"I know you've always hated me, wishing you could break free from this contract one day."

  Draven flicked out his long snake tongue and gently put down the Serpent Ancestor, whose eyes were spinning. He allowed him to revert to his half-snake, half-human form. Just as the Serpent Ancestor steadied himself and was about to speak, Draven unexpectedly interrupted.

  "Do you think I brought you back to kill you?"

  The Serpent Ancestor froze. His body stiffened, his glossy black eyes slowly rolling in their sockets, emotions swirling to an extreme—fear, doubt, anger, disappointment, all mixed together.

  He had been bound for too long. Even as the Progenitor of All Serpents, under this forced contract, he could neither break free nor resist Draven.

  "Are you planning to kill me now?"

  But Draven laughed, waving his hand with a trace of helplessness."What are you thinking? I'm not here to kill you."

  The Serpent Ancestor was stunned, barely daring to believe his ears. He had long been accustomed to schemes, betrayal, and violence. If a strong one controlled another strong one, it usually meant no loose ends. Yet this man in front of him said he wasn't here to kill him?

  The real reason Draven had brought back the Serpent Ancestor alone was because of Selene's influence. A woman willing to be open and set aside prejudice, giving him a chance to grow. Draven couldn't be stingier than her, right?

  At that thought, Selene's striking figure, especially her proud curves, suddenly flashed through his mind. He cleared his throat and sheepishly rubbed his nose, deciding not to think further.

  The Serpent Ancestor stared at him with a strange look.

  "Anyway, I'm not here to kill you," Draven said, shooting him a sidelong glance before continuing seriously,"But don't even think about pulling any tricks. The power of the contract is far more complicated than you imagine. It can restrict your body and interfere with your mind. If you dare act sly, the consequences will be more than you can bear."

  The Serpent Ancestor squinted slightly, still not fully relaxing his vigilance.

  Draven noticed but wasn't in a hurry. He went on:"However, this contract isn't eternal."

  "What do you mean?"

  "As long as you sincerely assist the development of the Black Flag Territory, once I stand high enough and gain enough power, I might consider granting you freedom in the future." Draven's eyes were clear, and his tone more sincere than ever.

  Those words struck like thunder in the Serpent Ancestor's heart. He stared at the human man in front of him, shocked and wanting to speak—but suddenly found he couldn't say a word.

  He opened his mouth wide, only able to hiss repeatedly.

  Draven frowned, watching him hiss like he'd eaten a poisonous mushroom."Don't get worked up."

  But the expression on the Serpent Ancestor's face was not one of angry protest. Rather, it was terror mixed with awe, his whole snake face looking utterly wrong.

  "Are you crying?"

  Draven stepped forward half a step and stared at him. The Serpent Ancestor's eyes trembled as if he had seen something incomprehensible.

  Draven felt a chill himself. He only meant to extract some information and keep this cunning fellow in check but didn't expect such a reaction.

  The horror in the Serpent Ancestor's eyes could no longer be hidden. He wasn't looking at a strong man but at some mysterious, ineffable existence.

  His mind a blur, the Serpent Ancestor vaguely sensed something hidden within Draven—an aura that made him shiver instinctively, as if facing an ancient deity rather than a mortal.

  "Since you're unwilling, then just stick with Gregor from now on," Draven said carelessly, but had already noted in his mind: Serpent Ancestor, you've displeased me again—remember that.

  Just as he finished speaking, the Serpent Ancestor suddenly dropped to his knees with a thud, forehead pressed to the ground, voice low but firm:

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  "I am willing! My lord, Serpent Ancestor is willing to follow you!"

  Draven's eyes lit up, and a fake but appropriate smile immediately appeared on his face. He reached out his hands like a warm lord to help him up, his tone exaggeratedly enthusiastic, even to himself sounding a little cheesy:

  "Ha! Excellent! With your help, how can our great cause fail!"

  But when he saw the sincere, chilling look in the Serpent Ancestor's eyes, he shuddered involuntarily.

  Could it be that this old fellow was pretending better than I am?

  Draven's heart skipped a beat, and he couldn't help but suspect this old snake might actually be more theatrical than himself.

  Of course, these details were not important to Draven. His standards for subordinates never relied solely on promises of loyalty. What mattered more to him were a person's actual actions and their future value.

  Selene's promise did not make him lower his guard, and Serpent Ancestor's kneeling allegiance didn't earn his full trust either. That expression of sincere submission—like he had truly and completely surrendered—made Draven feel uneasy all over.

  He cursed silently to himself: Could he be overacting?

  Draven had originally thought that as long as Serpent Ancestor stopped being so defiant, was willing to cooperate, and obeyed orders, that would be enough.

  But who knew Serpent Ancestor's exaggerated display was almost theatrical? He kneeled flatter than the floor itself, and his voice was trembling, as if Draven were some kind of savior.

  These days, even snakes know how to put on a show.

  Draven cleared his throat lightly, suppressing the strange sense of discord welling up inside him. Then he spoke up and presented his first demand for their cooperation.

  "Since we've reached this new agreement, I think we should have some sense of ceremony."

  As he spoke, he took off his cloak and casually tossed it to the ground beside him. Then he straightened up and patted his chest.

  "I admit, I haven't been very polite to you before—maybe even a bit excessive." He paused, then suddenly cracked a smile,"So now, I'll let you beat me up. Consider it settling the score once and for all."

  With that, he closed his eyes directly, as if ready to accept his fate, standing there waiting for Serpent Ancestor's fists to fall.

  Serpent Ancestor froze on the spot.

  The fiery passion and fanaticism in his snake-like eyes instantly extinguished, as if doused with cold water. His entire serpentine form sank into an indescribable confusion.

  You're saying you want me to hit you? Really? The mighty master who just moments ago looked down on the world now wants me to lay hands on him? Are you trying to humiliate me, or is this some kind of new game?

  He didn't move a muscle, even forgetting to breathe.

  Draven waited a moment, feeling no pain at all. He frowned and opened his eyes, only to see Serpent Ancestor standing there dumbfounded, wearing a look that said, Who am I? Where am I? Should I really hit him?

  "Hurry up," Draven impatiently urged,"After you hit me, we still have to rush back. Don't dawdle."

  Serpent Ancestor remained motionless. His mind had completely fallen into chaos. On one hand, he thought Draven was crazy; on the other, he wondered if he was even still in reality.

  What is the master trying to do? Atone? Prove he's not a bad guy? Or just stirring up trouble?

  ...

  Not long after, a dark figure streaked across the sky in the distance. It was the Nightmare Horse.

  It soared overhead, casting a long shadow. At the outskirts of Village No. 2, Titus, who had been staring at the sky, suddenly snapped to attention. Flustered, he threw his flail aside and excitedly ran toward the village.

  "He's back! Draven's back!"

  Soon, the atmosphere in the village became electric.

  Viola came rushing out of the village entrance, followed by Sylvia, Martha, and Liliana. After just a few steps, they saw the familiar figure of the Nightmare Horse—and atop it, a man they recognized, but whose face was bruised and battered beyond recognition.

  Draven's face was covered in bruises and cuts, blood staining the corner of his mouth, making him look like he'd just crawled off a battlefield.

  Sylvia was the first to rush forward, throwing herself straight into Draven's arms. She hugged him tightly, her eyes red and voice trembling:"What happened to you? Who did this to you?"

  Draven struggled to stand firm, letting her hold him, but his expression was weak, as if he might collapse at any moment. He whispered into Sylvia's ear:

  "It's all over. You're safe now."

  As soon as he finished speaking, he seemed to have used his last ounce of strength. His head tilted, resting against Sylvia's shoulder.

  "Draven!"

  Sylvia cried out, hurriedly laying him down carefully on the ground and anxiously starting healing magic. She poured her power into Draven like there was no tomorrow, tears nearly spilling from her eyes.

  Liliana stood nearby, skeptical. She flipped Draven's eyelids to check if his pupils were clear, then pressed her hand against his chest—his heartbeat was steady.

  Just as she was about to speak, Draven quietly pinched her backside.

  Liliana was momentarily stunned, then understood and laughed, leaning against him and playing along:"Draven, you just can't die on us, okay~"

  Her exaggerated tone was a bit much, even for Titus.

  But Sylvia heard none of it—her mind was full of worry, gritting her teeth to keep the magic flowing.

  Viola and Martha approached, their expressions a mix of helplessness and amusement.

  "Sylvia, don't panic. He's just exhausted."

  "Look at those wounds on his face—they're already starting to heal. He'll be fine."

  Viola tried to soothe Sylvia gently, her eyes on the unconscious Draven lying on the ground.

  Draven's lips twitched, nearly smiling.

  Nearby, Serpent Ancestor had completely frozen. He stood rooted to the spot, his snake eyes fixed intently on the prone Draven. Watching him surrounded and cared for by four women, enveloped in healing magic, yet still subtly pulling his little tricks.

  Only one thought remained in Serpent Ancestor's mind: Why was I so gentle when I attacked him earlier?

  Regret, anger, speechlessness—he even felt like rushing forward to land a few more punches.