He reopened his eyes, and his gaze had become hard as tempered steel. War did not forgive weakness. It did not reward pity. It demanded sacrifices, and he was ready to make them. Those who survived the transformation would become his true soldiers, warriors capable of standing up to dragons. Those who perished... well, they would at least have had a chance to die for something greater than themselves.
- "There is no mercy in war," he repeated to himself, his voice becoming icy and implacable again. "Only the strong survive. And I need the strong."
Rising abruptly from his metal crate, Mordred felt all eyes turn toward him. Training gradually ceased, the hunters instinctively sensing that something important was brewing. There was something in his attitude, in the tension of his shoulders, in the particular gleam of his eyes, that commanded attention.
- "Assembly," he ordered in a voice that carried throughout the room.
They rushed over immediately, abandoning their exercises to form a semicircle before him. Mordred observed them for a moment, noting their faces marked by effort, their bodies glistening with sweat, their questioning gazes. These men and women trusted him. They were ready to die for him. Was he about to betray that trust?
In the front row, Livia stood slightly ahead of the others. This woman had intrigued him since their first meeting. Unlike the others, she didn’t seem to carry the weight of captivity in the same way. Oh, she had her own demons he could see them dancing in her green eyes - but there was in her a thirst, an ambition that went beyond mere survival. She watched him with troubling intensity, as if seeking to pierce all his secrets.
- "Your progress is insufficient," he declared without preamble, his voice resonating in the sudden silence. "Despite your efforts, despite your determination, you remain fundamentally limited by your humanity. At this rate, you will never be strong enough to face what awaits us."
An anxious murmur ran through the group. Marcus frowned, his fists clenching instinctively. Elena brought her hand to the hilt of her dagger, a reflex acquired during her captivity. Gareth ground his teeth, producing that characteristic sound that testified to jaws broken then mended.
- "I can offer you more," Mordred continued, his voice becoming deeper, more hypnotic. "I can give you the power necessary to rival our enemies. But the price will be high. Very high."
He paused, letting his words take effect. He could see curiosity struggling against mistrust on their faces, hope mingling with fear.
- "My blood carries within it the draconic essence," he finally revealed. "That transformation I underwent in the other world, that painful fusion between humanity and draconicity. My blood can transmit part of that power to you. It can make you half-dragons, beings superior to what you were before."
The silence that followed was so dense you could have cut it with a knife. All stared at him, eyes wide, trying to understand the implications of what he had just revealed.
- "But," he resumed, his voice hardening, "this transformation is brutal. Terrifying. The pain will be beyond anything you could have endured, even in the draconic dungeons. Many of you will not survive it. Your bodies might not withstand the shock, literally explode under the pressure of draconic magic."
Marcus was the first to speak, his hoarse voice betraying years of screaming and suffering.
- "How many... how many have a chance of surviving?"
Mordred looked him straight in the eyes, respecting these warriors enough to tell them the brutal truth.
- "I don’t know. Perhaps half. Perhaps less. In the other world, I had all the draconic medical equipment to keep me alive during the transformation. Here, you will have only your will."
A shiver ran through the group. Some exchanged worried glances, others clenched their fists with determination. Vera, a gray-haired woman who had spent two years in the dungeons, spat on the ground.
- "At least we’ll have a chance to die fighting rather than rotting in a cell," she growled.
- "Exactly," Marcus agreed. "Those dragon bastards have already taken everything from us. Our freedom, our dignity, our families. What more do we have to lose?"
Elena, more pragmatic, asked the question everyone was thinking:
- "And those who survive? What will their exact power be?"
Mordred smiled, a cold but sincere smile.
- "Tenfold strength. Superhuman agility. Increased resistance to injuries and magic. Limited regenerative abilities. And above all, the possibility of using rudimentary draconic magic. You will be able to stand up to a minor dragon. Perhaps even wound an adult if you coordinate your attacks."
Livia’s eyes lit up with a particular gleam at these words. She took a step forward, and Mordred could see in her gaze that same thirst he had felt himself before his transformation.
- "I," she said in a firm voice, "volunteer."
But instead of throwing herself at him with blind fervor as he expected, she stopped a few steps away and looked at him with troubling intensity.
- "You know," she continued, her voice taking on an almost conversational tone, "I’ve thought a lot during our training. About you, about what you represent, about this... fascination I feel for you."
Mordred raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself by this unexpected frankness.
- "At first, I thought it was admiration. Or perhaps a form of love born from gratitude. After all, you saved us from a fate worse than death." She had a strange smile, almost savage.
She took another step, her green eyes never leaving Mordred’s.
- "This obsession I’m developing for you, it’s born from a thirst for freedom. I sense in you an anger so violent that it echoes my own, our thirst, our ambition coordinates."
- "So yes," she resumed, her voice charging with fierce determination, "I want your blood. Not from blind love, but from pure ambition. From thirst for power and transcendence. I want to become like you. I want to be more than human."
She stopped just before him, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body, see the golden flecks in her green irises.
- "And if I must die in the process," she concluded in a whisper, "at least I will have tried to reach something grandiose rather than being content to survive like a wounded animal."