Faced with Mohg's invitation, the Leonine Misbegotten accepted with almost no hesitation.
While most Misbegotten appeared savage due to a lack of civilization, they were also remarkably pure for that very reason. To the beast, Mohg was a being possessing an incredibly high concentration of the Crucible's bloodline. Moreover, he was powerful and had offered him freedom; naturally, the Leonine was willing to fight for him.
Furthermore, Misbegotten were intensely loyal. Once they chose a direction, they rarely wavered—or rather, they were simply incredibly stubborn.
In contrast, the Scaled Misbegotten beside him seemed a bit more hesitant.
Mohg was curious about this particular individual. Generally, Leonine Misbegotten possessed innate intelligence; the refined Crucible blood in their bodies granted them strength along with a sharp mind. Even without formal education, they were naturally clever.
The other breeds were different. Without artificial guidance, they usually lived like wild animals. This was common among the Winged and ordinary Scaled Misbegotten. While the larger Scaled variants were stronger and possessed a modicum of wit, they were usually indistinguishable from the rest of the pack.
But this one... it was clear he had been influenced by culture.
"Tell me of your origin," Mohg said. "Or at least... your name."
The Leonine Misbegotten also looked at his kinsman with curiosity. He had been intrigued by this unusual tribesman during their captivity, but the other had ignored his previous overtures.
"...My name is Luke," the Scaled Misbegotten began. "I once served the royal family of the Kouler Dynasty. I was the apprentice of a master blacksmith."
Mohg's eyes lit up, but he didn't interrupt, allowing the creature to continue his story.
"But the Kouler Dynasty is no longer the place I remember... The previous King was wise. He disapproved of slavery and ordered the nobility to treat the Misbegotten with kindness. But the current one..." Luke stopped abruptly.
Mohg didn't need him to finish. An enemy often understands you better than your friends do, and as the Mohgwyn Dynasty had marked the Kouler Dynasty as their next target, they had investigated everything.
The Kouler Dynasty had once been powerful, one of the major kingdoms carving up southern Caelid. However, the previous King died of illness before officially naming an heir, plunging the realm into a succession crisis. The third prince, the most capable and wise of the lot, failed in the power struggle and ended his life on the executioner's block.
The current King was the sixth prince, a man who represented the interests of the broad nobility. His talent was mediocre and his personal strength was lacking, yet he was exceptionally tyrannical. However, he supported aristocratic rule and relied on the nobles to govern, caring for no one outside their inner circle.
In other words, the nobles were happy to have such a King on the throne—a perfect puppet for their interests.
Predictably, the slavery system the previous King had resisted was reinstated. Luke, who had not been a slave, was promptly shackled.
"I see. And are you still loyal to the Kouler Dynasty?"
"No... they treated me like this. How could I remain loyal? Besides, the current King is..."
"Then do you wish to return to a peaceful life? Do you want no part in the struggles of dynasties?"
"...Yes. That is true."
"Reality rarely grants such wishes," Mohg countered. "Even if Caelid isn't entirely populated by those who see Misbegotten as slaves—even if there are places where you can live freely—the iron hooves of the Golden Order will eventually trample the Caelid Wilds. When that day comes... no one can remain a bystander."
Luke fell silent.
"However, I will not force you. If you want your freedom, I can let you go. But I have a condition."
"You saved my life, after all," Luke replied. "Please, speak."
He didn't refuse. Regardless of the circumstances, Mohg had not treated him like a slave and was his benefactor.
"I want you to teach your knowledge of smithing and culture to the capable Misbegotten here, as well as to the blacksmiths under my command."
Luke froze, then turned to look at the other Misbegotten with shock. "You... you intend to grant all these Misbegotten their freedom and integrate them into civilization?"
"Correct."
Mohg nodded at the stunned Luke. Beside them, the Leonine Misbegotten looked slightly dazed, clearly not understanding the utility of such a move. Before this, he had existed as a gladiator; even with his intelligence, he still thought with the logic of a brawler and a beast.
"...I understand. I am willing to serve you."
Luke took a deep breath and knelt before Mohg with genuine admiration. He knew no other way to show such profound respect. Mohg stepped forward and helped him up.
"There is no need for that. Consider it a fair trade."
"No... this is my gratitude to you, on behalf of my kin," Luke said firmly.
Mohg didn't push the point. He ordered his subordinates to arrange quarters for the two. He left the Leonine Misbegotten to Kazim to handle; the beast's mindset still needed time to transition to a more disciplined environment. As for Luke, there was no need for that—he was already a product of civilized society. After a brief rest, he could start work. Getting the Misbegotten situation under control would quickly provide the Dynasty with a fresh pool of manpower.
Having settled the Misbegotten, Mohg made a detour to see the miners. They were far easier to handle. Most spoke the common tongue, and they had little sense of personal identity. To them, it didn't matter who they worked for.
They were professional in their own way: as long as a faction hadn't collapsed, they belonged to that faction—provided they were supplied with food and Runes.
The Kouler Dynasty, of course, hadn't been so generous; they had simply conscripted them by force. Consequently, when the Mohgwyn Dynasty stormed the Gael Tunnel, the miners offered zero resistance, watching silently as the guards were slaughtered.
They were perfectly satisfied with Mohg's employment terms. After all, they knew how to do nothing but mine.
As for their diet... Mohg was genuinely shocked. Aside from a modest amount of water and a pittance of normal food, they ate... specific types of rocks. They needed to consume minerals to replenish the stone in their bodies and maintain their vital signs. They were a truly fascinating species.
With the miners settled, Mohg's arrangements at Fort Gael were largely complete. It was time to head back and ask Lansseax about the Magma Wyrm.
Tracking her signature, he found that Lansseax had already relocated to a high mountain peak in Caelid, not far from the fort. Mohg flew straight toward her.
"I didn't expect you to be living so leisurely. It seems I need to find you some work to do."
"Hey, hey! Don't be like that!"
Lansseax's face darkened instantly as she sat up.
"Relax. I'm here because I need something."
"When are you not here because you need something?" Lansseax asked, tilting her head with an annoyed look.
"...Fair point."
"So, spit it out. What do you want me to do this time?" She readjusted her position, finding a more comfortable spot on the rock.
"It's about the Magma Wyrm."
"A Magma Wyrm? Why are you suddenly interested in those things?" Lansseax's brow quirked.
"Hmm... you sound surprised."
"In a way. Those creatures hate being around crowds; most have crawled into holes to hide. I'm surprised you even know the name. But given that you're asking... I assume you encountered one?"
"To be precise, I killed one."
"Oh? Well, that's not too shocking. They're just a bunch of poor wretches who lost their minds." She gave a brief huff of surprise before returning to her indifferent calm.
"As an Ancient Dragon, you must know more about them than most, right?"
"...I know a few things, but not much. I don't exactly like associating with them."
"Tell me." Mohg prompted with a slight tilt of his head.
Lansseax shrugged. "You should already know about the grudge between Ancient Dragons and drakes, so I won't bore you with that. In short, the Dragon Cult—specifically the Dragon Communion—was an sect encouraged by certain Ancient Dragons to hunt drakes and weaken their power."
"Humans craved the power of dragons, so we gave them the rituals and the opportunity. But that doesn't mean we were ever truly close with them."
"I figured as much," Mohg nodded. If the Ancient Dragons were truly close to the Dragon Communion practitioners, there would be Ancient Dragons residing within the sect's territories in Caelid, and the Dragon Communion wouldn't have faded so drastically across the Lands Between.
"For me, I find them even more repulsive than the other Ancient Dragons do. Drakes at least have Ancient Dragon blood in them, but these people..." A cold glint flashed in her eyes. "In the end, they aren't to be trusted. They hunt dragons to seize their power; they would just as easily hunt anything else for power if given a ritual. They simply lack the means."
"...Understood."
Mohg nodded, gaining a clearer picture of the Dragon Communion's nature. He would inevitably cross paths with them soon. In fact, by deciding to display the Magma Wyrm's corpse as a deterrent, he was practically inviting contact.
"Alright, back to the Magma Wyrm. What do you want to know?"
"Their bodies. What can they be used for?"
"Same as other drakes, mostly. The only thing to watch out for is the throat sac. Theirs is far more fire-resistant than a normal drake's. It's useful for certain crafts."
"And the meat?"
"...You want to eat it?" Lansseax looked at Mohg with a bizarre expression.
Mohg waved a hand dismissively. "No, I have no intention of eating that stuff."
"Good. The flesh can bolster a person's physique to an extent, but it has side effects. It intensifies the consumer's craving for dragon power. It can even cause the body to slowly mutate toward a draconic form. The latter is rare, but the former is almost guaranteed."
"I see."
Mohg narrowed his eyes, contemplating how to handle the remains. For him, the benefits of using the materials personally didn't outweigh the potential costs.
But... maybe I could just sell it?
He was confident that in the rugged, power-hungry lands of Caelid, there would be no shortage of people seeking strength at any price. As for selling to the Dragon Communion... he would see what kind of price they offered when they eventually reached out.
"Fine. You can go back to your nap. I need to deal with the Wyrm's remains."
"Just don't bother me unless it's important," Lansseax muttered, turning away and flicking her tail in a dismissive farewell.
Mohg ignored her and returned to the Dynasty's grounds.
"Sovereign Lord, the Magma Wyrm has been drained as you ordered."
"Very well. Take the carcass to Fort Gael for butchering."
Mohg nodded and walked to the reservoir where the dragon blood was stored. He plunged his hand directly into the liquid.
The spiritual cultivation method taught to him by Godfrey began to circulate, slowly absorbing the spiritual energy contained within the Wyrm's blood. Mohg was surprised by the sheer volume of energy it held. On second thought, a Magma Wyrm was a monster born from devouring the power of many drakes, and drakes themselves were a manifestation of spiritual energy under the Crucible's influence. It made sense.
Once he had absorbed enough, he offered the remaining blood as a sacrifice to the Formless Mother. The feedback he received was no longer as significant as it once was, but the true gain was the growth in his spiritual cultivation. The combat techniques of the Badlands began to unfold within his mind, clearer than ever before.
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