Starting out as a Dragon Slave-Chapter 50: Tales of yesteryear

Mordred, hitherto absorbed in his own thoughts, raised his head slightly, listening attentively.

The old man continued, his husky voice echoing softly between the stones:

- "We weren’t always chained under the yoke of the dragons. Long, long ago, there were men capable of competing with them, of fighting on equal terms against their tyranny."

A murmur ran through the group of slaves. Many found these words hard to believe, having known nothing but submission and humiliation all their lives.

- "The chronicles speak of human warriors who trod the battlefields with frightening power. They wielded swords capable of slicing through the hardest scales, spears capable of piercing the hearts of dragons, and some..." He paused, looking around cautiously, before continuing in a lower voice. "Some even mastered the very essence of dragons. Not as slaves, no... but as equals."

Mordred felt a shiver run down his spine.

- "Among them, there were legends."

All eyes were on him now. Even the most skeptical were listening.

- "They say a man, a legendary warrior, once stood up to the Dragon King himself. Not as a servant. Not as prey. But as a true adversary."

A heavy silence fell over the assembly.

- "The battle lasted three days and three nights. The sky was torn apart by flames and thunder. The man stood up to the Dragon King, and every blow he struck shook the earth. He had neither wings nor scales. Only his sword and his unshakable will."

One of the younger slaves hesitated before speaking, his voice tinged with a hope he dared not show:

- "And... what has become of him? That man?"

The old man lowered his eyes slightly.

- He fell. Like all the others."

Hope immediately fell back into silence. But the old man raised his head, staring intently at the assembly.

- "But before he fell, he proved one thing. That we’re not doomed to be inferior. That we’re not meant to be slaves."

He paused before adding, more gently:

- "As long as a man is capable of standing up, there’s a chance... a chance that we can break these chains."

The silence this time was deeper, heavier. But in certain glances, a spark was born.

Mordred remained silent, but his fist slowly tightened on his leg.

He could feel a dull rage rising inside him. Not just against dragons, but against what humanity had become.

Slaves. Shadows of a forgotten glorious past.

He slowly lowered his head, his decision even more etched in his mind.

- "One day..." he murmured to himself, his eyes burning with determination. "One day, these won’t be stories anymore. It will be a reality."

But the pause was rudely interrupted by a shrill cry.

- "BACK TO WORK!"

The dragon guards burst into the cavern, their whips slamming violently against the stone. The slaves slowly rose to their feet, the hope in their eyes immediately crushed by the reality of their condition.

The story of the old slave still echoed in everyone’s mind, floating in the stale air of the mine like a last breath of stolen dignity. A heavy silence had fallen after his words, everyone absorbed in thoughts they didn’t even dare formulate aloud.

But this silence was suddenly broken by the metallic clang of a pickaxe thrown to the ground.

- ENOUGH!

All the slaves suddenly turned their heads towards the source of the shout. A man, young, dark-haired, with tired features but eyes burning with a new flame, stood openly defying the dragon-guards.

His malnourished torso heaved rapidly under his short breath, yet he seemed taller, more imposing than ever.

He spread his arms, raising his head towards the rocky vault, as if shouting to the whole universe

- DO YOU LISTEN ONLY TO WHAT YOU SAY?! he roared, his voice breaking the weight of despair that weighed on this cursed cavern. WE WERE WARRIORS! FREE MEN! NOT DOGS!

A shudder ran through the assembly. No one had ever dared speak like that before.

The slaves stood transfixed, some fascinated by this forbidden spectacle, others frightened at the thought of the consequences.

Mordred, leaning against a wall, observed every detail of the scene. He knew what was going to happen

But the man continued, driven by a rage he could no longer contain.

- Look at yourselves!" he shouted, staring at each of the slaves. We’re being broken, beaten and humiliated! And we bow our heads! Like cattle! But I REFUSE!

He pointed an accusing finger at the dragon guards, who had immediately raised their weapons, looking surprised but already on the alert.

- ALL THESE MONSTERS THINK WE’RE DEAD INSIDE! I ASK YOU! ARE WE REALLY DEAD PEOPLE WAITING FOR THE END?

A murmur ran through the assembly. Some dared to look up, others clenched their fists.

- RISE UP, BROTHERS! RISE UP AND REMEMBER WHO WE ARE!

The energy emanating from him was almost palpable. A spark of revolt had been lit.

But this spark would not live long.

One of the dragon-guards, visibly bored by the spectacle, took a step forward. His whip whistled through the air before crashing hard against the man’s chest.

A cry of pain escaped him, but he didn’t fall.

- YOU CAN HIT ME! KILL ME! BUT YOU WON’T KILL WHAT WE ARE!

Another whip, even more violent, came down on him.

Then another.

Then another.

Then another.

Blood began to stain the stone beneath his feet. His breath became ragged, broken by the pain.

But he remained standing.

It was then that the guards decided they’d had enough.

- Take him.

Two dragons grabbed him roughly, their claws digging into his lean flesh, lifting him like a common animal.

He tried to struggle, but he was just an exhausted man against beings superior in strength and size.

Mordred, from his position, didn’t move. He knew that intervening now would only expose him.

But he gritted his teeth.

Just this... just this...

He wished he could have broken those damned dragons on the spot.

Still, the man screamed one last time as he was led away to an unknown destination.

- DON’T LET YOURSELF FORGET WHO YOU ARE!

His cries gradually faded away, disappearing into the darkness of the tunnels.

A crushing silence fell over the assembly. Everyone stared at the floor.

The old slave, the one who had told the story, lowered his head sadly.

The others slowly went back to their work, quieter than ever.

But this scene... nobody would forget it.

Mordred least of all.

He wasn’t the only one with this rage.

He wasn’t the only one dreaming of revenge.

After endless hours of work in the sweltering heat of the mines, the end-of-day bell finally rang. A hoarse, metallic sound that echoed through the cavern like a death knell, announcing the end of a temporary torture.

The slaves stopped almost immediately, some collapsing on the spot, too exhausted to stand. But the brutality of the guards left no respite. As soon as a slave showed any sign of weakness, he was brutally lifted up with a boot or a whip.

Mordred stood motionless, staring straight ahead, his breath short but controlled. His body was screaming in pain, but he showed nothing.

It was a simple rule in this hellhole: never appear weak.

A heavy silence fell over the mine as a group of massive dragon guards advanced. Their mere presence was enough to create oppressive tension.

One of them, a colossus with black scaly skin and piercing golden eyes, stopped in the center of the group of slaves, scanning the human mass with a look of contempt.

He slowly opened his jaws lined with sharp fangs and his voice rose, deep, authoritative, vibrating with restrained violence.

- Quota check.

With a slow, intimidating gesture, he beckoned to the other guards, who immediately stepped forward, taking each basket of moonstones the slaves had harvested.

The bags were opened without delicacy, the contents inspected under the dim light of the crystals hanging on the walls.

Another dragon guard, with scaly bluish skin, slowly made his way through the ranks, his piercing gaze searching for the slightest anomaly, the slightest slave who might have tried to cheat.

Mordred felt his heart beating slightly faster, but he showed nothing.

He knew he was playing a dangerous game by absorbing every other moonstone. But he’d made sure his basket didn’t look suspicious, filling just enough to skirt the acceptable limit.

A slave a little further away wasn’t so careful.

- You.

The dragon-guard’s icy voice echoed through the cavern. All the slaves froze immediately.

The man pointed at, a skinny, trembling slave, opened his mouth to speak, but there was no time.

The dragon-guard grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing.

- What’s this?

He brandished the slave’s almost empty basket, a toothy grin stretching across his lips.

- Did you think it would pass?

The man, suffocating, tried to struggle, his legs flailing in absolute despair.

- I... I did... the best I could...! he stammered, fear distorting his features.

CRACK.

A titanic punch slammed into his face, the bony sound of shattered cartilage echoing eerily in the mine. The slave collapsed to the ground with a muffled gurgle, his broken nose bleeding profusely on the stone.

- We’re not interested in your "best".

The guard signaled to two of his companions, who grabbed the slave by the arms and dragged him violently out of the mine.

No one knew where those who were caught like this went.

But nobody ever saw them again.

An icy chill ran through the ranks of the slaves. No one dared speak.

The next baskets were quickly checked. Some of the slaves shivered, dreading a similar fate.

Then it was Mordred’s turn.

The scaly black guard stopped in front of him, watching him with a disturbing intensity.

Mordred calmly held his gaze, controlling his breath perfectly. Don’t blink. Show no nervousness.

The guard grabbed his basket, inspected it for a few seconds, then tossed it roughly to the floor.

- Just in time, vermin.

He gave him a brutal blow in the stomach, a shock so powerful that Mordred felt the air leave his lungs in an instant.

But he didn’t fall.

He gritted his teeth, taking the pain without flinching. He knew that reacting now would be useless.

The guard smiled slightly as he stood his ground.

- Go back to your hole. We want you in shape for tomorrow.

The group of slaves was led back into the damp, dark corridors of the prison.

The sound of chains and shuffling footsteps echoed faintly, accompanying the smell of sweat, dried blood and cold stone.

Mordred was shoved violently into his cell, crashing against the stone wall, but he still didn’t flinch.

Behind him, the dragon-guard leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe, a cruel smile floating across his reptilian face.

- Tomorrow, it’s your turn in the arena.

He let a heavy pause settle in before adding:

- Try not to die too quickly this time.

Then he slammed the metal door shut, leaving Mordred alone in the darkness.

Mordred didn’t move immediately.

He merely inhaled slowly, his fingers trembling slightly, not from fear... but from contained rage.

He slowly clenched his fist.

Tomorrow.

Another fight.

Another test.

One step closer to what really lay ahead.

In the darkness of his cell, alone with his rage, Mordred slowly opened his eyes.

They burned with a disturbing intensity.

And in his mind, there was only one thing: freewebnøvel.coɱ

Getting stronger. No matter what had to be sacrificed.