Chapter 1

In front of him was a lineup of stunning women, each one more stunning than the last. Yet, the man remained indifferent as he held his cane and stated calmly, "I must say, they're all very stunning. Is there one with a more supple waist, though?"

Shawn Quinlan was in the process of recruiting for his endeavor.

Quinlan Club had been in soft launch for two months, its business neither flourishing nor floundering. In fact, the club wasn't designed to bring in money from regular customers. It was a networking hub for Shawn—a means to forge connections, amass resources, and carve new financial paths.

In the end, he only needed to provide the location and the beastmen, allowing the tycoons to engage in their affairs in private. In addition, he had always maintained a policy of non-interference regarding their activities within the premises.

Through these methods, Shawn was able to navigate the social and business worlds with ease. Having just turned 30 years old, he had already solidified his position among the tycoons. Shawn was currently seeking to ingratiate himself with a particular tycoon, Aaron Gray.

It was said that if this deal went through, Shawn would be raking in billions of dollars. Aaron, for his part, had no particular preferences—except for those with a pliant waist.

It was then that Tatiana Linton, the top beauty in the room, confidently flaunted her ample bosom and said, "I can recommend someone to you. I mean, she might not boast my own impressive curves, but she most certainly possesses an exceptionally supple waist and a talent for exquisite dance."

It was me whom Tatiana was referring to. In terms of waist suppleness, I was indeed unparalleled, with none daring to challenge my claim. It was all because I was a beastman, and my true form was that of a snake. In the beastmen world, I held a place of nobility—though a modest one.

In the sunlight, my snake form shimmered with golden patterns, like threads of light woven into my scales.

In the past, Dad had told me that these were the most stunning patterns he had encountered within our entire tribe, saying that it was akin to the shimmering and clarity of the moonlight, which led him to name me Clara.

In the realm of the tycoons, beastmen were never seen as equals to humans. In fact, their status often ranked even lower than that of pure beasts, where the pure beasts were straightforward, untainted by ambition, and wholly reliant on their owners.

It was different for beastmen, though, as they had their own thoughts and own desires.

In the words of the tycoons, beastmen were seen as lower than animals, their minds being perceived as both impure and feral. Therefore, the act of dominating and subjugating beastmen provided them with an enhanced sense of gratification.

In the end, those cruel, backbreaking, and illegal tasks were all left to the beastmen. In these times, laborers would often complain about their jobs, saying how they were being worked to the bone.

If that were true, then we beastmen got it even worse—we were just half-humans, barely worth a damn in their eyes.

In the world of the rich and powerful, beastmen were inherently considered second-class beings. They were essentially mere playthings, whereby the parameters of their existence were dictated by the tycoons themselves.

In an effort to win Aaron's favor, Shawn had sent multiple beastwomen his way. Yet, one after another, they were all rejected and returned to him.

Upon seeing that the deal was about to fall through, Shawn became restless. There were dozens of tall, gorgeous beastwomen standing before him, each receiving a sharp tap on the waist from his slender cane as he asked, "How the hell am I supposed to turn a profit with such inflexible waists?"

I walked into the room right then, wearing a top that showed my waist as I said, "Hello, Mr. Quinlan. I'm new here—my first day on the job."

I swayed my hips in a deliberate, fluid motion as I approached him, causing the chain encircling my waist to shimmer and give off a captivating blend of allure and forbidden charm.

Shawn turned to me, his eyes sweeping over me before settling on my waist. "You've got a fine-looking waist there."

I pretended to be startled, my gaze shifting evasively before I lowered my head, acting as if I wanted to say something but held back.

It was then that Shawn said, "Your demeanor is just right as well. You can come with me, then."

Thus, I was selected and handed over to Aaron. Before I left, Shawn handed me a card loaded with one million dollars and told me to treat myself to some designer bags and fine jewelry that I liked.

I pointed to the pale gradient crocodile leather handbag and asked Shawn whether I could buy it.

It was then that Shawn playfully pinched my waist and replied, "I'll get you anything you want, darling—just say the word."

I felt utterly revolted. Shawn, despite his somewhat attractive appearance, was essentially a businessman through and through—with lies and flattery being second nature to him. If there was one truth in this world, it was this—never ever trust the words of a businessman.

Shawn then treated me to an extravagant meal, and for a moment, it almost felt like a farewell banquet—as if it were a "last supper" before going off to a battle with no hope of return.

He then stated, "I hope you won't forget your secret mission now that you've had your fill of food and drink."

It was obvious that a skilled hunter would always assume the guise of the prey. It was precisely what I was doing at the moment, as I trembled before Aaron.

"And how old might you be?" Aaron asked, taking a puff from his cigar.

I merely met his gaze in silence, tilting my head just enough to let the water drip from my hair onto my exposed shoulder—exactly as I intended.

In the world of seduction, there were three kinds of archetypes—the feline's allure, the tiger's dominance, and the vulnerable, rain-soaked puppy.

I strategically chose a day with heavy rain and crouched in the corner where Aaron always passed on his way home. I even deliberately excavated a small ditch by the roadside, anticipating the jolt of his McLaren and the inevitable flicker of his gaze in my direction.

And so, as expected, I was brought back to Aaron's residence. In the next few days, Aaron kept me within the confines of his room, his peculiar tastes revealing themselves as he tried all sorts of positions with me. I played along and indulged in his whims, carefully working to ease his suspicions.

"You're nothing more than a despicable hybrid, but you have been graced with a fine waist."

Shawn had just shown up to finalize the deal when Aaron ran his hand over my waist, making it clear he was pleased with me.

I forced down the wave of nausea rising within me and repeated the lines Shawn had taught me, saying, "It's a blessing to serve you, Mr. Gray."

Shawn, with his ever-present polished businessman demeanor, said, "You should take good care of Mr. Gray, Clara."

I instantly understood that this was a cue from Shawn. It was time to bring things to a close.

It was then, under the cover of the night, that I made use of the moment of intimacy to position myself on top of Aaron. I quickly transformed into my snake form and encircled Aaron's neck. I then tightened my hold on him, causing him to succumb to asphyxiation.

I had successfully completed my mission that evening.

It was executed with swift precision. I couldn't help but feel a wave of exhilaration washing over me, pulsing with a hatred too long contained. It was time for Aaron to atone for Dad's death.

It was an incident that happened eight years ago, where Dad, the swiftest and most fearsome king cobra, was reduced to nothing more than a lab specimen in the eyes of the tycoons.

It was clear that science had already drawn the lines of the food chain, but they weren't satisfied with it. They had to see it for themselves—through blood and suffering.

They rounded up beastmen from every classification, declaring that they were going to hold a tournament to determine the king of all beasts. Their method of selection was brutally primal—a fight to the death, relying solely on pure animal instincts.

It was clear that Dad was reluctant to participate in the tournament, as he had said that such a thing was similar to being forced to fight for the amusement of those tycoons.

They fought with every ounce of strength, leaving each other battered and bloodied. And in the end, their lives were worth nothing more than a hundred-dollar wager. They were completely stripped of any semblance of human dignity.

I recalled asking Dad back then, "Why should we concern ourselves with human dignity if we're not even human, Dad?"

Dad replied solemnly, "You ought to know that beastmen are human, too. We're not lesser than anyone. They might think they own us, but never forget, Clara—beastmen will never bow before them."

"Is there no way for us to escape from this oppression then, Dad?"

Dad fell silent in response.

I was there on the day of the tournament, seeing Dad transformed into his snake form and confined within a cage. I then noticed him arch his body and flick his tongue with a commanding hiss, radiating an undeniable presence.

I also recalled the tribe members asserting that Dad was the most formidable in the tournament, possessing the highest probability of victory. They claimed he could swallow enemies much larger than himself.

They had also stated that Dad's refusal to participate in the tournament would result in the tycoons' retaliation against the entire snake tribe. Thus, Dad was revered as the hero of the snake tribe.

Thankfully, the Grand Beast Tournament divided its fighters by species, so Dad only had to fight other snake beastmen. It was clear that within this specific group, the king cobra held the uncontested position of dominance.

Because of that, Dad managed to stand tall on the platform and dominate the tournament.

Those who had placed their bets on Dad grew increasingly enthusiastic, while those who had bet against him clamored for his removal from the platform. Their cheers grew louder with the five opponents falling one after another.

I could tell something was off with Dad. Though he was still in his fighting stance, the length of time he spent fighting each opponent was increasing, and his speed was decreasing. It was clear that his venom production was starting to falter.

Thankfully, everything proceeded without a hitch. I immediately breathed a sigh of relief when the referee announced that Dad was the champion of the snake division.

Dad was completely drained—his stamina and venom reserves were at their limit. He immediately collapsed on the ground after the announcement, struggling to even lift himself.

Yet, at this very moment, the tycoon seated in the highest tier rose to his feet. He didn't present Dad with a medal but instead announced that the venue of the tournament was to be cleared immediately.

It was then that the staff unleashed a dozen eagle beastmen into the venue, announcing that the one who captured Dad first would take home the entire betting pool. It was then that a string of numbers appeared on the massive screen in the venue.

I immediately froze on the spot, my vision turning hazy. I could only make out the surrounding audience's screams and cheers, exclaiming, "100 million dollars!"

It was then that the flock of eagle beastmen lunged at Dad.

It seemed like such a spectacle wasn't enough for the assembled tycoons, as one of them suddenly took the microphone and announced that not only the eagle beastmen on the field could participate, but all the beastmen present could join in in the action as well.

In an instant, Dad abruptly transformed into the most coveted bounty. I recalled the entire arena erupting in pandemonium, with tigers, lions, snakes, eagles, and other beastmen—irrespective of their position within the food chain—transforming into their true forms and rushing onto the field.

I then witnessed Dad's snake form being savaged—beaks piercing his flesh and jaws snapping his body into lifeless chunks. I also heard the frenzied roars of beastmen and the deafening cheers of the audience around me.

It was only then that the assembled tycoons applauded and roared with laughter from their seats, exclaiming, "It was getting so boring with all the successive victories! It's much more entertaining now!"

I got so overwhelmed that I immediately fell to the ground and blacked out.

Upon reaching adulthood, I dedicated myself to rigorous martial arts training, meticulously planning my retribution. I then designated Aaron as my first killing target.

It was quite unfortunate that my plan was cut short prematurely, as I was discovered by Aaron's lover and nearly lost my life after infiltrating his residence.

It turned out that the lover was none other than Tatiana, who suddenly pulled me aside back then and said, "You're not going to get anywhere if you're this reckless, sweetie. You'll need Shawn Quinlan's backing if you want to succeed."

It was then that I learned that Quinlan Club was, in fact, an underground organization for beastmen, dedicated to assassinating tycoons and facilitating beastmen emancipation.

I remained skeptical, though, as Shawn was infamous for being a beastmen trafficker. If I had to sum him up in three words, he was cunning, deceitful, and utterly ruthless.

Though he had always outwardly proclaimed to the beastmen that they should never be oppressed, he covertly served the tycoons daily, broadening his own commercial holdings. How could such a man lead us to elevate the standing of beastmen?

I had decided—it was time to probe his true intentions.