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.
