Starting out as a Dragon Slave

In the stands, the tension was mounting.The dragons, initially confident of an easy victory for their champions, began to stir uneasily.Something had shifted in the fight’s dynamic an unexpected resistance, a determination that defied their predictions.

Facing this pack of supernatural predators, the old man took a step forward.Without a word.Without hesitation.Without the slightest tremor.

His gaunt silhouette detached from the group like a blade slowly unsheathing itself deliberate, inevitable, destined for blood.

Mordred and Kael stayed back, watching with a mix of fascination and disbelief as the spectacle unfolded before them.The old man, whose bare feet barely seemed to graze the crystallized sand of the arena, advanced towards the Vhulks with the serenity of a pilgrim approaching his sanctuary.

The creatures, momentarily thrown off by this voluntary approach, hesitated their collective consciousness processing this behavioral anomaly.

Then, as one, they attacked.

A tentacle lashed out, its trajectory perfectly calculated to slice through the old man’s throat.

What followed defied human comprehension.

The old man spun on himself with a fluidity that seemed to deny the fundamental laws of physics his entire body whirling like a vortex of flesh and bone, letting the attack slash harmlessly through the air mere millimeters from his jugular.

The displaced air sighed through the suddenly silent arena.

A second tentacle plummeted from above, aiming to skewer his skull.Without even glancing up, the old man slid under the strike in a roll so perfectly executed that he seemed to dissolve and reform a meter away. His movements brushed the sand with the lightness of a feather, leaving only the faintest imprint behind.

Every motion he made was the culmination of a lifetime of training pushed to the extreme limits of human potential.Nothing was wasted.Nothing was uncertain.

It was a deadly poetry of movement an economy that transcended mere efficiency into something near divine.

Mordred, despite the tension, couldn’t help but clench his fists in admiration.Even he, with his extraordinary mastery of martial arts and combat magic, had never reached such crystalline purity of movement.

The old man wasn’t just fighting.He embodied a primordial concept.He was the quintessence of adaptation, the perfection of avoidance.

He danced between the threads of destiny itself.

Accelerating suddenly, he closed the space separating him from one of the Vhulks.Dodging another flurry of tentacle strikes with movements that resembled water slipping through rocks, he found himself within striking range.

Without hesitation, he struck his bare hand thrust like a living spear.

His target was the Vhulk’s central mass, the floating jellyfish-like head crowned with glowing filaments.

His calloused palm, weathered by decades of combat, made contact with the vibrating surface of the creature.

The moment of truth had arrived. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

Contrary to all expectation, there was no devastating discharge, no spray of acid, no instant melting of his flesh.The strange matter composing the Vhulk’s central body gave way under his hand not like solid material, but like dense gel, a half-formed weave of reality.

Their theory was confirmed: the Vhulk’s head wasn’t an offensive weapon like its tentacles.It wasn’t corrosive or paralyzing it was simply the vulnerable heart the creature shielded with its deadly crown.

But the feat wasn’t over yet.The vital core the creature’s very essence was still buried beneath layers of fluctuating matter.

Sensing the danger, the Vhulk reacted violently.Its whole body recoiled, thrashing like a giant jellyfish propelling itself backward.

Anticipating the move, the old man disengaged in a supple leap, narrowly avoiding a retaliatory strike that would have cleaved him in two.

The situation escalated rapidly.Alerted by the threat to one of their own, two more Vhulks converged on the old man, their movements betraying an unsettling collective intelligence.

The veteran warrior took in the battlefield with a single sweeping glance, calculating every variable with a strategist’s precision.

He saw Kael and Mordred, still holding back, waiting for their moment to strike.He saw the corpses of their companions some still smoldering, others half-dissolved.He saw the grandstands, where thousands of dragons watched with renewed excitement, their scales gleaming under the enchanted torches lighting the arena.

But above all, he perceived the coordinated movement of the Vhulks, tightening around him like a noose.

His response transcended human limits.

His body became a living arrow a flash of flesh and bone hurtling across the battlefield.His legs struck the ground with supernatural cadence, propelling him from point to point with pinpoint precision.

He dodged a lateral strike that would have split a horse in two, feeling the corrosive energy graze his gray hair, leaving a faint white streak.He rolled beneath a tentacle charged with crackling static, the electric crackle making every hair on his body stand on end.

In a daring move, he leapt and momentarily latched onto one of the tentacles, using its momentum to vault above the chaos, avoiding the acid tide surging beneath him.

His objective remained fixed.

The first Vhulk the one whose defenses he had already tested remained his primary target.Its core, momentarily exposed after its failed attack, offered a vulnerability he couldn’t ignore.

The old man gathered all his strength for a final charge.Every muscle tensed to the breaking point as he launched himself forward.

A tentacle, quicker and more vicious than the others, lunged treacherously from the right.

It was almost too fast.Almost too precise.Almost...

A fraction of a second before impact, his calloused hand honed by decades of discipline shot out with unerring certainty.

His fingers, like eagle talons, plunged deep into the pulsing mass at the Vhulk’s core.

The sensation was indescribable like plunging his hand into a whirlpool of raw energy, into the very condensed essence of existence.

He felt a viscous resistance, a primordial pulse vibrating with alien life.

Without hesitation, he tightened his grip.And squeezed.Harder.Harder still.

A muffled pop echoed like a cosmic bubble bursting under pressure.

A high-pitched, almost metallic scream tore from the Vhulk’s non-existent throat a sound no human ear was meant to hear.

Then the creature froze in an impossible posture, its tentacles rigid like dead branches in winter.

A spasm rippled through its translucent body.

And then, in a miniature apocalypse, it exploded showering the arena with spongy matter and black iridescent fluids that seemed to absorb light itself.

The old man, moving with the grace of a master dancer, pulled away before the corrosive residue could reach him.His body traced a perfect arc through the air, landing in a smooth roll that dissipated the energy of the fall and immediately placed him out of harm’s way.

A deafening silence fell over the arena.

The spectators dragons noble and common alike were frozen in collective stupor.

A Vhulk had just died. Truly died. Permanently.

The impossible had unfolded before their scaly eyes.

The announcer, his usual endless eloquence momentarily extinguished, gaped.After a beat of hesitation, his magically amplified voice rang out again, tinged with disbelief:

— "Ohhh... Noble Ladies and Lords of the Draconic High Courts... It seems... it seems tonight’s battle may yet turn! The impossible has been accomplished... by a mere human!"

The crowd, shaking off their stunned stupor, erupted into a cacophony of contradictory reactions.Some dragons roared with amusement, finding renewed pleasure in the suddenly unpredictable spectacle.Others howled in fury, frustrated to see their supposed invincible champions show weakness.

Seated atop his gem-encrusted golden throne the living incarnation of his race’s arrogance and power King Maelor himself stirred.His scaled snout wrinkled, his nostrils releasing a thin stream of orange smoke betraying his rekindled interest.

Mordred, still pressed against the wall with Kael, felt a faint twitch at the corner of his lips.A small, almost imperceptible smile but one charged with renewed determination.

Kael, his eyes wide, whispered in a voice trembling with newborn hope:

— "It’s... it’s possible... They can die."

The old man, rising with the timeless fluidity that defined his every move, cast a quick glance at his two companions.

No words were spoken.No commands given.Just a slight, precise, eloquent nod.

Your turn.

The Vhulks, momentarily destabilized by the loss of one of their own, were already adapting.Their undulations became more erratic, more unpredictable, their tentacles twitching like nervous whips.

Mordred inhaled deeply, feeling his blood ignite with new energy.The familiar heat of magic coursed under his skin like a river of molten lava.

His amber eyes lit up with an inner glow, as if a miniature sun had just ignited behind his irises.His arm extended forward — long, elegant, deadly precise.

And in a breath carrying the promise of an impending storm, he whispered:

— "Then let’s dance."

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Hi everyone : just a quick message to let you know that the objectives for unlocking Chapters are reset every week for power stones, and every month for gold tickets and privilege memberships.

See you tomorrow !

(pssss : I love gift Especially the magic castles... I’m just saying ’-’)