The old monkeyfolk chieftain was quite pleased with Draven's arrangements, a broad smile almost spreading across his weathered face. He hadn't expected the werewolf chief to not only assign a powerful warrior like Thorin to oversee the area, but also to provide fifty Black Tiger warriors and a hundred Black Wolf guards. This level of support far exceeded anything he had anticipated.

  And when he learned that Draven had assigned the four hundred able-bodied monkeyfolk they brought to Village No. 2 to cultivate land—awarding four work points per person for that task—it filled him with hope. That meant if they worked hard, a single monkeyfolk adult could support a family of four. He no longer had to worry about the future of his people.

  So when Draven proposed that, upon returning, the Goldmanes send more monkeyfolk to assist in other villages with winemaking and orchard management, the old chieftain agreed without even blinking. He understood well that bloodwine required special amphorae crafted by the little octopi—something they couldn't replicate, even if they wanted to steal the method.

  As for the Monkey Wine, they had stolen that recipe in the first place, so they had no qualms about spreading it. Other special brews, such as Tiger Bone Wine, had unique recipes and rare ingredients. Draven had no intention of sharing those; better to keep their production centralized in Village No. 2, where it could be properly managed.

  According to his calculations, the Green Serpent should be reaching Selene City soon. Once the shops there began turning a profit, he could rely on the Green Serpent to procure even more rare brewing materials.

  Since Acorn Oak and his team had left Village No. 2 to tend the forest giant trees in the canyon pastures, the orchard's daily upkeep had fallen to villagers and slaves. But with the elderly and many of the slaves now being gradually relocated to other villages, Village No. 2 was beginning to experience labor shortages.

  Now, with the monkeyfolk joining in, Draven no longer had to pull workers from the road-construction crews. He let out a sigh of relief. Especially now, during this crucial phase of land cultivation, there could be no delays.

  While monkeyfolk weren't known for combat prowess, that didn't mean they were physically weak. In fact, their upper body strength often exceeded that of average humans, making them ideal for heavy manual labor.

  More importantly, among the seeds sent by the Elven Kingdom, there was a crop called "wheat" that had to be planted in September and October. With such a tight planting window, preparations had to be completed in advance.

  The sudden population increase, however, placed additional strain on food reserves. While hunting and foraging could make up for some of the demand, Draven couldn't hide his concern. After all, if food supplies couldn't keep pace, the growing population might become more of a burden than a strength.

  Still, others in the Black Flag Territory viewed Draven's actions differently. Especially the newer villagers—many of them believed their chief was showing preferential treatment toward the monkeyfolk.

  But this apparent favoritism didn't spark resentment. On the contrary, it made everyone feel more at ease. After all, no one hated a considerate leader; people were more inclined to follow someone who genuinely cared.

  Draven, unaware he was once again gaining a reputation for kindness, didn't bother explaining why farming was more critical than hunting. In his mind, land was the foundation of a strong territory. He had even considered raising the work points for cultivation to five—but feared that might stir discontent among those assigned to other jobs.

  With the arrangements for both villages settled, satisfaction was visible on everyone's faces. But no one moved to leave, since Draven hadn't dismissed them. His silence meant there was more to say.

  Now came the final step to unifying the War God Hills. There was still one patch of land in the west that hadn't been claimed, and Draven intended to reclaim it personally.

  He asked the group about the region, but the Goldmane chieftain and the head of the Rhinoceros Tribe exchanged strange looks. After a moment of hesitation, it was Goldmane who finally spoke:

  "We honestly don't know too much about that area," he said, scratching his head with a somewhat embarrassed expression."All we know is there's a deep pit there, and a group of Mud People live inside it."

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  "They're an odd bunch—rarely interact with outsiders. They seem to live off the soil itself, and we've heard they even extract their food from the earth."

  Draven turned to look at Sethric, who nodded in confirmation. Draven frowned, muttering,"So it's the Mud People Tribe... No wonder we haven't heard a peep from them."

  At last, he understood why that region had remained so quiet. The Mud People were said to be descendants of elemental earth giants. Though much smaller than true giants, they still counted as demi-humanoids.

  They resembled humans in appearance, except their bodies were coated in thick gray-brown earth, making them look like walking statues.

  There have always been differing legends about the Mud People Tribe.

  Some say they are the descendants of earth giants and the soil itself—some even refer to them as"Children of the Sun and Earth." But these tales lack solid evidence and are generally regarded as unreliable.

  What truly sets this race apart is their extremely rare method of reproduction and their bizarre physiological structure.

  The Mud People Tribe possesses one astonishing trait: one individual can constitute an entire tribe.

  This isn't some exaggerated metaphor—it's meant literally. In other words, when you see a group of Mud People, it's very likely they all originated from a single individual through division.

  This original being acts as the source, while all the others are merely its extensions.

  The Mud People Tribe does not consume regular food. They feed on soil, absorbing the magical energy within the earth to grow stronger.

  When an individual matures to the chieftain level, they gain the ability to divide, creating new Mud People from themselves.

  Though these offshoots possess their own consciousness and can act independently, their strength can never surpass that of the original. They are like naturally created servants, eternally bound to their source.

  Because they look like statues molded from wet clay—with gray-brown skin often studded with small rocks and grass roots—and coupled with their reclusive nature, never eating, drinking, or speaking,

  the Mud People Tribe has remained a hidden and mysterious presence in the War God Hills.

  As Goldmanes mentioned, they rarely communicate with the outside world and have never voluntarily visited any other tribe.

  Even when travelers pass through their territory, they simply observe from a distance, never initiating contact, let alone showing hostility.

  There are even rumors that they've never reproduced in the conventional sense—that their entire population comes from a single individual repeatedly dividing itself.

  After hearing all of this, Draven wore a complicated expression. He hadn't expected that such an isolated group existed right next door in the War God Hills.

  Although the Mud People Tribe had never shown any hostility, their territory still remained an unclaimed gray zone.

  And if he wanted to be officially recognized as a true lord, he would have to unify the entire War God Hills.

  Even if the Mud People posed no apparent threat, he couldn't afford to leave them unchecked.

  After a moment's hesitation, Draven made up his mind: this land must be brought under his control.

  However, he had no intention of using force. He disliked raising weapons against innocent races—especially those that had shown no animosity toward the Black Flag Territory.

  Thus, diplomatic assimilation was still his preferred method.

  As for who should carry out this mission, he quickly had an idea.

  His gaze settled on Thorin and Goldmanes.

  Village No. 5 was situated right next to the Mud People Tribe's territory, and Thorin, a formidable warrior of the Black Tiger Tribe, possessed the strength of a high-ranking chieftain.

  The two made the perfect pair: one to negotiate, one to provide backup—an ideal combination of diplomacy and strength.

  Thorin and Goldmanes exchanged a glance, then rose to their feet. With their right fists pressed against their left chests, they gave a formal warrior's salute and accepted the task.

  "You can count on us, Chief," Thorin said in a deep voice.

  Draven nodded, offering a final reminder:"Remember, don't rush things. Avoid conflict if at all possible. If there's a peaceful way, take it."

  The two nodded again and departed to carry out their mission. As Draven glanced around the room, the rest of the seated leaders also stood—thus officially ending the meeting.

  After seeing everyone off, he turned to Martha, who was still sitting nearby."The meeting's over. Why are you still here?"

  Martha shot him a glare, her tone tinged with irritation."You didn't show any mercy last night, and now you're trying to kick me out?"

  Of course, it wasn't that she didn't want to leave—her legs simply wouldn't move. The stretches they did last night were too intense, and now she could barely lift her feet.

  Draven rubbed his nose and muttered under his breath,"Well, you were the one doing those seductive splits…"

  Martha's mouth twitched when she heard that, but she didn't reply. In the end, she raised her hand as if to slap him—yet couldn't bring herself to actually do it.

  Draven had a thick skin. If she really did slap him, he'd probably just laugh.

  So instead, he scooped Martha up in his arms and carried her into the stone house to rest.

  Inside, Liliana was still curled up under a blanket, softly snoring in her sleep.

  Draven walked over and gently pinched her nose.

  In the next instant, Liliana reflexively slapped him across the face—hard.

  Martha burst into laughter, momentarily forgetting the pain in her legs. She clutched her stomach, laughing uncontrollably, all signs of fatigue vanishing from her face.

  Once Martha was settled, Draven headed for the council hall.