Draven had been busy all day, not even bothering to return for lunch. At some point, he caught a squirrel in the forest and dug up a few wild mushrooms—just enough to fill his stomach.

  Before leaving, he had said a few words to Viola so she wouldn't worry. Viola had been on edge lately, afraid something might happen to him when he wandered into the forest alone. The way her delicate face furrowed in worry always left Draven feeling guilty.

  But it wasn't just him—most beastkin were used to this kind of lifestyle. They weren't particularly skilled at farming and relied mainly on hunting to survive.

  They'd enter the mountains at dawn and return only after dark. Sometimes, they would disappear for days at a time. This kind of raw, primitive, and somewhat wild way of living was completely natural to them.

  That day, Draven had almost circled the entire forest, observing the terrain while carving marks along the way with his knife, mentally planning future defensive structures.

  The overall geography of the forest turned out pretty much as he had guessed: aside from the northern side near the river, the other three sides were surrounded by cliffs.

  And what did that mean? It meant that unless there were some deadly beasts or traps inside the forest, this place was practically a natural fortress.

  It would be very difficult for enemies to attack from any direction other than the north. All they needed was to build a simple barricade on that side, and the forest itself would serve as their shield.

  Of course, this terrain came with obvious advantages, but it also had drawbacks. For instance, after a whole day of patrolling, he hadn't spotted even a single magical beast.

  Draven had hoped to get lucky and bring back a new companion. He sighed and thought, Well, what kind of magical beast would just be wandering around near a cliff, anyway?

  Even so, he didn't come back empty-handed. That afternoon, near the southern edge of a thicket, he spotted two grayish-brown wild rabbits playfully hopping around in the grass.

  He crept up slowly and then lunged, grabbing both of them in a single swift motion. He tied them up with some twine—alive and uninjured—planning to bring them back as breeding stock.

  Though the storage ring had plenty of space, it couldn't store living creatures. Even something like a blood beast egg required a specialized container to stay viable.

  And wild rabbits certainly didn't qualify for such treatment. So Draven had to carry them back by hand, two fluffy bundles dangling in his grip, looking a bit ridiculous but also oddly cute.

  The village has to start raising animals sometime, he thought as he walked. Rabbits are easy to raise, edible, and they breed fast. If things go well, maybe we can even process their pelts later.

  Before reaching the village, he ran into Rurik's hunting party on their way back. They were among the more experienced hunters in the village.

  Draven had already warned them not to go too deep into the forest. With the terrain still unclear, it wasn't worth the risk.

  Judging by the haul, they did alright. Around twenty people, and nearly everyone had something in hand—mostly small game like squirrels and wild chickens, with just one decent-sized goat among them. Still, better than coming back empty-handed.

  The other team, however, didn't do so well. Titus's group looked clearly dejected even before they spoke.

  By the time Draven got back to the village, he was bent over, examining the quality of some beast hides dyed by Viola, when Titus approached, sulking, holding a basket.

  Draven looked inside and froze—frogs. Dozens of fat, wart-covered toads sat puffing and croaking inside.

  "What is this…" Draven frowned.

  Titus lowered his head, ears drooping like a scolded schoolboy. "Just bad luck today."

  "Keep it for yourself." Draven waved dismissively, his face a mix of confusion and mild revulsion. He wasn't angry—just couldn't stand the sight of the warty creatures.

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  Hunting was like that. Sometimes you bagged a hundred-kilo magical beast, sometimes frogs became your main course. Draven was used to it and never expected a perfect return every time.

  The happiest ones in the village were the children. They didn't understand the anxiety of food shortages, nor did they care about magical beasts. As long as they were fed and had people to play with, they were content.

  Draven didn't ask much of them—just hoped they'd grow up safe and sound, and that a few of them would awaken bloodline powers in the future.

  In other beastkin villages, kids weren't so lucky. Food was often scarce, and they had to fend for themselves from a young age. As for education—learning to read—that was a luxury most couldn't afford.

  The beastkin didn't have a strong sense of individual family. What mattered was racial unity, not who gave birth to whom.

  Draven himself had no idea who his parents were; he'd been raised by the village. Their tradition was simple: the children belonged to everyone, as long as they didn't starve.

  If you were lucky and the village had enough food and manpower, someone might teach you a few letters. If not, you'd better learn fast how to survive in the forest.

  The beastkin actually have strong reproductive capabilities; in theory, their population should have grown rapidly. But the reality is quite the opposite. The population remains low, largely due to their own cultural mindset.

  Resources here—especially food and weapons—are almost entirely funneled toward those warriors with powerful bloodline abilities. Ordinary families, especially those with little combat power, mostly survive through sheer hard work and struggle.

  To put it simply, beastkin society is a bit chaotic and disorganized, without much planning. But no one really minds—life goes on in a muddled way, and without too many worries.

  Draven wasn't troubled by this, nor did he harbor any grand ambition to change the entire beastkin way of life by himself. His thoughts were straightforward and practical: he just wanted to make life a bit more comfortable for himself and those around him.

  He felt that having a second chance was already enough. Helping others improve their lives? That was a bonus.

  Inspecting the freshly dyed red beast hide, Draven nodded in satisfaction. Once dried, this hide would make a striking war banner. For the beastkin, a banner was more than just decoration—it symbolized identity and power.

  He shared the idea with Viola, who laughed upon hearing it. They exchanged a few ideas, then Draven walked toward the newly built rabbit hutch at the edge of the village.

  A group of energetic little kids was circling the hutch, eyes sparkling with excitement and curiosity.

  "These aren't for eating!" Draven said gruffly, patting the head of the most mischievous one.

  The child was clutching a squirming rabbit and seemed ready to take a bite, leaving Draven helplessly amused. The rabbits were alive—not to be eaten, and definitely not while still kicking!

  "Alaric, come get these rascals under control! If you don't, I'm calling Ayla!" Draven shouted toward a slightly older child not far away.

  Alaric was usually under Draven's strict discipline, but among the younger kids, he held some authority.

  He marched over, gave a couple of loud claps, and immediately the stubborn child clutching the rabbit burst into tears.

  Alaric frowned and looked at the rabbit hutch with confusion. He didn't understand why Draven wasn't eating the rabbits but had instead circled them in with stones.

  That's right—this was Draven's idea of animal husbandry: using a ring of large stones to form a pen, then covering it with dry grass as a roof.

  It was a simple setup, but enough to let the rabbits safely reproduce inside.

  "These two rabbits are yours to take care of now," Draven said, patting Alaric's shoulder with a serious tone. "Feed them fresh grass every day—nothing with dew, got it?"

  "Got it. Let you know when they start having babies."

  Alaric nodded firmly. Draven looked at him, feeling a touch of pride. After all, his young brother-in-law was carrying more and more responsibility—being helpful was a good sign.

  "Alright, I'm off for a rest," Draven said as he turned toward the main house, already thinking about dinner: lamb kidneys. After a full day on his feet, a good meal to replenish his strength was well deserved.

  Nights in beastkin villages were usually quiet—there wasn't much in the way of entertainment. Life was plain and uneventful.

  But Draven always found his own fun. That evening, Viola leaned against his broad chest, half-asleep and smiling. She had just learned a few new skills and bits of knowledge.

  "Could you stop teasing Alaric all the time?" she muttered, a bit breathless, still catching her breath.

  Draven chuckled and kissed her on the forehead. "I'm not teasing him—I'm training him."

  He then launched into an enthusiastic explanation of his breeding plans. Viola listened attentively, her eyes gradually lighting up as if she could already see a brighter future unfolding.

  "You mean, once we raise enough rabbits, we'll have endless meat?" she asked.

  "Not just rabbits," Draven replied. "We can raise wild chickens, goats, even wild boars…"

  "Like having babies, one after another. Sooner or later, we'll have more meat than we can eat."

  Holding the little fox girl in his arms, Draven painted a vivid picture of a prosperous future.

  Of course, animal husbandry wasn't that simple. Rabbits were relatively easy to raise, but wild boars? Those were a different story—strong instincts, massive appetites, long breeding cycles.

  In the days that followed, Draven rose early and returned late, spending most of his time patrolling the forest.

  Until he fully understood the terrain and dangers of the woods, no one in the village could truly feel safe.

  He carefully surveyed various landscapes, kept watch for signs of magical beasts, and marked any potentially dangerous zones.

  For Draven, this wasn't just a task—it was a responsibility.

  But on that very day, an unexpected incident suddenly occurred...