From Draven's perspective, this deal didn't feel like a loss at all.

  Selene's promise was essentially a disguised form of support—one could even call it an alliance.

  For him, this meant he could now legitimately expand his influence within the succubus territory, pursue his ambitions, and no longer have to hold back.

  It doesn't explicitly say you can do whatever you want, but the meaning is almost there.

  What about the future? A smirk curled at the corner of Draven's mouth. Naturally, it was up to him to decide.

  He knew very well that Selene couldn't really control or suppress him. Her so-called agreement, in his eyes, was more like a sign of softened stance—a gesture of compromise.

  Selene was too proud to bow her head; she wouldn't admit this stance outright, but in reality, she had already taken a step back—just found a way to make it look dignified.

  It was like two nations at war, and the losing side proposes negotiations, claiming it's for peace and the people, but everyone knows deep down that they're just about to crumble and have no choice but to cede territory and pay reparations for respite.

  Draven had no intention of exposing her. As long as the outcome benefited him, that was enough.

  Given enough time, he was fully confident he would surpass Selene in rank. When that day came, form and substance would finally be unified.

  Even if, by some accident, he never surpassed her, it wouldn't matter. Bound by the Succubus Oath, neither could escape the other.

  Moreover, this fusion was not without significance. The moment he transformed into the dark demon wolf, he felt as if he had gained a brand-new power.

  That power wasn't mere brute force; it felt more like a sense of control growing from deep within his soul, as if an ancient bloodline in his bones had been awakened.

  This time's transformation was noticeably smoother and stronger than the last—not only because he was at the core of the territory, but also due to the blessing of Ragnar, the Demon Wolf King, and seemingly some hidden resonance.

  Draven had his suspicions but wasn't certain yet. He planned to take some time to try a few more times.

  Stepping out of the lord's manor, the rain and wind had yet to cease. The cold wind against his face cleared his mind considerably.

  He wasn't the type to indulge in daydreams or wait for miracles to fall from the sky. He understood one truth: no matter how great a gift of fate was, if you didn't have the strength to seize it, it would be a disaster.

  The title of Demon Lord sounded intimidating, but it was more like a stringent inheritance agreement. You indeed qualified to inherit it, but the condition was that you had to prove yourself capable.

  Right now, Draven was like someone given the opportunity to inherit a vast fortune.

  But the conditions left by the predecessor were crystal clear: you have to accumulate one hundred million on your own first to activate this wealth.

  At the same time, they kindly left him ways to make money and provided some resource support—just waiting for him to fight for it himself.

  Once he understood this, many things became easier. A sudden clarity washed over Draven, and the unease weighing on his chest dissipated.

  He no longer obsessed over whether Selene respected him, nor worried about being tied down.

  All he had to do was become stronger and follow the plan. One day, he would proudly stand in this territory as the Demon Lord, no longer in this ambiguous half-recognized state.

  He stood in the square, gazing at Selene's towering statue, and a subtle, indescribable feeling surfaced in his heart.

  The statue was stern and proud, like a queen overlooking all beings. Draven smiled—a smile both relaxed and meaningful.

  "Give me time, Your Majesty, and you won't be able to run away."

  He flipped his palm, and a golden token dropped into his hand.

  The token was heavy, as if forged from solid gold, carved with Selene's half-portrait—cold and exquisite.

  As long as he held it, he could freely enter the lord's manor and receive special treatment throughout Selene City.

  Draven fondled it for a while, reluctant to part with it, then tucked it safely into his chest.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "A wife's return gift is truly different," he grinned to himself.

  The rain lessened, and light drizzle still fell from the sky, but Draven wasn't in a hurry to leave. Some arrangements were unfinished, and he needed to clear things up first.

  Back at the original stone house, he called Gregor and ordered him to quickly contact the Serpent Ancestor and notify Rurik and others to gather at the designated location.

  Before long, everyone had arrived. Standing in the middle of the room, Draven wasted no time and delivered good news straightaway:

  "Selene has confirmed that we can retain the Seventh Patrol Unit's organization, and the original three members can come under my command."

  This meant they were now officially part of the patrol unit, but in practice, they worked for Black Flag Territory and were supplied by Selene—essentially having official status without truly obeying official orders.

  "Also, I secured the slot left by Nick for Rurik."

  Draven handed an identity badge to Rurik."From now on, you're an official member of the Seventh Patrol Unit."

  Rurik accepted the badge with both hands, trembling with excitement.

  Draven patted his shoulder:"Work hard. Don't embarrass me."

  Then, he shared the contact method with Valeria.

  Valeria, the southern succubus, had now transformed into one of Selene's personal maids—by some means earning Selene's deep trust.

  With her involved, Rurik's operations would be much more convenient and safer.

  Draven still didn't know that the Seventh Patrol Team had long been tampered with by Selene. He thought he had gotten a bargain but had no idea what Linda's presence really meant.

  This seemingly meek maid was actually Selene's spy planted right beside him. She silently followed Gregor, always wearing a polite smile, but occasionally a strange gleam flashed in her eyes.

  The future of the Black Flag Territory would hold no secrets from Selene. Every minor detail, every troop movement, even casual conversations could be silently reported back to Selene through Linda.

  Draven was completely in the dark. He had only instructed Gregor to take Linda and the others back to Black Flag Territory ahead of him. He himself had other plans and several matters to handle.

  As for the Serpent Ancestor, Draven had no intention of letting him go. He wanted to personally bring the Serpent Ancestor back.

  When Serpent Ancestor heard this decision, he nearly jumped in alarm. His face turned pale, a twitch at the corner of his eye, lips parted but silent. He glanced at Gregor with a pleading look, like a drowning man's last struggle.

  Under the suppression of the binding contract, Serpent Ancestor had no room to resist. His body felt as if bound by invisible chains, trembling as he followed closely behind Draven, leaving Selene City.

  Once outside the city gates, Draven finally stopped. With a flick of his hand, he transformed Serpent Ancestor into a snake form. Then he pulled out a beast tendon from his pocket, quickly tying the trembling old snake up like a war trophy, and hung him behind the Nightmare Horse's rump.

  The Nightmare Horse took off abruptly, soaring through the wind, stirring up a spray of mist and mud.

  Like that, Serpent Ancestor was a huge, living target dangling midair, his body swaying back and forth, looking both ridiculous and pitiful.

  Draven wasn't deliberately torturing him. He just thought it was awkward to ride with a wrinkled old snake person on the same mount. Even less did he want that guy clinging to his waist during flight.

  He felt this treatment was already quite decent. Hanging behind was better than being tied in front—at least the wind wouldn't keep blowing on his face.

  A mighty leader like Serpent Ancestor couldn't be strangled to death by a simple beast tendon, right? Draven smirked sarcastically, feeling no shame in his decision.

  But the Serpent Ancestor hanging behind was suffering terribly. His neck was painfully choked, the beast tendon nearly cutting into his flesh.

  He even suspected it was deliberate torture. The tendon was exactly tied around his neck, and every time the Nightmare Horse accelerated, his vision would go dark.

  Meanwhile, as Draven flew away from Selene City, the Minotaur Torvald stepped out from the Lord's manor, his face gloomy.

  He had just been informed that Lydia had removed him from his position—he was no longer the representative of the Minotaurs in Selene City.

  This news was a heavy blow to him. Even worse was that his longtime subordinate, Aureon, had replaced him.

  He clenched his fists in the rain, his knuckles cracking. His eyes filled with resentment and unwillingness.

  Of course, he wouldn't dare vent his anger on Selene or Lydia, but Draven—the werewolf close to Selene and suspected of causing the death of his brother Bronan—became the outlet for his emotions.

  "You think you've won?" Torvald muttered coldly, eyes icy."You have no idea what kind of people you've messed with."

  The image of the rhino tribe from the Divine War Hills flashed through his mind. They had once tried to ally with him, but he hadn't taken it seriously. Now, he planned to use that force again.

  Though dull-witted, the rhinos were fierce warriors. If he could successfully win them over, perhaps he could teach Draven a lesson.

  "Werewolf leader…" a glint appeared in his eyes,"You won't always be so lucky."

  With that thought, Torvald turned and left Selene City. He was the second Minotaur banished after Bronan. No one knew whether his fate would be the same as his brother's.

  On the other side, Draven remained completely unaware. He didn't even realize that through a simple negotiation, he had unwittingly gained a scheming enemy.

  But even if he did know, he wouldn't care. What mattered most now was to hurry back to his territory, back to Sylvia's side.

  He looked down at the rain-soaked mountains and forests below, and a sudden pang of guilt arose in his heart.

  It had been days with no news—Viola and the others must be worried sick, especially Sylvia. She must be terrified.

  Draven wiped the rain off his face. Then suddenly he stopped."No, it's not right to just go back like this."

  He furrowed his brow, thinking.

  "Coming back so plain and ordinary—how can that show my feelings for Sylvia? How will she know that I risked my life these past days to fight for her chance?"

  The more he thought, the more unwilling he felt. A sly smile crept across his face.

  "I need to make some noise, let her know what I went through."

  Draven yanked the reins sharply, and the Nightmare Horse stopped midair, hooves lightly resting on a rocky cliff.

  He already had a plan.

  To earn a tear from Sylvia, he was going to make a scene—at least some blood, some claw marks, along with his exhausted look, to stage a heroic return.

  He took a deep breath and clenched his teeth."I'll give it my all, for her."

  The Nightmare Horse snorted softly, as if wondering what kind of trouble its rider was about to cause next. Meanwhile, the Serpent Ancestor hanging behind let out a silent sigh.