Martha suddenly opened her eyes wide, her pupils sharply contracting. She stared at Draven, her eyes filled with shock and disbelief.

  Draven stood by her bedside, speaking calmly and deliberately: "How long did you think your three brothers could keep their secret hidden?"

  "Bronan, and the Minotaur tribe behind him—if they find out what you've been doing behind their backs, do you really think they'll spare your lives?"

  Martha instinctively wanted to argue, but she opened her mouth and couldn't say a word.

  She knew her brothers all too well. They were impulsive, brave but not very clever. She could tell at a glance whether Draven was telling the truth—there was no need to judge.

  Because she knew a man like him wouldn't lie. He didn't even have to.

  "You have no other choice now. Either you survive, or your entire family dies at Bronan's hands."

  Martha said nothing, only gazing at her legs under the animal hide—swollen and twisted until they barely resembled limbs. Her eyes gradually dimmed. Her mind went blank, and she didn't even realize when she started to cry.

  Draven casually added, "Don't worry. They've already agreed. As long as you survive, they won't act without permission."

  "Of course, on the condition that you serve me." He shook the clay bottle in his hand.

  Through gritted teeth, a resolute expression slowly appeared in Martha's eyes. She raised her trembling hand, took the bottle from Draven, and without hesitation poured the powder into her mouth.

  The bitter mushroom taste quickly spread, tightening her throat.

  Draven brought the monkey liquor to her lips, kindly helping her drink a mouthful. The fruity aroma should have been pleasant, but it stung her throat with a sour ache.

  She coughed a few times, closed her eyes, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She sighed silently in her heart: "For my brothers…"

  Draven noticed the complex emotion flickering in her eyes and felt a stir inside. He knew she had misunderstood something, but he said nothing. He wasn't in a hurry—there would be plenty of time to explain later.

  He quickly focused on the most critical issue: those almost ruined deer legs.

  He placed his hand on the base of Martha's thigh and slowly released his bloodline power, letting it flow downward bit by bit. The process was neither easy nor remotely pleasant.

  From the sensation, those legs no longer had the structure of healthy limbs. Bones were dislocated, muscles torn, blood vessels congested, and some patches of skin had already necrotized and fallen off.

  Draven's expression grew darker. As he traced down to the knees, he found multiple fracture points. One bone was crushed, like gravel stuck between muscle and fascia.

  Worse yet, these fractures had begun to fester, filled with thick pus. He said nothing, but the muscles in his face twitched faintly, suppressing his inner anger.

  Liliana, who had come over to imitate Draven's actions, released a gentle green light from her palm—unlike Draven's blood-red glow.

  But as the sensation deepened, the little girl's expression quickly twisted as if she had seen something terrifying.

  "Draven…" her voice trembled slightly, "Let's save her quickly. Sister Deer is dying."

  She stood still, her eyes reddened, her small face scrunched in distress.

  Listening to her, Draven closed his eyes briefly. He knew that although Liliana was childish, her judgment would never be wrong.

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  At that moment, Draven slowly stood up and looked at Martha lying there—the pale face from pain appearing especially fragile under the flickering glow of the animal oil lamp.

  He said nothing, only walked to the corner, picked up the bucket of water Dorian and the others had brought, and stepped outside the stone hut.

  Outside, the three Dorian brothers waited anxiously, restless. As soon as they heard movement, they immediately surrounded him.

  "How is sister? Is she still alive?" Dorian's voice nearly choked with emotion. Samuel and Alec looked anxiously at Draven, their faces full of worry.

  Draven did not answer their questions. He raised his hand and waved it once. "Step back."

  He poured the water in the bucket onto the open ground with a splash, as if venting his anger through the action.

  "Rurik, watch the door," he said quietly. "No one gets in unless I call you."

  Draven turned and walked back into the stone house. The wooden door behind him closed, cutting off all the noise from outside.

  Outside, the Dorian brothers tried to approach, but Rurik stepped in front of them. His face was stern as he raised his hand to block them, his voice low but authoritative: "Didn't you hear me? Step back."

  Dorian gritted his teeth but eventually pulled his brothers back a few steps, his eyes filled with anxiety and urgency.

  Inside, Draven put down the wooden bucket. Standing beside Martha, he took a deep breath, his expression serious.

  He was about to start from the upper thigh, gradually drawing out the pus and accumulated fluid inside her body. Without his bloodline power, this treatment would have been impossible, let alone successful.

  He stretched out his finger. Under Liliana's curious gaze, the fingertip gradually lengthened and thickened, eventually transforming into a sharp wolf claw. Liliana's eyes widened, and she softly let out a sigh of wonder.

  Draven glanced at her and said calmly, "Let's begin."

  Liliana nodded, as if watching a magical spectacle she had never seen before.

  Draven focused on the wolf claw, releasing his bloodline power to condense a blood-red blade as thin and sharp as a knife edge at his fingertip.

  Without hesitation, the blade sliced across Martha's upper thigh. His strike was swift, precise, and calm.

  When the wound split open, what first flowed out was not blood but a yellow-green pus mixed with the stench of decay, emitting a pungent foul odor.

  Draven frowned but did not stop. He carefully sliced the wound open with the blade, exposing discolored bones and dead muscle tissue. Using nimble control of his bloodline power, he guided the pus deep inside out in lumps.

  A mass of dark brown liquid streaked with blood was wrapped in blood-red energy and dropped with a splash into the bucket, rippling the dirty water.

  Draven's gaze remained steady as he exhaled softly. This was only the first step.

  "Liliana, prepare," he said.

  Liliana immediately reacted, placing her hands over the wound. A pale green light blossomed in her palms. The gentle yet powerful life energy surged forth, like the softest new buds slowly growing in a spring forest.

  Her power began to mend the broken bones. The fractured bones, as if pulled by an invisible force, gradually returned to their proper places.

  Those once overlapping, misaligned, and shattered bones slowly fused together under the green glow. Their color shifted from grayish-black to pale white, regaining a healthy texture.

  Draven watched attentively beside her, ready to use his bloodline power at any time to clear away any remaining pus and necrotic muscle between the tissues.

  Liliana's breathing quickened slightly, but her focus never wavered.

  "Almost done," she whispered, her voice tinged with pride.

  Minutes later, the granulation tissue around the wound rapidly grew under the green light. The torn muscle tissue quickly fused as if it had never been injured. Martha's left leg had now regained its original shape and contour.

  Draven nodded lightly, a rare trace of satisfaction appearing in his eyes. He took a clean piece of animal hide and carefully wiped away the remaining blood and pus from the leg.

  Looking at that smooth, straight, and nearly flawless long leg, Draven showed no inappropriate thoughts. Instead, a solid sense of accomplishment welled up inside him.

  "Good job, Liliana," he said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his eyes.

  Liliana smiled like a flower, her eyes sparkling: "I knew I could do it!"

  But Draven didn't give her much time to rest. He stood up and looked at Martha's right leg. "Take a break. We'll start on the right leg soon."

  Liliana exhaled and sat down, sipping some fruit pulp she had brought along. Then she stood up and moved to the right leg.

  Compared to the left, the right leg was more severely injured. Especially near the knee—crushed bones, torn muscles, and dislocated joints—the most difficult areas to repair.

  Draven furrowed his brows and leaned closer for a careful inspection. Bone fragments had pierced through the fascia, almost stabbing into blood vessels. Had they arrived any later, the whole leg might have been lost.

  He carefully sliced open the wound with his blood blade, guiding the dead tissue and pooled blood in the muscles outwards, while reminding Liliana to monitor her magic output frequency.

  The two worked with increasing coordination. Draven controlled the bloodline power precisely to regulate blood flow and separate tissues, while Liliana quickly repaired the severed muscles and bones.

  Time passed little by little. Sweat slid down Liliana's forehead. She bit her lip but didn't stop.

  When the last dislocated knee joint was pushed back into place and the bones aligned, Draven finally exhaled deeply.

  He reached out, gently held Martha's right foot, performed several flexion tests, then propped up the knee to check reflexes repeatedly, confirming no abnormalities.