Starting out as a Dragon Slave
Chapter 166: Shadows and Flames

Chapter 166: Chapter 166: Shadows and Flames

In a secluded room of the damp and cold underground tunnels, Mordred sat on a metal crate improvised as a seat. Beside him, a rickety table covered with half-burned maps and documents stained with blood and moisture served as support for his gloved hands.

Across from him, leaning against the wall, Livia observed Mordred with an almost feline calm. Since her successful transformation into a half-dragon, she exuded an aura of newfound confidence, amplified by the small black horn emerging from her forehead and the obsidian scales subtly scattered across her now moon-pale skin.

Mordred broke the silence with a composed but grave voice, weighing each of his words.

- "Dragons are not a simple army. Their hierarchy is strict, based on the power of mana they master. At the very top, there’s Maelor, the current king. His power is terrifying, crushing even for his peers. His mere presence can annihilate hundreds of human hunters in an instant."

Livia frowned, attentive.

- "And below him, there’s Eldorath, the former king. Despite his age, he remains a considerable power, respected by all. Then come the noble families, like the Ignivara. Their power is immense, their army formidable. We don’t have the means for a direct confrontation."

Livia slowly nodded, her green eyes gleaming with a determined light.

- "So, a frontal assault would be suicidal. What do we do then?"

Mordred leaned on the table, thinking intensely. He continued in a low voice, almost introspective:

"Their society is structured around honor, brute force, and absolute domination. They’re accustomed to crushing their enemies in a single movement, without notable resistance. This arrogance is a weakness we could exploit."

- "How?" asked Livia, approaching curiously.

Mordred fixed his gaze on her, his incandescent eyes gradually intensifying.

- "They’ve never been confronted with persistent and methodical resistance. They don’t understand the subtlety of quick and repeated strikes. Their pride pushes them to believe they can only be defeated by equal or superior power. They would never imagine that a small mobile force could seriously wound them."

Livia smiled slowly, a cunning, almost savage smile.

- "Then we need guerrilla warfare," she whispered in a voice tinged with dark excitement. "Stealth attacks. Strike and disappear immediately, start again elsewhere, constantly. Inflict targeted strategic damage: destroy their reserves, sabotage their dimensional portals, eliminate their minor officers. Force them to chase ghosts, to exhaust themselves mentally and morally."

She moved closer, planting her piercing green eyes into Mordred’s orange ones.

- "They’ll have no hold on us, because we’ll never stay in the same place. You, with your unique abilities, your intangibility, your mastery of mana, you can enter and exit without ever being captured. And me, now faster, more agile, capable of barely perceptible stealth attacks... They won’t be able to stop us."

Silence returned to the room, Mordred observing Livia intensely. He leaned back against the improvised backrest of his seat, thoughtful. The more he analyzed her idea, the more he understood its strength.

- "A war of attrition," he finally murmured, almost to himself. "They don’t expect this kind of strategy. They expect to face massive armies or isolated heroes in a decisive battle, but not incessant guerrilla warfare, led by two quasi-elusive individuals."

He felt the idea growing within him, slowly taking shape, each piece of the puzzle fitting perfectly.

- "We’ll attack the slave camps, the weapon depots, the supply centers. Each target will be chosen carefully, to maximize psychological and logistical impact. They’ll end up fearing every shadow, every sound in the night."

Livia straightened, visibly satisfied.

- "Exactly. They’ll waste time trying to trap us, guessing our next moves. This constant fear, this uncertainty will gradually eat away at them. Their soldiers will become nervous, paranoid. And when they finally make a mistake..."

- "We’ll be there to strike hard," Mordred finished with cold determination. "Once their morale is weakened, we can deliver a decisive blow to their chain of command. Create a crack in their supposed invulnerability."

He rose slowly, his blazing eyes illuminated by absolute determination.

- "Your plan is brilliant, Livia. It corresponds exactly to our strengths. We’ll use your speed, your agility, your stealth, and my abilities to cross enemy lines at will. We’ll become their nightmare."

She smiled broadly, a savage but strangely proud, almost possessive smile.

- "I’m ready, Mordred. Just tell me where to start."

- "However, we have a problem," he murmured, his cold voice resonating slightly in the silence of the underground tunnels.

Livia, who had finished putting on a dark jacket adapted to her new stealth movement capabilities, looked up at him, intrigued.

- "What kind of problem?"

- "We don’t know the exact location of the draconic strategic points. We know old Paris, but nothing of their new disposition. Their depots, their headquarters, their supply routes... Everything is unknown."

Livia frowned, thinking quickly.

- "We need to map the city. Quickly, discreetly. Identify their sensitive points, their habits, their hierarchy. Without that, we’ll strike blindly, we’d waste our advantage."

Mordred slowly nodded. He appreciated her lucidity, her tactical intelligence that perfectly complemented his own abilities.

- "Then we’ll start there," he decided, putting away the useless papers. "A complete reconnaissance. We’ll each take a sector, and we’ll meet tomorrow, at dawn, near the sewer entrance leading to the underground prison."

Livia agreed without hesitation, tightening the reinforced leather straps around her wrists with newfound determination.

- "I’ll take the west. I’ll move fast, discreetly. I won’t leave any trace. No one will know I passed through."

Mordred approved with a nod.

- "Perfect. I’ll cover the north and east, infiltrating directly if necessary. My unique skills should allow me to obtain valuable information without being spotted. Stay careful. The dragons haven’t just invaded this city: they’ve remodeled it in their image. Everything we knew is no longer reliable."

Livia gave him an enigmatic smile, filled with confidence and an almost savage devotion.

- "They won’t even see me coming. Until tomorrow, Mordred."

Without another word, she darted out of the room, her movements of a fluidity and speed that would have seemed supernatural to any other observer.

Left alone, Mordred checked his equipment one last time, tightening the black leather straps on his chest. He put on a light cape, black as ink, capable of concealing his silhouette even in moonlight.

The cold night wind whistled softly between the ruined buildings, lifting clouds of gray dust that danced like specters in the pale light of a veiled moon. Mordred slowly emerged from the depths of the underground network through a sewer entrance hidden under a pile of rubble.

Barely in the open air, he immediately felt the invisible but omnipresent pressure weighing on the city. Paris was no longer what it had been: it was now the heart of a conquest, the impregnable stronghold of a foreign force.

Mordred slowly pulled up his hood, partially concealing his hardened features under the shadow of the dark fabric. Slowly, silently, he advanced through the empty streets where only the muffled echoes of draconic patrol footsteps resonated in the distance.

He went around a collapsed marble column, remnant of a Haussmannian building toppled by the dragons’ initial assault. Behind the ruins, he pressed against a half-charred stone wall. His incandescent gaze scrutinized every detail of this transformed city.

The historic buildings were now nothing but shells blackened by flames, now crowned by strange metallic structures with sharp points. The streets once full of life and light were dark, silent and disturbing, watched by reptilian sentries at every strategic intersection.

Dark red banners bearing draconic emblems hung from broken facades, floating slightly in the night breeze. Everywhere, the same persistent smell lingered: a mixture of sulfur, burned mana, and human ash.

Mordred progressed slowly, his senses alert. He stopped abruptly at the approach of a patrol. Through the shadow, he clearly discerned three draconic silhouettes in humanoid form, their dark scale armor faintly sparkling in the darkness. They held on leashes strange creatures with glowing eyes, half-draconic, half-chimeric, capable of scenting the energetic signatures of still-free humans.

Mordred held his breath, perfectly controlling his mana to leave no trace. He remained motionless, coldly observing the reptilian silhouettes pass a few meters from him, their hoarse and guttural voices murmuring orders in an ancient draconic language. Finally, they moved away without noticing him, continuing their monotonous round.

When they were out of range, Mordred resumed his path, slipping through narrow alleys to reach the main arteries newly created by the dragons. There, he suddenly found himself facing the immense central avenue that led directly to the former Senate Palace, now become the Draconic Command Palace.

He was struck by the vision: the wide avenue was now paved with perfectly aligned black stones, bordered by immense braziers of violet fire, which burned without smoke, illuminating the way with a supernatural glow. At regular intervals stood immense obsidian statues representing dragons in victorious poses, their deployed wings threatening the heavens.

In the distance, the Palace dominated the horizon like an impregnable fortress, crowned with immense towers and surrounded by a wall bristling with luminous mana crystals. At the top of each tower, winged sentries stood motionless, their piercing gazes watching the slightest movements.

Mordred looked away, mentally noting every detail. He followed the avenue at a safe distance, taking care to remain invisible to the sentries. As he advanced, he discovered immense barracks hastily built on the former boulevards, mana and weapon warehouses installed in requisitioned civilian buildings and barricaded by armored doors.

At each crossroads, draconic checkpoints filtered the rare human slaves authorized to circulate, treated like cattle, chained to each other. Mordred noted their itineraries, the patrol schedules, the routes favored by supply convoys.

Finally, he stopped before what was once the Place de la Concorde. The great fountain had been razed, replaced by an enormous circular monument topped with an incandescent crystal, slowly pulsing with reddish light, a clear symbol of draconic power. All around, dragon officers in black armor gave their orders to humanoid soldiers aligned in strict formation.

Mordred perfectly understood the logic behind this radical restructuring: this square had become the logistical crossroads, the heart of draconic operations. His mind coldly recorded every detail: number of guards, supply points, apparent magical defenses.

The night was nearly over. The shadows were losing their thickness, and Mordred judged that he knew enough for this time. Silently, like a specter, he retraced his steps through the ruins, heading toward the rendezvous point agreed upon with Livia.

When he reached the discreet sewer entrance they had designated, dawn was beginning to break. The sky slowly brightened, passing from dense black to bluish gray, tinged with blood red on the horizon.

Livia was already there, motionless and silent like a shadow, concealed by her dark cape. Upon seeing him, she nodded, her eyes gleaming with contained excitement.

- "So?" she asked in a low voice.

Mordred responded slowly, his tone calm but determined:

- "They’ve completely remodeled the city. The strategic points are defended, but they’re also extremely predictable in their arrogance. I’ve identified their main depots, their logistical crossroads, their priority routes and the slave camps are extremely numerous, my God, they’re truly living hell..."

An expression of disgust slowly appeared on Livia’s face.

- "Then, we have everything we need. The slave camps will be our targets for later."

Mordred observed one last time the dark and threatening silhouette of the Command Palace on the horizon.

- "Where are you, my sister?"