In order to stall for time, Draven practically threw caution to the wind. Not only did he play all his trump cards, but he also managed to trick the two little octopuses into helping him—without them even realizing it.

  The two little octopuses had just been playing by the pond when Draven coaxed and fooled them with sweet talk until they were completely bewildered.

  To get that single drop of blood, he promised to tell them ten stories once they got back.

  Blinded by curiosity and temptation, the two naive creatures actually handed over a tiny droplet of blood they'd extracted from a blood beast.

  He had the blood now—but what worried him more was that Clara might see through its true origin.

  To cover it up, he found a piece of highly absorbent beast hide and smeared the blood onto it. That way, even if she tried to examine it, there'd be no direct contact with the liquid.

  Draven sneered inwardly. Those prideful blood elves—no way she'd just grab the beast hide and gulp it down, blood and all, right?

  He was betting on her concern for decorum and image, even in the face of such tempting blood.

  Clara didn't disappoint him.

  When she laid eyes on the piece of beast hide, her expression shifted visibly. Her breathing grew quicker.

  The scent of blood reached her nostrils, stirring a long-buried craving inside her like a starving beast—an ancient instinct tied to her very bloodline.

  She stared at the hide in silence for several seconds.

  More than once, she almost gave in to the urge to lick it—just a taste, even a single drop.

  But in the end, she held herself back, calmed her breathing, and like a composed noblewoman, calmly stowed the beast hide in her storage ring.

  Clara's heart was pounding wildly. Just who the hell is backing Draven?

  How did he even get his hands on something like this?

  From the moment Draven appeared, he'd exuded a powerful aura, making it clear he was qualified to speak with her as an equal.

  Then he hinted at some mysterious force behind him.

  And now… he brought out blood from a blood beast?

  Blood beast blood! The blood in her veins was nearly boiling.

  She would never mistake that scent—no, that essence.

  She could already imagine the warmth of it flowing down her throat, the raw power seeping into her veins, slowly awakening the long-dormant potential in her bloodline.

  How many years had it been?

  Ever since the blood elves lost contact with the blood beasts, their most ancient winemaking techniques—ones that brewed combat-enhancing bloodwine—had become nothing more than legends told by her grandmother.

  The last time her people came close to reclaiming that power was over twenty years ago, when they obtained two blood beast eggs.

  But just before hatching, they were stolen by a despicable traitor!

  Clara had once resigned herself to the belief that she'd never experience the power of the blood beasts in her lifetime.

  And now—this damned werewolf had just casually pulled out a real drop of blood beast blood!

  All her noble pride went out the window.

  Setting aside all reservations, she stored the hide with trembling fingers and asked urgently,

  "Lord Demon Master… Do you truly possess a blood beast?"

  Her voice was low, barely more than a whisper, and trembling with emotion.

  Draven didn't speak.

  He merely lifted his chin and motioned with a finger toward her storage ring—the one she had just used to put away the beast hide.

  The meaning was clear: Didn't you already see for yourself?

  Clara's face flushed.

  Idiot! she cursed herself. What kind of dumb question was that?!

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  She quickly switched gears, putting on a charming smile, her lips curling playfully as she stood up slowly.

  Her voice turned soft, flirtatious—almost like a gentle purr:

  "Oh, my lord Demon Master… You're such a tease… My heart's all in chaos now~"

  Step by step, she moved closer to Draven, her long fingers resting lightly on his shoulder.

  With a subtle sway of her waist, she slid gracefully onto his lap, her body almost entirely pressing into his chest.

  Draven nearly choked.

  What kind of mission is this? Is this a test of willpower or a trap?

  He screamed internally but kept a calm, faint smile on the surface.

  He wrapped one arm around her waist, letting his other hand slowly slide along her curves—putting on the act of enjoying it, though his mind was an utter mess.

  I'm doomed… If she gets any closer, I might slip up and say something stupid!

  Where the hell is Selene?!

  Thankfully, just as Draven was on the verge of a mental breakdown, a familiar magical fluctuation came from the doorway.

  Selene had finally arrived.

  In the blink of an eye, her figure flashed into existence at the entrance of the stone chamber.

  Lydia had been about to say something, but Selene silenced her with a quick gesture—one only known among succubi.

  It meant: Retreat according to plan.

  Despite her confusion, Lydia obeyed instantly, taking everyone with her as they withdrew.

  Selene's eye twitched when she saw her throne being carried past by four trolls.

  That's my throne!

  This werewolf's got guts—not only did he steal my territory, now he's moved my chair too!

  But what truly ignited her fury was what she saw upon entering the chamber.

  Clara—was sitting on Draven's lap.

  The two were embracing, and the werewolf's hand was already under Clara's skirt!

  What the hell are you doing? I'm out there fighting for our lives, and you two are in here flirting?

  Rage surged through her—she nearly whipped Draven to death right then and there.

  She wanted nothing more than to lash that lust-crazed mutt to pieces!

  Draven realized he had just been thoroughly played by Clara.

  He had thought he was in control of the situation, only to find out that the entire interaction was a carefully laid trap. His level was too low—he hadn't even sensed Selene's approach.

  But Clara had. It was obvious now. She had noticed Selene's arrival long ago and deliberately guided him step by step into the trap.

  Her intention was clear: to sow discord between him and Selene. Even the tiniest spark of doubt could be enough to make a man and a succubus turn on each other.

  Draven couldn't help cursing inwardly. What a dirty trick.

  On the surface, however, he didn't show a thing. He discreetly withdrew his hand from beneath her skirt, the motion so natural that it was nearly imperceptible.

  Then, smoothly, he patted her round butt and gently nudged her away a little, putting on a smile and turning toward the doorway, where Selene had just appeared.

  "My Selene is finally here," he said, deliberately stressing the words my Selene."As you can see, we've already reached an agreement on this side."

  Selene entered with a cold expression. The corner of her mouth twitched, but no emotions played across her face.

  Clara, as if finding amusement in the situation, giggled and covered her mouth with faux shyness. In a coy, teasing voice, she said,"I was just being careless… and then, Lord Demon, you touched me there..."

  Her eyes flicked downward, glancing at the armored plating around Draven's waist with a provocative glint of triumph.

  Selene ignored her completely. She walked straight up and seated herself on Draven's lap, a gesture that declared ownership to everyone present.

  Draven's heart skipped a beat. This isn't in the script!

  He had only intended to buy time—he hadn't expected Selene to escalate things like this.

  The softness pressing against his chest wasn't seductive—it was a chilling warning that made cold sweat instantly bead on his back.

  She was dangerous.

  A magical time bomb, ready to explode without warning, now sitting on his lap.

  Outwardly calm, with a faint smile on his lips, Draven had already entered full survival mode.

  He quickly gave a simple introduction of both parties, keeping it concise, not adding a single unnecessary word.

  But when he said my Selene for the second time, the woman in his arms gave the faintest tremble.

  Selene felt a twinge of unease at hearing him say that.

  She began to wonder—had he noticed something?

  She wasn't afraid of powerful enemies. What she feared… was him losing his trust in her.

  Fortunately, he didn't ask. And she didn't explain.

  With the situation back on track, Draven finally exhaled in relief. It was time to move forward with their actual plan.

  "Alright, enough circling around," he said."Let's talk business."

  Trying to sound casual, he gave Selene's backside a gentle tap, signaling her to get up and sit beside him instead.

  He'd be lying if he said that wasn't petty revenge—for Selene going off-script moments ago.

  His palm brushed across a softness that felt almost unreal, and the armored plating in his body seemed to react, pulsing like a strange energy surge.

  He didn't dwell on it—no one present would notice such a minor detail.

  Clara, meanwhile, had dropped her flirtatious act and returned to her cool, competent self—the blood elf princess in full control.

  Selene remained expressionless. Her head lowered, eyes sharp and cold, though a lingering heat still radiated from where she had been touched.

  Luckily, she had always been good at hiding her emotions. Even with turmoil inside, her face stayed calm.

  Draven saw it, and silently chuckled to himself.

  Then he turned back to Clara, ready to guide the conversation toward the real subject.

  "Whatever it is you want, we can provide. Whether it's the Elven Princess or the Bloodbeasts—if you're willing to cooperate, it's yours."

  "But my lord has only one condition."

  "We form an alliance, and together, carve up the entire demihuman territory."

  Clara's expression shifted instantly.

  She had heard of the force behind the black werewolves, but she never expected their ambition to be this grand—or that they'd be willing to work with blood elves.

  Shock flickered across her face… mixed with an undeniable excitement.

  But before she could fully react, Draven dropped another bombshell:

  "To show our sincerity, my lord sent me with two Bloodbeast eggs."

  "I hope you'll take them back, and invite the blood elf chieftain—the one who truly makes the decisions—to join the talks."

  That hit Clara right where it mattered.

  She snapped her head up, eyes wide—not with amusement or calculation, but with genuine shock.

  "Two Bloodbeast eggs?" she repeated, her voice dry. She swallowed instinctively.

  Draven didn't answer. Instead, he turned his hand and revealed a silver-white box, its surface engraved with intricate, delicate patterns—mysterious and noble.

  "This is…" Clara's gaze locked onto it, transfixed.

  Her hand reached out instinctively, but stopped just short of touching it.

  Draven watched her expression, smiled faintly, and gestured politely:

  "Go ahead. Open it."