A brand-new day began in a cheerful atmosphere.

  Draven lingered in bed, playfully wrestling with Liliana for quite a while before finally getting up to wash. Standing by the doorway, he looked out at the gloomy sky, exhaled a puff of warm breath, and yet felt lighter and more at ease than ever before.

  The corners of his mouth lifted unconsciously. The memories from last night still burned in his heart like fire. Sylvia had truly remembered him—not just physically, but deep in her soul.

  No matter how far the road ahead might be, he believed that one day, he would return to her side.

  After breakfast, he went, as usual, to check on the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent.

  The serpent was now as stiff as a stone, its body covered in a rock-like, rough shell, showing barely any signs of life. But Draven was not alarmed.

  Although it appeared to be turning to stone on the outside, he could sense through the forcibly forged contract that the creature's vitality was ever so slowly returning.

  He couldn't resist reaching out and touching the heavy serpent skin. It was cold and hard, like the surface of a statue rather than a living being's flesh.

  Viola had specially prepared a small nest for it, placing the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent inside as if it were a wounded infant. She had even carefully covered it with a thick fur pelt, as though afraid it might catch a chill.

  Looking at all this, Draven was suddenly struck by the illusion that he was caring for a child.

  He couldn't help but smile, then walked over and embraced Viola, whispering softly in her ear. Her cheeks flushed as she lowered her head with a shy smile, like a bashful young maiden.

  She had always been this way—harboring a kind of obsessive gentleness toward weak and helpless creatures.

  These four women, each with her own distinct personality—Draven had long since come to understand their soft spots.

  Viola appeared gentle on the surface but was actually sensitive and thoughtful beneath; Liliana didn't have many emotional ups and downs—she was satisfied as long as someone played with her; Martha's eyes held fire, like a fishhook hidden in a fishing line—once she fixed her gaze on someone, they couldn't escape.

  And Sylvia—she never fought or competed, always giving way to others. She seemed to be the one who cared the least, yet in Draven's heart, no one could ever replace her.

  He was still immersed in this rare moment of warmth when Titus suddenly rushed in.

  "Chief, last night the Serpent Ancestor reinforced every building in the village," he said, panting, bloodshot eyes revealing he hadn't slept all night.

  Draven looked at him, already understanding everything.

  He had sensed the surge of chieftain-level magical power from the Serpent Ancestor last night. And of course, Titus—so rigid and dutiful—had probably been watching the Serpent Ancestor's every move.

  Draven walked over, gently patted Titus on the shoulder, then took out a jar of bloodwine from his storage ring and handed it to him.

  "Go call the Serpent Ancestor. And have some of this yourself—get some sleep."

  Titus grinned and accepted the wine with a loud"Yes, sir," then turned and left.

  But Draven knew very well—this guy would never really allow himself to rest. He had crawled out of the slave camps, survived through loyalty and courage, and was now one of Draven's most trusted men.

  Before long, the Serpent Ancestor arrived.

  Draven looked at him, his expression growing solemn."Come with me."

  The Serpent Ancestor asked nothing, merely nodded silently and followed him into the chief's hall.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  Moments later, the sound of wings flapping came from above, and the Ghost-faced Owl flew in with a hoot.

  It had been left outside these past couple of days and was clearly disgruntled. At the sight of Draven, it let out a few unhappy calls, like it was protesting.

  Draven ignored it and turned to the Serpent Ancestor."Did you feel it? Its condition—it's just like yours."

  The Serpent Ancestor nodded.

  He had noticed it too—not just with the Ghost-faced Owl, but also the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent and the Nightmare Horse. All of them seemed to be bound by some strange force.

  That sensation was all too familiar—it matched the mark of the contract sealed within himself.

  Just as confusion filled his mind, the Ghost-faced Owl suddenly stiffened slightly, as if touched by an invisible force. A moment later, its eyes flew wide open, and it let out a joyful cry—like a child suddenly set free.

  It flapped its wings and soared out the window, exultant, as though the entire sky belonged to it.

  The Serpent Ancestor froze. He could feel it—that contract power had vanished.

  His pupils narrowed into slits.

  He knew exactly what that meant.

  Draven had actually lifted the contract.

  He said nothing, but his chest surged with a strange, violent emotion—like something had slammed into it. This wasn't just about power anymore—it was about control, something beyond comprehension.

  A being capable of unbinding mysterious contracts was far more awe-inspiring than one who could impose them.

  The Serpent Ancestor's vertical pupils contracted sharply—showing just how deeply shaken he truly was.

  There are many ways to forge a contract, and as far back as ten thousand years ago, those methods had already been developed to near perfection.

  Yet in Serpent Ancestor's memory, apart from that one madman, he had never heard of anyone who could completely dissolve a magical beast contract.

  He couldn't believe that the young werewolf standing before him had actually done it.

  The Ghost-faced Owl, which had just regained its freedom and spread its wings to fly, suddenly crashed headlong into the ground.

  It looked extremely disheveled, its feathers coated in dust, and its head wobbling slightly as if it hadn't yet realized what had just happened.

  Draven stood nearby, watching it roll around. He didn't rush to help but instead took out a metal ring the size of a bowl from his storage ring.

  The ring was etched with intricate runes that, under the activation of his bloodline power, began to stir slowly like living creatures—as if something dormant was gradually awakening.

  With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it into the air and gave a sharp command:"Go."

  The Beast Control Ring whistled through the air, spinning as it flew, and locked cleanly onto the Ghost-faced Owl just as it tried to escape again.

  The owl's eyes widened in alarm. It flapped its wings desperately, sensing danger—but to no avail.

  Once the Beast Control Ring locked onto a target, it never let go.

  Ghost-faced Owl had been his first contracted beast, the one that had accompanied him through the hardest times.

  But as Draven's power grew, the owl's own strength had clearly fallen behind.

  Its level was too low and occupied a valuable contract slot—but he couldn't bring himself to abandon it.

  He could, of course, simply break the contract and let it go, but he wasn't willing.

  He knew the bird was on the verge of a breakthrough—just one more step, and it could become a mid-tier beast.

  If it truly succeeded, then perhaps it could become a useful partner once again.

  So the Ghost-faced Owl had to stay.

  The Beast Control Ring slowly tightened, anchoring the Ghost-faced Owl firmly to the ground.

  In the end, it snapped shut around one of its legs like a shackle.

  The owl pecked helplessly at the ring with its sharp beak, producing a series of crisp clinks—like a stubborn child knocking on a door, hoping someone would notice.

  Serpent Ancestor finally recovered from his shock.

  "You saw it for yourself—I wasn't lying," Draven said, turning to him with a faint smile.

  Last night, Serpent Ancestor had uncharacteristically taken the initiative to reinforce the village's defenses.

  Draven knew full well—that was his way of showing loyalty.

  Now that the old serpent had lowered his guard, Draven didn't mind offering a little piece of true hope in return.

  Serpent Ancestor remained silent, but a hint of barely suppressed fanaticism burned in his eyes.

  He nodded abruptly, as if finally making up his mind.

  "Good," Draven said with a nod."Since you understand, then keep working. I won't treat you unfairly."

  He paused, then added,

  "Starting now, your power will no longer be restricted in recovery speed. However, under the contract's suppression, your cultivation realm can only be one small tier above mine—at most."

  The light in Serpent Ancestor's eyes dimmed slightly at that, but soon, excitement flared again.

  His body was unique. As long as he had energy, his cultivation realm was never a problem.

  He didn't need to train—just a steady flow of mana, and his power would rise rapidly.

  "Your next task is to take turns going to Village No. 3 and Village No. 1 to reinforce their defensive barriers.

  Village No. 1 currently lacks a leader-level protector. Until the Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent completes its advancement, you'll stay there."

  "Yes," Serpent Ancestor replied with a deep bow, his tone firmer than before.

  Draven continued,

  "Ragnar needs to stay by my side. He's not suited to be too far from me."

  Serpent Ancestor gave a small nod. He made no objections and turned to depart for Village No. 3.

  On the plaza, sunlight broke through the clouds and fell upon a group of youngsters playing and laughing, chasing each other without a care in the world.

  Draven stood at the edge of the square, motionless, watching the scene unfold.

  He slowly lifted his right hand and placed it over his chest, murmuring softly,

  "Ragnar… can we really do this?"

  His long-held suspicion about the Darkfang Wolf.

  Now, it was time to test it.