Chapter 181: Beneath the Surface
A few months had passed since China’s definitive fall. The draconic conquest had consolidated itself in a manner as relentless as it was efficient, radically transforming the urban and social landscape. Where once dynamic and modern human cities had reigned, now stretched dark and imposing cities, rebuilt according to the cold and brutal architecture of dragons.
Forced labor camps now extended for kilometers, housing millions of enslaved humans. Day after day, they painfully extracted the raw materials vital to the draconic empire, building with their own hands the fortresses and cities that now embodied their own oppression.
The dragons had methodically reduced all human opposition to nothing. Each slave now bore a distinctive mark, a clear symbol of their inferior status. Those not assigned to extraction camps worked directly in dragon houses, servants submissive to the slightest desires of their reptilian masters.
For Mordred, observing this reality was like reliving a nightmare already experienced in another world. He saw the same tragedy repeating before his eyes, the same brutal submission imposed on human beings, the same dark and merciless fate. This time, he felt directly responsible, his conscience crushed by the weight of guilt he could not ignore.
Since his successful assassination of patriarch Varnor Ignivara, security measures within the draconic empire had reached unprecedented levels. The dragons, traumatized by the loss of such an emblematic figure, had imposed rigorous identity controls. Memorial crystals had been deployed everywhere, faithfully reproducing the mental image extracted directly from Syléane’s memory: Mordred’s draconic appearance. Now, his face was plastered in every security post, every urban center, every barracks.
Mordred could no longer move freely, not even in human form. In this new world, the sight of a free and clean human, without slave marks and without obvious signs of physical exhaustion, immediately aroused suspicion from draconic patrols. It was impossible for him and Livia to circulate on the surface without attracting immediate and fatal attention from dragons.
The situation had forced them to adopt a radical but effective solution. Mordred had decided to establish their base in the old ultra-secure penitentiary complex under Paris, a forgotten and hidden place, out of reach of dragons thanks to a single perfectly concealed entrance, protected by enchantments he had carefully put in place.
It had become their refuge, an underground fortress far from the Empire’s relentless gaze. In the depths of the old isolation cells, Mordred and Livia had organized their daily life, accumulating information, methodically preparing their next strategy.
Sitting before an old metal table recovered from the ruins, Livia looked at Mordred with a worried expression. He was lost in thought, his gaze fixed on a world map covered with scribbled notes and draconic symbols.
- "Mordred, you’re lost in your thoughts again," she remarked gently. "You’ve been staring at that map for hours."
He slowly raised his head toward her, his eyes marked with deep fatigue.
- "I can’t help thinking about it, Livia. We eliminated Varnor, but all we accomplished was to strengthen their grip even more."