As evening approached, Thalia's face was lit up with an excited smile.

  She had just returned to the village with Titus, herding the freshly caught prey one by one into the temporary enclosure.

  Luck had truly been on their side today. In a mountain hollow to the northwest, they had stumbled upon a massive herd of wild goats—more than she had ever seen before.

  Without hesitation, she organized the hunting team to block the exits of the valley, then led the charge herself. Not a single goat escaped. All of them were captured alive and brought back! It was by far her most glorious day since joining the hunting party.

  Just as the team was nearing the village entrance, the sound of hurried footsteps rang out. Thorin came running toward them, covered in dust, his face full of anxiety.

  The moment he saw Thalia, he rushed over."Thalia, come with me to see the chieftain—your mother is missing!"

  Thalia froze for a moment, then her expression changed drastically. She immediately dropped the rope in her hands and hurried after Thorin without even pausing to ask what had happened.

  The two of them rushed into the village and found Draven. Thorin dropped to his knees with a thud, his forehead pressed into the dirt, his entire being filled with shame and panic.

  If not for the submissive mark in his body binding him, he would have fled long ago.

  This was his second time exploring the pit at the Ruins of the Divine War—and once again, he had failed. The face of the Black Tiger Tribe had been utterly disgraced.

  "I clearly heard Elira calling for help!" Thorin said in a low, remorseful voice."But when I turned back, she was gone—completely gone, without a trace!"

  In desperation, he had unleashed the Tiger's Roar—the most powerful sonic shockwave attack of the Black Tiger Tribe, capable of leveling an entire forest.

  As the wave swept across the landscape, massive trees were sliced in half like blades through soft wood.

  He leapt to the highest rock and scanned the surroundings. But apart from the wide clearing his roar had created, there was still no sign of Elira.

  That was the moment Thorin truly began to panic.

  Elira was a high-ranking combatant under the chieftain, no weaker than he was in either skill or experience. There was no way she could have been taken so easily—

  unless the attacker possessed lord-level combat strength.

  The thought sent a chill down his spine and filled his heart with a heavy dread.

  Worse still, they had entered the ruins together, but only he had returned. No matter how he explained it, it would never be enough.

  He couldn't flee—he had to keep searching.

  After calming himself down and analyzing the situation, the only reasonable explanation he could come up with was that Elira had been taken underground.

  But just as he began to search the ground for clues, the earth beneath his feet suddenly surged violently, like a bubbling pot of thick stew. The soil roiled and heaved in waves.

  Thorin couldn't fly. All he could do was anchor himself firmly to avoid being thrown off balance.

  He immediately unleashed his sensory abilities and scanned the surroundings with his eyes, trying to locate the enemy.

  But there was nothing—no visible targets, no tangible threat—only faint traces of magic energy pulsing within the earth.

  With no other options, he resorted to indiscriminate attacks.

  He slashed his foreclaws fiercely, sending out waves of razor-sharp energy that tore into the ground like blades.

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  The earth split open, deep claw marks crisscrossing beneath his feet.

  But it had no effect. The ground continued to churn violently, completely unfazed by his attacks.

  Worse still, the soil around him began to gather and writhe unnaturally, as if something was about to take form from within it.

  The mud that had splashed everywhere during the first expedition appeared once more before his eyes.

  But this time, there was far more of it—driven, it seemed, by a much more powerful force, surging toward him with a crushing sense of pressure. It felt as if the entire muddy earth had awakened, furious and determined to consume the intruder completely.

  Thorin had nowhere to dodge. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself and charged headlong into the onslaught.

  He swung his fists to defend himself, grappling with the lifeless yet forceful sludge. It felt like he was locked in an absurd struggle with the earth itself.

  He knew full well the futility of this fight. Though it wasn't as dangerous as a real battle, the relentless pressure sapped his strength and bloodline power bit by bit, dragging him into an endless war of attrition.

  If this went on, he would eventually collapse—too exhausted even to flee.

  With this realization, Thorin chose to fight while retreating. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to move through the sludge step by step. The muck under his feet seemed deliberately designed to slow him down—every step felt like he was sinking deeper into a swamp.

  He was now drenched in filth from head to toe, but he didn't falter.

  At last, he struggled his way back to the edge of that eerie pit.

  Just like last time, the moment he crossed the boundary, the mud's attacks ceased abruptly.

  The seemingly sentient sludge slowly receded, melting back into the darkness of the pit as if nothing had happened at all.

  Once free, Thorin didn't waste a second.

  He broke into a full sprint, his body covered in mud, not even stopping to catch his breath as he rushed all the way back to Village No. 2.

  Elira's fate still hung over him like a cloud. Even if it meant facing punishment from the chieftain, Thorin had to report everything he had seen and felt.

  At the village gate, he happened to run into Thalia, who was returning from the hunt.

  Their eyes met—Thorin's were filled with urgency. Thalia didn't ask questions. She immediately led him straight to the chieftain's residence.

  Draven sat in his chair, listening to Thorin's anxious report. He didn't show visible surprise, but his brows furrowed deeper and deeper.

  Two high-ranking warriors, both at chieftain level strength, and one of them had vanished without even encountering the enemy?

  His first reaction was: there might be a lord-tier entity hidden in that pit.

  But he quickly dismissed that idea. If that were the case, Thorin would never have made it back alive.

  And from what Thorin described, while the mud was terrifying, it hadn't engaged in direct combat. Rather, it had created a trap—an attritional snare meant to wear down intruders over time.

  Such an insidious method was indeed hard to guard against.

  While Draven fell into deep thought, Thalia could no longer contain herself. Her mother had gone missing—how could she stay calm?

  "Chieftain, please… save my mother!" she cried, falling to her knees. Her voice trembled with fear and desperation.

  Draven looked at her tear-rimmed eyes and softened. Gently, he helped her up.

  "I understand how you feel. Don't worry. We're heading out now."

  He gave her shoulder a reassuring pat—his tone quiet but firm.

  That single sentence unlocked the floodgates of Thalia's emotions. Her tears streamed uncontrollably. She knew then: Draven would act.

  The werewolf chieftain turned around, and with a thought, several powerful magical beasts responded to his call.

  The Eyebrow-Patterned King Serpent, the Nightmare Horse, and the Ghost-Faced Owl all gathered at the village gate.

  This time, Draven would go personally.

  His preparations were cautious and deliberate.

  Along with Thorin, the King Serpent, and Ragnar, this lineup represented the strongest force the village could offer.

  If even this couldn't resolve the situation, then the missing Elira was likely beyond saving.

  Thalia also asked to join them. She gripped Draven's hand tightly, her gaze unwavering.

  "I can sense her. I know the direction my mother is in."

  Draven didn't refuse. He nodded and pulled Thalia onto the back of the Nightmare Horse.

  As for Thorin, he had to squeeze in at the rear.

  Shoved near the horse's tail, Thorin looked utterly wronged—but now wasn't the time to worry about dignity. He had failed his task, and he had no excuse.

  And so, the Nightmare Horse carried three riders and one beast into the night sky, leaping upward into the twilight, heading straight for the mysterious pit.

  They traveled swiftly, and before long, they reached their destination.

  Draven did not descend recklessly.

  He had the Nightmare Horse circle above the pit slowly, using the dim light to examine the terrain.

  As they flew, the landscape gradually came into view. The edge of the pit was unnaturally neat, like a massive circular trench carved by some tremendous force—its diameter nearly ten kilometers.

  The structure was all too familiar.

  Draven thought of the canyon where Village No. 1 was located… and of the fissure where the Serpent Ancestor secluded itself. All of those places had a similar aura.

  He frowned, his expression darkening. There was no doubt—this was another Ruin of the Divine War.

  Strange phenomena were not surprising in such places. But things had already gone this far—there was no turning back now.

  "Whatever lies below," Draven muttered to himself, his eyes cold and resolute,"I must see it with my own eyes."

  And with that, his figure dropped from the sky, plunging into the darkness of the pit.