walking on air"? He relied on his skill, damn it. If he had delayed even a second more, Lydia and the others would have been exposed!

  The room inside was quiet. Clara stood in the center, neither sitting nor leaning against the wall— just standing there.

  Her voice was calm and steady:"So, you are the Demon Lord behind Selene?"

  As she spoke, she slightly turned her body, signaling he could sit and talk. Her eyes kept studying him— his armor, his movements, his aura.

  If he really was the Demon Lord, then sooner or later, he would have to face a real negotiation.

  Draven didn't respond immediately. Not because he didn't want to, but because he simply didn't know what to say.

  Demon Lord? What did that even mean? Selene's husband? Her master? Or... something else?

  He dared not admit anything carelessly. If he said the wrong thing and his identity was revealed, he would be finished. So he pretended to be enigmatic, keeping silent and composed.

  Clara didn't press further but instead looked at him with a faintly ambiguous smile. Her delicate features were like a work of art, and her blood-colored pupils radiated a strange charm— a beauty that was deadly.

  Draven didn't dare meet her gaze. Instead, he turned his eyes to her smooth, glossy black hair, pretending to casually observe it.

  He feared that if he looked into her eyes, his mind would be ensnared.

  Clara noticed his unease but found it amusing. She picked up a horn cup from the table, poured some rich bloodwine, and gently handed it to him with a soft voice tinged with playful teasing:

  "Demon Lord, staring at my hair like that— are you afraid Selene will get jealous?"

  Draven took the cup without thinking.

  He blinked in surprise, glanced down at the cup, then at the coquettish look she gave while handing it over, and roughly understood what"Demon Lord" meant— Selene's partner, in other words.

  He laughed inwardly: If only that were true! Then Draven wouldn't have to struggle so hard— he could be drinking bloodwine every day with a beauty by his side!

  He gently swirled the cup, making the liquid glow red and emit a strong aroma. He brought the cup to his nose and sniffed it, then shook his head without hiding his dissatisfaction.

  "The taste is good, but I have to put on the air of a picky powerful man."

  "You came here for the elven princess, didn't you?"