This battle, aside from a few high-ranking individuals on both sides, was almost completely unknown to the world. All people heard was that two demigods suddenly erupted in a terrifying clash, shaking the heavens and earth. In the end, neither side came out on top.

  Both were gravely wounded, like two giant beasts taking a bite out of each other before retreating into the mountains, neither daring to act recklessly again.

  And just as King Sigurd of the Elven Kingdom, enraged by the battle, was about to personally lead an army to crush the blood elf domain, new intel arrived from the north.

  The Kingdom of Thalos in the human world, specifically Duke Cresden of the northern territories, had suddenly begun mobilizing troops, amassing a large force at the human–elf border.

  He gave no explanation for his actions. He simply planted his banners high at the frontier, as if silently declaring to the Elven Kingdom: If you want to fight, go ahead and try.

  When Sigurd received the news, he froze in place. His brows furrowed deeply, and his face turned ashen. His hand trembled slightly on the hilt of his sword. In the end, he could only let out a long sigh and grit his teeth in retreat.

  The blood elves hadn't even been dealt with yet, and now the humans were stirring up trouble. The Elven Kingdom, caught in between, was like walking a tightrope—on one side, a pack of bloodthirsty wolves; on the other, the gaping maw of a tiger. War on both fronts was suicide. The only real option was to preserve themselves first.

  Thus, the campaign against the blood elves came to an abrupt and anticlimactic end—no decisive battle, just a hasty wrap-up.

  Meanwhile, far to the south, in the mountainous region slightly north of the demi-human territories' center, Draven and his companions were completely unaware of these political tempests. They remained immersed in their own rhythm, oblivious to the northern winds of war already blowing fiercely.

  At this moment, Draven was facing another kind of intense battle. Except this time, the enemies weren't foreign races, but rather Viola, Sylvia, and Martha—teaming up against him... in bed.

  On the same day the Dorian brothers arrived, and after helping Sylvia regain her confidence, Draven found an excuse to send Liliana out of the village.

  He told her to deliver some liquor to Bran in Village No. 1 and specifically instructed her not to return until evening.

  It wasn't that he found her annoying—he was worried that things might spiral out of control. He was planning to use the Spear of Slaughter to absorb Clara's power.

  If he lost control and went into a berserk state, Liliana wouldn't stand a chance. She was still too small, too fragile.

  Watching Liliana leave the village gates, Draven finally exhaled in relief. He wasted no time and immediately called Viola and the others over, preparing everything in advance.

  He took a deep breath and retrieved the Spear of Slaughter from his storage ring. The moment the blood-red spear touched his hand, a surge of intense energy flooded into his body through his arm, as if his entire skeleton had been ignited by fire.

  He threw his head back and roared to the sky, the sound shaking the surrounding mountains. Every nerve in his body lit up, every pore bloomed open like a flower. Pain and pleasure intertwined.

  The power Clara had left behind was wild and violent—but incredibly pure. It was like a torch that ignited the very bloodline within him.

  His aura surged madly, smashing through his former limits. In just a few minutes, he advanced from mid-level Chieftain to high-level!

  Draven was so overjoyed he nearly forgot to breathe. He quickly retracted the spear. His body had bulked up—thicker, stronger, every muscle like forged iron. He could feel the changes vividly. The strength was astonishing.

  Sylvia was the first to step forward. Her brows were furrowed, already sensing a familiar turbulence in his body. She didn't even need to look—she knew this guy was about to lose control again. One glance at his reddening eyes and the fresh blood seeping from the corners confirmed it.

  Sylvia's cheeks flushed red. She turned to Viola and Martha and gave them a subtle nod.

  Viola hesitated, brows creased, but Martha was already eager. The three of them had long shared an unspoken understanding. Silently, they walked to Draven's side and began removing their clothes with synchronized ease.

  What followed was a room filled with the low growls of a werewolf and the broken gasps of girls. The battle raged from morning till dusk, like a raging storm that overturned everything inside.

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  And right at dusk, Liliana burst back in carrying a wine jug. The moment she stepped in, her little nose twitched—and then twitched again, harder.

  "Pervert!!" she shouted, her face turning beet red. Her gaze swept the room—Draven trying to look innocent, and three exhausted, blissed-out women collapsed in various corners—and she instantly understood.

  She finally realized why Draven had insisted she stay in Village No. 1 the whole day. The wine? Bran? All lies!

  Fuming, she stormed over and plopped herself into Draven's lap, wearing an expression like she'd just missed a golden shower of blessings.

  Draven looked a little guilty. He rubbed her tiny horns with a grin but said nothing. He knew—Liliana was still too young, too fragile.

  Liliana squirmed in his lap, shifting to find the most comfortable spot.

  Nearby, Viola, Martha, and Sylvia were already sprawled out in different corners. Their bodies still glistened with sweat and bore traces of kisses. Their flushed faces radiated lingering heat.

  Occasionally, their eyes would meet—and even the boldest of them, Martha, couldn't help but look away. All three knew: they'd definitely overdone it today.

  But Draven? He grinned like a kid who'd just been handed a basket of candy. He knew they were embarrassed now—but he also knew, this "battle" had done them a world of good. Their bodies had relaxed, their spirits had stabilized, and their auras were more grounded than ever.

  Not only did their complexions look much better, but their skin also became more radiant, and even their breathing grew smoother.

  Each of them had a slight increase in strength—not a breakthrough leap, but enough to make a difference in battle.

  But the biggest winner, without a doubt, was Draven.

  He stood there, radiating an almost palpable sense of pressure. The bloodline power within him had become purer and denser.

  Although still slightly weaker than the original Red Snake Lord, the gap was no longer that vast. By current strength evaluations, he was at least an impressive High-Level Leader—not someone to be laughed at as the weakest anymore.

  Standing quietly in the courtyard, feeling this power, his eyes were calm, lips pressed lightly together. He didn't boast or shout, only silently credited one person for all these changes: Clara.

  He owed her too much. Unfortunately, Clara could no longer hear his thanks.

  Her body had been taken by Selene, quietly resting inside a black magical vessel, along with the corpse of another companion, Freya, both brought to the lord's underground chamber.

  Of course, Selene was not performing some perverse ritual, nor was she a necrophiliac. On the contrary, she understood better than anyone that the body of a powerful individual contained a large amount of residual energy, and these two—both lord-level existences—were extremely valuable resources.

  The chamber was dimly lit, the stone walls damp with moisture. She had cleaned the bodies meticulously, laying them bare on the floor, with no concealment or shrouds.

  Clara's skin and hair, stained black by the blood magic, had returned to their original state after the divine blood was exhausted—pale with a soft gray hue, like the still lake reflecting the moonlight.

  Selene floated gently above the two bodies, as if free from gravity. Her long black hair drifted slowly, as if caught in invisible swirling air currents.

  Her eyes closed, hands naturally lowered, two visible dark red energy beams rose from the corpses' chests, connecting to her palms and heart—energy channels, feedback from extracting the remaining will.

  Time passed by the second. The glow on the bodies gradually dimmed, indicating their residual power was being completely drained.

  Meanwhile, Selene's aura grew inch by inch, strength rising steadily like a beast awakening under moonlight.

  After an unknown duration, Selene opened her eyes, a faint blood-red glow flashing within. She descended softly, stepping lightly on the stone floor, drawing back the surging energy inside her.

  She glanced down at the two corpses, now nearly devoid of energy, and smiled coldly yet contentedly.

  "Not bad. In a few days, once the energy is fully absorbed and merged, I'll be able to advance smoothly into mid-level lordship."

  Her voice carried a trace of pleasure.

  Then her thoughts turned to that werewolf's image, and a hint of provocation and pride appeared in her eyes:"A little black werewolf, you want to surpass me?"

  Her face remained icy cold, but in that instant, she showed a rare playful expression, a slight smirk like a girl who just won a game.

  If she knew that the one she called the little black werewolf already possessed the strength of a High-Level Leader,

  what would her reaction be? Probably that cold, beautiful face would contort for the first time ever.

  On the other side, Draven, who had just completed his advancement, did not indulge too long in the joy of his new power.

  His appetite had also grown astonishingly, as if he could never be full.

  Perhaps it was because his body had depleted too much before and had yet to fully recover.

  He sat at the long table, wolfing down food, hardly resembling the cold leader of legend. Grabbing roasted chicken, he even joked with Liliana, two grown-ups acting like kids, quarrelling over a piece of meat, the scene lively like a festival.

  The three Dorian brothers sat nearby, still unfamiliar with this dining culture.

  Martha kept urging them to eat quickly."If you don't eat, they'll snatch all the meat."

  The youngest, Alec, quickly gave up appearances and just buried his head in his food, savoring the taste."So good. This is the best food I've ever had."

  In contrast, Dorian and Samuel were far more refined—eating slowly, always smiling.

  After all, on their first day here, their eldest brother-in-law had already become a lord-level figure. No matter how you look at it, they had just hitched their wagon to a powerful star.

  Samuel munched his meat, thinking: life won't be so hard anymore.

  Dorian glanced at the werewolf leader who was happily playing and fighting over food with the little girl.

  It was Draven who had quietly avenged their eldest sister for them.

  Just for that, even if he had to serve Draven, he wouldn't hesitate.

  After eating, Draven immediately shooed everyone away. He felt the raging power inside him still hadn't been fully unleashed—like a flame still burning.

  He didn't quite believe Sylvia when she said it was all cleared, so shamelessly, he pulled them back to bed again.

  Next door, Liliana stomped angrily, punching and kicking the air, then clutching her chest trying to catch her breath.

  Why?! Kicked out again? How did I lose to them?