When Draven returned to the riverbank, Viola was already waiting anxiously in the distance. She stood at the edge of the camp, her eyes full of anticipation and concern.

  Draven walked over, his face beaming with a smile, openly showing his joy. He pulled the little fox girl into a hug and gently kissed her on the cheek.

  Viola instantly blushed like a ripe apple, shyly lowering her head and lightly tugging at her cloak, completely caught off guard by Draven's directness.

  The atmosphere immediately became light and cheerful. Draven felt warmth in his heart, realizing he had not only found a territory but also a true companion. Then he turned and began organizing the work ahead.

  They first found a flat open area by the riverbank with a wide view, convenient for pitching tents and stacking supplies.

  The territory was vast, roughly fifty kilometers in radius. Even with the help of Ghost-faced Owl, it was unrealistic to survey it all in one day.

  So Draven decided to carefully scout the forest surrounding the village first. After all, if powerful beasts were hiding there, no matter how sturdy the camp was built, it could be attacked at any time.

  He didn't rush into the forest but sent Ghost-faced Owl soaring into the sky, using its keen eyesight to estimate the size and terrain of the forest.

  The bird rose higher and higher, circling gracefully, looking very lively against the blue sky.

  Draven switched to the bird's perspective and saw a vast expanse of forest unfolding before him. The forest was surrounded by two rows of rolling hills, like a giant green belt tightly wrapping this land.

  The terrain looked gentle, and the forest roughly formed a broad U-shape. From the edge of the riverbank to the farthest end of the forest, it stretched more than twenty kilometers deep and about seven or eight kilometers wide.

  By rough calculation, this forest covered about one-tenth of Draven's territory—a considerable area. The ruins of the blood elf village were located at the front section of the forest, some distance away from the hills on both sides.

  But what struck Draven as odd was the forest's edge—its lines were unnaturally neat, as if drawn with a ruler, lacking any natural wild disorder.

  "That's not right," he thought to himself.

  Through the Ghost-faced Owl's eyes, the entire forest appeared deliberately planted rather than naturally grown.

  The trees were densely and evenly arranged, the edges straight, without the unevenness or dead branches and fallen leaves typical in the wild.

  Suddenly, a long wolf howl pierced the silence. Draven was jolted awake and quickly switched back to his normal perspective. The howl was clear and loud, carrying a tone of command and summons.

  "It's Rurik!" Draven's heart tightened. Although he knew it wasn't a distress signal, a werewolf's howl was never meaningless shouting.

  The werewolf's howl conveyed clear commands, used to send messages and coordinate actions during combat.

  He immediately quickened his pace toward the source of the sound. When he reached the stone house, he saw a group of slaves anxiously gathered in a circle, but Rurik was nowhere to be seen.

  "Could he be inside the house?" he muttered.

  He pushed through the crowd and entered the house, feeling a faint worry—had Rurik been scared by those piles of bones?

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  That seemed unlikely, since Rurik already knew about the magic array and the bones inside.

  Inside, Draven found Rurik crouching beside a pile of corpses, his eyes intently fixed on something on the floor.

  Rurik's expression was complicated, as if he had found something both surprising and unsettling.

  "What's going on? What's on the floor?" Draven stepped forward, frowning.

  Rurik stood up slowly, nodded, and pointed to an inconspicuous stone slab beneath their feet.

  "We found it while clearing the bones," Rurik said in a low voice. "There's a pull ring on that slab."

  "Pulling it open leads to a secret chamber. I'm not brave enough to go down alone."

  Hearing this, Draven's curiosity was instantly sparked. He crouched down and carefully stared at the pull ring on the stone slab.

  The pull ring was secured to a long rectangular stone slab by an iron chain. The slab was about one meter long, thick and heavy.

  There were two pull rings on the slab, one at each end, as if it required two people pulling together to move it. Draven gestured for Rurik to stand at the other end, preparing to lift it together.

  They both pulled hard on the rings, struggling to push the slab aside, finally revealing a narrow opening beneath.

  The opening was small, just big enough for a person to crawl through. The moment the slab was moved, a strong, foul stench rushed out, nearly making them recoil.

  Draven immediately let go of the ring and waved his hand to Rurik, signaling, "Stand back, don't get too close."

  He took a burning torch from an iron hook on the stone wall. Just as he extended the torch toward the opening, the flame suddenly went out, as if suppressed by some invisible force.

  "Good thing you didn't rush in," Draven said with a worried frown. "If you went down there, I might have to come retrieve your body myself."

  Rurik pressed his lips together and said nothing, only nodding. The enclosed underground space combined with the strong stench clearly meant poor air circulation and likely oxygen deficiency—anyone entering could easily suffocate.

  Draven stood by the opening for a while until his torch reignited steadily. Using the light, he peered into the hole.

  Beneath the opening was a steep staircase stained with mottled dark brown blood marks, clearly evidence of some violent past event.

  Draven instructed Rurik to stay above the opening and keep watch while he prepared to go down and investigate.

  Rurik wanted to stop him, fearing danger, but Draven gave him a look to keep quiet. Rurik reluctantly stood guard, alertly watching the surroundings.

  Step by step, Draven descended the stairs, the torch in his hand casting a faint but steady glow. At the bottom, he found a spacious underground chamber nearly the size of the stone house above.

  Clearly, this was an intentionally designed two-level structure, with one level above ground and another below.

  This discovery brightened Draven's eyes. He thought, "The single-story house turned into a two-story building—interesting."

  However, he also wondered why a blood elf would go to such lengths to dig such a spacious underground room. What secrets could they be hiding?

  The chamber's interior was supported by thick stone pillars, and the sturdy walls bore extinguished torch holders.

  Draven walked over and lit each of the torches one by one, instantly brightening the entire chamber.

  The air still carried a faint stench, but not as overpowering as before. The floor was clean, with no large piles of bones—only one corpse lay quietly in a corner.

  Draven approached and carefully examined the body. Unlike the decayed skeletons above, this body was relatively intact, though the skin was dull, hair brittle, and the figure pitiful.

  The long dark red hair was still distinguishable, helping him identify the corpse as the blood elf rumored missing earlier. It seemed he had ultimately died in this underground chamber.

  Draven's heart tightened. Covering his nose, he crouched beside the body and noticed scattered animal hide and a rough wooden stick nearby. Upon closer inspection, the stick's surface was carved with strange symbols—possibly a magical tool.

  He didn't rush to touch anything, cautious of other potential traps or dangers in the chamber.

  Looking around, aside from the corpse, the chamber contained a few large pottery jars scattered sparsely. Draven walked over and knocked on one—the sound was muffled, as if it contained liquid.

  The jars were neatly arranged, huge in size—over two meters tall—lined up against one wall.

  He returned to the ground level and looked down for something. Indeed, by the jars stood a wooden footstool. Blood elves were short, and without the stool, they couldn't reach the jar openings.

  Draven stepped onto the stool, curiously inspecting the jar's mouth. Just as he suspected, the opening was sealed with a thick layer of earth, the mud tightly packed to block all gaps.

  Without hesitation, he tapped the mud seal to check for danger. Finding none, he began to pry the mud away forcefully. With a muffled sound, he lifted a large overturned clay bowl covering the jar opening.

  A strong aroma mixed of blood and wine immediately hit his nose. Draven's heartbeat quickened—this was blood wine!

  He instantly realized that these jars likely contained rare blood wine. Excitement shone in Draven's eyes.