Draven paid no mind to the flash of wariness in the eyes of Sethric, the Rhinoceros Man chieftain, nor to the growing concern etched across his brow. Smiling calmly, he spoke his mind without pretense.

  "Haven't you always said you're not good at hunting? Then why not just let us, the Black Flag Territory, handle the prey within your domain?"

  This suggestion prompted the nearby Rhinoceros Man warriors to exchange subtle glances, their expressions turning slightly strange.

  "Our Village No.1 has over eight hundred Black Werewolves," Draven continued, his tone as casual as if he were discussing a routine trade deal, completely devoid of any threat."Aside from the southern region, which we leave untouched, we can handle all the game in the surrounding areas just fine."

  He paused briefly before adding,"Of course, I'm not asking for your resources for free. I promise we'll split whatever we hunt in your territory fifty-fifty."

  A flicker of emotion passed through Sethric's eyes. A fifty percent share might not sound like much, but compared to the slow and increasingly fruitless hunts his tribe carried out on their own, it was a far more efficient arrangement.

  They were slow and heavy-bodied, relying mostly on traps to catch prey—traps that the local wildlife had long since learned to avoid. Game was becoming scarcer, and yields were dropping.

  Especially during the damp, rainy season, it wasn't just the common clansfolk who lacked meat—Sethric himself often went days without a single mouthful of anything savory.

  Sethric understood clearly that relying solely on their own people for hunting would only get harder as time went on. But his hesitation wasn't just about whether the offer was fair.

  What worried him was the possibility that Draven was using this so-called collaboration as a pretense to stake a claim on the land his ancestors had lived on for generations.

  Draven sounded sincere, but once the Black Flag Territory grew familiar with their land, learned the terrain and the distribution of resources, it might be too late to reclaim what they had given away.

  Sethric didn't answer immediately. He frowned slightly and lowered his head, clearly weighing the pros and cons.

  Draven saw right through his hesitation."You're worried the Black Flag Territory might be using hunting as a cover to make a move on your lands, aren't you?"

  As he spoke, the air around him changed. The pressure of a high-ranking leader radiated from him without restraint, making the air feel heavy. Even the torches on the stone walls trembled faintly in response.

  Before Sethric could respond, a flash of red light flickered across Draven's chest, and a massive figure appeared in the room. It was Ragnar, the magic wolf who had recently been promoted to mid-level high rank, now standing at Draven's side.

  The towering wolf threw its head back and let out a piercing howl, as if ripping through the roof. The echo reverberated throughout the stone house.

  The sheer force of that howl was enough to strike fear into the hearts of anyone unprepared.

  "If we really wanted something from you, do you think we'd bother with all this roundabout talk?" Draven asked with a smile, though his gaze was deadly serious.

  Sethric stared at them, stunned. The pressure of their presence left him almost breathless. Instinctively, the bloodline power within him gathered, though he didn't release it—he knew all too well that as a mid-tier chieftain, he had no chance against them.

  Chaotic footsteps came from outside—Rhinoceros Man warriors had been alarmed by Ragnar's howl and rushed over with weapons in hand.

  Sethric's expression darkened, and he quickly raised a hand to signal them to stand down. After a moment's hesitation, they obeyed and retreated from the stone house.

  Silence returned. Draven reabsorbed Ragnar into his blood seal space. Though the room had returned to calm, the lingering pressure in the air had yet to fully dissipate.

  Now, it all came down to Sethric's decision.

  Draven wasn't in a rush. Whether the Rhinoceros Men agreed to cooperate ultimately depended on Sethric's judgment.

  Of course, he had no intention of forcing it. The Black Flag Territory's future lay not to the south, but to the north.

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  Heading south would mean clashing with the Succubi, a race with a firm grip on power and an overwhelming desire for control. Even cooperation with them would be fraught with uncertainty.

  But the north was different. The farther north one went, the weaker the Succubi's influence became. Tribes like the Rhinoceros Men and the Golden-furred Monkeys nominally submitted to the Succubi, but in practice, they had little to no contact with their overlords.

  They didn't pay tribute like the Black Flag Territory did, nor were they bound to perform any duties. Their monthly rituals were perfunctory at best. Even when conscription orders came down from the Succubus lords, they only sent a token few in response.

  With such tribes, Draven preferred a softer approach—as long as they weren't hostile, cooperation was far more valuable than conquest.

  Building partnerships on the foundation of mutual benefit would allow both sides to thrive. As the Black Flag Territory grew stronger, these cooperative ties would naturally evolve into deeper integration. Eventually, these tribes would no longer be outsiders.

  The demi-human population was already sparse. If war broke out, it would only lead to mutual destruction. Draven knew the Black Flag Territory was still fragile—too fragile to withstand frequent warfare or subversive threats from within.

  Conquering by force was exhausting. Building relationships was smarter.

  That was why he had shown strength—just enough to sway the conversation. And sure enough, Sethric's reaction was already shifting.

  The silence lingered for a while, a stifling heaviness settling in the air. Sethric lowered his head, brows tightly knit, as if locked in a fierce internal struggle.

  Finally, he lifted his head and took a deep breath."I agree to your proposal. But I have one condition."

  He looked at Draven, and in that moment, his usually cloudy ox-like eyes were uncharacteristically clear and determined.

  "Your Black Flag Territory hunting parties are not allowed to step within five kilometers of our village."

  He said this with utter seriousness, eyes fixed on Draven like an old bull guarding its calf, ready to charge at any threat.

  Draven looked at him—tense, prepared to fight to the death—and suddenly laughed. Without a moment's hesitation, he nodded in agreement.

  "No problem. Five kilometers it is," he said with such ease that it was clear he didn't consider the request significant.

  His decisiveness relaxed Sethric's tense nerves a little. For a moment, he almost unclenched his fists.

  He recalled how the old Golden Monkey chieftain once said that Draven was an ambitious but trustworthy werewolf, and that thought brought him a hint of relief.

  And so, the partnership was officially sealed.

  Draven, clearly in high spirits, beamed as he pulled out several jars of bloodwine. Disregarding ceremony or setting, he cracked open a jar and began drinking with Sethric.

  Though the deal was struck, the worries didn't fully disappear. Sethric knew that agreeing to terms was one thing—lowering one's guard was another.

  The Rhinoceros Men would not trust Black Flag Territory overnight, just as they would never open their doors to strangers lightly.

  Meanwhile, Draven was already thinking ahead. He knew trust wasn't built in a single transaction—it had to be nurtured over time.

  As long as the hunting collaboration ran smoothly, he would eventually propose new cooperative ventures. Bit by bit, the Rhinoceros Men would grow dependent, gradually becoming part of Black Flag Territory's sphere of influence.

  By the time Sethric and his people realized it, they might already be too accustomed to the conveniences Black Flag Territory offered to pull away.

  The Rhinoceros Men were only the beginning. The Golden Monkeys were next.

  Goldmanes, the aged monkey chieftain, was even more cautious than Sethric, almost never trusting outsiders. But with Sethric's example, persuading him would be much easier—when the time was right.

  Still, Draven knew well: Goldmanes' body likely wouldn't hold out much longer. Time was short.

  The night of drinking was wild and unrestrained. Draven didn't hold back this time, and managed to get Sethric thoroughly drunk.

  Then he mounted his Nightmare Horse and rode off into the night, leaving the Rhinoceros Man territory behind.

  He glanced back once and saw Sethric slumped on the threshold of his longhouse, leaning against a pillar, muttering something under his breath.

  Tribesmen hurried over to support him, but Sethric simply raised his eyes to the blood moon above, his gaze dazed. His mind was swimming in alcohol, yet he suddenly felt an unfamiliar sense of ease.

  He didn't know if the decision he'd made was the right one, but a flicker of hope still remained.

  Hope that the black werewolf would keep his word. Hope that this alliance could offer the Rhinoceros Men a more stable future.

  With that thought, Sethric silently prayed to the blood moon.

  Draven didn't go home. Instead, he made a detour to Village No. 1. He knocked on the door of the village chief's longhouse.

  Inside, an annoyed shout rang out almost immediately:"Who the hell is it? Can't sleep at night?!"

  Draven had already heard the sounds from outside the house—the rhythm, the noises... even without specifics, it was pretty easy to guess.

  "It's me, Draven."

  A flurry of commotion followed—tables overturning, pelts flying—clearly a scene of hurried cleanup.

  Soon the door creaked open, and Bran appeared, hair a mess, draped in furs.

  Draven frowned slightly. He now understood Liliana's frequent frustration.

  Faint female voices still drifted from inside—clearly the twin Black Wolf sisters were still around. Not wanting to intrude, Draven stayed at the door and briefly explained the agreement with the Rhinoceros Men.

  "Tomorrow morning, you'll lead a team and handle the hunting arrangements."

  Bran was still looking groggy, but as he processed the news, his face lit up with joy. He hadn't expected the chief to personally settle such an important matter overnight!

  He nodded eagerly and tried to pull Draven inside for a celebratory drink.

  "Come in, man! We're all brothers here—no need to stand on ceremony!" Bran grinned.

  Draven paused, turned to look at him, and gave him a look like he was about to kick him back inside."Get lost."

  Bran froze, scratching his chest awkwardly."It's not like I'm doing anything shameful."

  Muttering to himself, he turned and went back inside—to finish what he'd started.

  Draven ignored him and walked away. Just past the village gate, loud sounds once again echoed from the house—female voices mingled with heavy breathing and moaning.