"Do demi-humans fall in love?" Draven had never thought about this question. Nor did he intend to.

  All he knew was that the little fox girl was his now. That was enough.

  She looked completely different from yesterday—less shy, more calm and decisive. She woke up the children who were still dreaming.

  Draven sat at the tent entrance, watching her efficiently assign tasks, even directing the slaves to pack up the camp.

  A strange joy suddenly welled up inside him. This feeling wasn't from victory or conquest, but a kind of proud satisfaction.

  But soon, he noticed a gaze in the camp that kept fixed on him.

  That little boy of the Fire Fox tribe—the half-grown youth with a still somewhat childish face—was standing at a distance, staring at Draven with eyes as sharp as knives.

  Draven didn't like that look, especially coming from a still undeveloped Fire Fox kid. He strode over like a beast ready to tear apart an enemy.

  "What are you looking at?" He stood in front of the boy and slapped his head hard, instantly mussing his fiery red hair.

  The boy gritted his teeth, motionless, eyes locked on Draven without a hint of retreat.

  "Got some backbone," Draven squinted, sneering as he raised his hand and slapped the boy's face.

  The boy tilted his head, a red mark quickly appearing on his cheek, but he didn't say a word, biting his lip in stubborn defiance. His eyes seemed to say, "Try hitting me again, I dare you."

  Not far away, Viola heard the commotion and hurried over. Her face pale, she stood protectively in front of the boy, her voice tense: "Don't hit him."

  Draven lifted his chin, looking at her with a smile instead of anger. "He's staring at me like I'm his enemy—can't I hit him?"

  He crossed his arms and waited for Viola to explain. He wanted to see how she would handle this.

  Viola trembled slightly, glanced back at the boy behind her, and asked softly, "Is what Alaric said true?"

  The boy still held his neck stiffly, eyes blazing with fire: "I heard it! He hit you! You cried! He bullied you!"

  Viola's face flushed instantly. She lowered her head, looking at her brother, wanting to say something but unable to find the words.

  The atmosphere froze as if everyone held their breath. The camp fell into an eerie silence.

  Draven scratched his nose, feeling a bit awkward, and glanced up at the sky: "The sky is pretty blue."

  Then he casually looked around, "Where's Bran? And where's my axe?"

  He walked over to Bran and gave him a kick to change the subject. Bran looked confused, clearly not understanding what was going on.

  After a moment, Viola quietly approached Draven, still blushing, her voice barely audible: "Alaric is my brother."

  She looked down, fidgeting with her fingers. "He won't do this again. I'll make sure he grows up."

  Draven said nothing, just nodded, then pointed ahead, signaling that he was going scouting. He took a few steps, then couldn't help but laugh quietly.

  "So he's my brother-in-law, huh." he muttered softly.

  The tension eased a lot. The oppressive feeling slowly faded with his laughter.

  He had originally wanted to teach the boy a lesson, but now he felt his own actions were a bit ridiculous.

  "Only thirteen or fourteen, it's normal to be immature. But aren't demi-humans supposed to mature fast? How could they misunderstand something so small?" He shook his head while walking, a smile lingering on his lips.

  Sunlight poured down, making his mood especially bright.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  These past few days had been lucky. First, he defeated the ape leader and proved his strength. Then he conquered the little fox girl Viola—a symbol of strength as well.

  He hummed a tune, axe slung over his shoulder like a soldier returning victorious.

  In the distance, a Ghost-faced Owl circled low in the sky, its wings whipping past the treetops with sharp whistles.

  Draven made a hand gesture to it, signaling to watch for nearby prey.

  "The wolf kids are as thin as dry sticks," he muttered, "If they don't eat some meat soon, they'll lose their teeth."

  Viola needed to eat well too. Thinking of how she had trembled in his arms last night, a faint smile tugged at his lips.

  Near noon, he spotted two tall elk in a nearby thicket, and some scattered fruits—looks like someone had just finished eating and left.

  "Not bad luck," he said quietly, whistling a few distinct calls to signal the group behind him to catch up.

  When the group arrived, the children spotted the elk and all cheered, their eyes shining like stars.

  The children of the Fire Fox and Black Wolf tribes ran excitedly around the carcasses, swallowing hard.

  They hadn't eaten meat for a long time, and their eyes were full of craving.

  After getting Draven's permission, the children suddenly seemed like unleashed hunting dogs, excitedly rushing forward to grab the wild fruits scattered on the grass.

  They used both hands and feet, some even lying flat on the ground, not caring about the dirt on their faces, with fruit juice staining their mouths and triumphant smiles playing on their lips.

  No one complained or said they were tired. The demi-human children were never delicate—they ate roughly, fell hard, and grew fast.

  Draven stood aside, arms crossed, watching the scene with a slight upward curve at the corner of his eyes. He said nothing and didn't intervene.

  Compared to human tribe children, these demi-human kids were like wild little beasts—full of untamed spirit, but easier to raise as true warriors.

  After a night's rest, most of the children had regained their energy. Only a few of the youngest, four or five years old, still needed slaves to carry them; the rest could march on their own.

  However, their stamina was limited, and they often plopped down on the ground during the journey.

  They crawled forward using all four limbs, their long tails dragging behind, looking both comical and irresistibly touchable.

  Draven would occasionally stoop down to pull up a lagging child, gently grabbing their furry ears and lifting them back into the group.

  He'd mutter under his breath, "Hurry up, don't fall behind."

  Whenever Viola saw him, she couldn't help but blush. Her eyes darted away, avoiding Draven's gaze like a girl newly fallen in love.

  Draven walked over, smiling, and gently rubbed her fox ears. The ears twitched under his fingertips.

  Then, he pulled out a ripe fruit from his pocket, redder than her cheeks. Without a word, he handed it to her.

  Viola took the fruit with both hands and bit into it. Juice immediately dribbled down her mouth corner. Her eyes widened: "So sweet."

  Soon after, the dog-headed Titus returned, leading his hastily assembled hunting party. They performed better than expected; besides the usual small prey—fat squirrels and rasping frogs—they even brought back a moose, an unexpected bonus.

  Draven glanced at the moose and nodded. He said little but pointed with his chin toward the trolls.

  Titus looked at the prey with pity but obeyed. He knew the moose wasn't for him.

  The troll chief Garruk personally came over to thank Draven. Despite his rough face, a rare kindness appeared, and he even started chatting.

  It seemed the battle with the ape leader had earned Garruk's full respect. Garruk told him that after one more day's march, crossing the mountains ahead, they would leave the broken highlands and enter the northern forested hills.

  By the campfire, Draven personally prepared a deer leg. While roasting it, he sprinkled spices—salt and dried herbs he'd brought from the human city—roasting seriously.

  Viola squatted nearby, staring intently at the deer leg, sniffing with her nose twitching.

  The aroma was stronger than any roast meat she remembered, even carrying a certain temptation that made her stomach growl.

  Alaric had been half-dragged there by Viola. His face showed reluctance; he tried to shake off his sister's hand, but failed.

  Sitting opposite Draven, he stared wide-eyed at the fire, occasionally twitching his nose, clearly trying not to show interest.

  Draven cut the meat while speaking: "You should understand—I'm with your sister now."

  He paused, then added, "Like your mother and father… well, you know what I mean."

  Alaric snorted coldly, snatching the steaming meat and mumbling as he gnawed on it: "We Firefoxes don't have fathers, only mothers."

  After saying this, he turned and ran over to another Firefox child, shoved some meat to them, and even split his own piece in half.

  The girl blushed, her small eyes shyly darting about.

  Draven was momentarily stunned. Right, many demi-human tribes were matriarchal, especially the fox tribe. He had truly overlooked that.

  Viola quietly explained for her brother: "He doesn't actually dislike you; he just hasn't accepted us yet."

  Draven didn't bother. Kids around thirteen or fourteen were the hardest—either full of wild thoughts or boundless energy with no outlet.

  Thinking of Rurik and Bran at a similar age gave him a slight chill. But because of that, he knew how to handle these half-grown brats.

  "Bran!" he shouted.

  With meat still in his mouth, Bran came running immediately.

  Bran followed Draven over to Alaric.

  Alaric was still smiling and talking to the girl but stood alert like a little wolf guarding his food when Bran approached, shielding the girl behind him.

  Draven said, "You're not little anymore. From now on, follow Bran and help protect the little kids. What's her name?"

  "Ayla," Alaric answered.

  "You two will stay with Bran and take care of the little ones. If something goes wrong…" He deliberately lowered his voice and gave a fierce grin, "The next one I carry into the tent will be her."

  Alaric's face went pale, his lips moved but he said nothing, just fiercely protected Ayla.

  Draven laughed and patted his head: "Don't be scared, just kidding."

  Then he turned and left, going to find his little fox sister~