NARRATOR

She could almost hear the sigh of relief Dracomir let out.

“I prepared a contract… you’ll sign it with your blood.”

The Lord hadn’t wasted any time.

Rousse didn’t say a word. He just took the parchment and examined it.

His name wasn’t Zarek, and Victoria didn’t belong to any realm in this world.

“All right, seems fair. I just want to add that I hand her over willingly and hope to trade with your fortress in the future.”

He pretended to gain more from the deal, like any noble would.

He bit the tip of his finger and stamped his bloody print next to the fake name.

“I’ll make sure you’re welcomed, but I don’t want you anywhere near my slave.”

Dracomir emphasized the my with a threatening hiss.

Those wolfish pupils shot Rousse one last warning glance before leaving the tavern.

The Lord wasn’t an idiot.

He’d already ordered an investigation to confirm whether that noble surname truly existed in the other werewolf realm.

The problem was the distance—it would take time.

There was som