Draven and Brenna walked in silence to Annie's office. When they arrived, Annie quickly stood up, her face lighting up with relief.
"Hello, Miss Annie," Draven greeted with a curt smile.
She walked briskly up to him, exclaiming, "Thank goodness you're alive! I stepped out for a moment, and when I came back, you were gone. I thought you might've gone off to do something drastic like committing suicide due to the pressure."
Draven realized, with a start, that suicidal thoughts had never crossed his mind during his ordeal. Maybe it was the curse that made him fear death, or perhaps his mental resilience—the same toughness that had driven him to brave the Blue Plane in the first place.
Annie gave him a quick hug before stepping back. Draven stood stiffly, unsure how to react, while Brenna walked over to a chair and sat down.
"Any problems, Miss Annie?" Draven asked, cutting straight to the point.
"Straight to the point, huh?" Annie chuckled.
Shrugging, Draven replied, "Well, I'm starving and exhausted after escaping mad spiders and a terrifying vine. I need a break."
"Tank Crawlers?" Brenna interjected suddenly.
"You know them?" Draven asked, then immediately regretted the question. Of course she did—she was the one who had briefed him on the Green House Plane.
"You got lucky you didn't go around them. I'm guessing you spawned in the Earth Crab region or the forest," Brenna said, her tone as flat as ever.
Draven raised an eyebrow at her accuracy.
Brenna stared at him intently. "Agree to my sister's deal, and I'll give you information that could save your life. It's the same deal as the favor you owe me."
Draven turned to Annie, confused.
Annie sighed. "Oh, Brenna… we could've just asked him to come in for regular checkups and still gotten the blood we need," she said, her tone gently admonishing but still smiling.
Brenna replied, "He's reckless. I don't know when he might die, and you need his blood for the research. So, we take buckets of it now."
Draven choked.
"I told you to learn how to speak," Annie said, shaking her head. "Talking about death in front of the person isn't nice. And buckets of blood? Really? Besides, the virus needs to stay in the original host to survive—it's mutated to fit his body."
Draven's head swiveled between the two sisters as he listened to their conversation.
Annie's tone turned professional. "Draven, you'll need to come here once a week for tests."
Draven's eyes widened, and he nodded dramatically, a forced and knowing smile plastered on his face.
"We need your blood for research on a cure," Annie added, her gaze serious.
Draven looked between the sisters, sensing the gravity in their expressions.
"Well, as long as it doesn't hurt me, I can agree. But… I'll need a hundred thousand credit units per donation," Draven said calmly, masking his unease.
Annie turned to Brenna. "See? This is why you don't reveal how much you need something during negotiations."
Then she looked back at Draven. "That's a whale appetite for blood donation, but I'll agree. Just a word of advice—rein in your appetite for immediate gains, or you might lose out on bigger opportunities in the future."
With that settled, they fed him a nourishing meal before collecting a bag of his blood. Brenna then drove him home.
"So, what about that vine thing?" Draven asked, not forgetting the earlier topic.
Brenna glanced at him impassively before focusing back on the road. "The reason going around the Tank Crawlers is a death sentence is because to the left is one of the strongest Third Order creatures in the Plane—the Vineguard. You encountered it before it fully awakened. To the right is the territory of one of the trickiest packs of Third Order monsters—the Ghost Mantis. The Tank Crawlers are sandwiched between two horrors. So, don't even think about hunting them for easy monster crystals just because they're plentiful."
Draven shook his head. The thought hadn't crossed his mind after the terrifying encounter with the Vineguard. But he realized how lucky he'd been—if the Vineguard hadn't been chasing them, he might've avoided the Tank Crawlers altogether, only to run into something worse.
"You recklessly charged in without waiting to hear me out," Brenna chastised, her tone calm but firm. "Luckily, you survived to bring us your blood. But you need to research the dangers of the Plane because I won't spoon-feed you everything."
Draven nodded, brushing off her words.
Soon, they reached his house, and he stepped out of the car, heading into his dilapidated home to rest.
Brenna drove off without another word, leaving Draven to wonder why she hadn't commented on his living conditions. Most people that saw it did, even though the were few.
The moment his head hit the bed, he was out cold, sleeping through the night until the next morning. He woke up just before dawn, the sky still dark.
Draven strolled outside shirtless, looking for a quiet spot to sit and think. His neighborhood was downtrodden, populated mostly by thugs and those who couldn't afford better. The rent was cheap—almost nonexistent.
As he walked through the sparsely populated streets, he passed a few familiar faces. Some were smoking, others drinking, and a few carried baseball bats. Draven knew only a handful of them, as he'd always been too busy to socialize.
"Morning, Draven," a man in a faded sleeveless shirt greeted him. He had a well-built frame but a rough appearance.
"Morning," Draven replied.
"Thought you'd died after not seeing you for so long," the man said.
Draven laughed. "Me? Die? I told you, I'm not dying before you. So, where are you off to this early, lazy ass?"
"I'm not lazy," the man snapped, puffing out his chest. "I'm going to see my daughter."
Draven stared at him in shock before blurting out, "Old Joe, a lady actually let you impregnate her? Don't tell me she's blind."
"What?" Joe glared at him, offended.
Draven quickly backtracked. "Sorry, and… congratulations, I guess."
Joe's face turned red in anger. "Are you mocking me? What do you mean, 'I guess'?! Brat, I've got a job now, and I'm leaving this place next week. My kid's going to have a better life—not end up like you, roaming these streets."
"It was a slip-up. Why take it so personally? And why use me as the prime example of a bad role model?" Draven muttered before walking away, quickly forgetting the conversation. He had more important things to think about.
Finding a tall pavement to sit on, Draven began to reflect:
'So, how do I match up with those who've had increases in Physique and Constitution? That Soul Mystic said the imperfections would be corrected when I advance to the Primal rank. But… I need to stay alive long enough for that. To ascend within a month, I'll need to hunt relentlessly—meaning more risks and recklessness. With my condition, there are too many ways this could go wrong.'