Birthing Legends: My Womb Creates SSS Monsters-Chapter 151: The Decision of Draculeus: His Dragon Guard Is…

Chapter 151: The Decision of Draculeus: His Dragon Guard Is...

Across the room, the seven exceptional warriors froze.

Hank.

Luavier.

Sairant.

Forsha.

Killian.

Cassandra.

Arteé.

Each felt their hearts slam against their ribs, a pulse of fear and wonder alike. Arteé, the cleverest among them, fingers trembling as he adjusted his glasses, whispered:

"This... this is not a simple accolade. Not the kind where a king taps a shoulder and calls you a knight. When a Dragonborn chooses someone... it means something entirely different."

Cassandra hissed, excitement sparking in her eyes:

"It means... the Dragonborn will share his blood. Ugh! BLOOD!"

Killian bared his fangs.

"Dragonborn blood is not just blood. It’s power. It’s everything."

Luavier, still composed, murmured:

"If His Majesty... Prince Draculeus allows his blood to flow into me... it would bind us, transform me, elevate me beyond ordinary warriors."

Sairant shivered, imagining the sheer force he could inherit.

"His Might. His Magic. Those One Hundred Million numbers... I’d hold a fragment of the Dragon itself."

Forsha’s hands clenched, heat rising from desire and awe.

"Him... flowing into my very veins... his aura merging with mine... oh, by the Dragon Gods!"

And Hank, voice low and reverent, said:

"If Draculeus chose me... we would no longer merely serve the Dragonborn. We would become part of him."

One by one, their fists tightened. Silently. Each carried the same prayer in their hearts:

"Choose me. Let the Dragon’s blood flow through me."

The hall held its breath as Draculeus finally stepped forward.

The young Dragonborn moved onto the stage, the white royal garments flowing behind him. With every step, the quiet tension in the room only deepened.

He stopped beside his father. For a brief moment, Draculeus looked over the crowd. The warriors. The nobles. The councilors. The seven exceptional fighters standing below.

His midnight blue slit eyes swept across them all. Then he spoke. His voice was calm, but it carried through the entire hall.

"You fought well."

A ripple of astonishment passed through the warriors; their bones seemed to shiver, hearts skipping a beat at the sound of Draculeus speaking.

Draculeus continued, his gaze drifting toward the seven.

"In the arena today... I was surrounded by one hundred warriors. Every house moved differently. Every strike had a history behind it."

His eyes briefly rested on Hank.

"The Crimsonscales stood like a mountain."

Then Luavier.

"The Verdantwings danced through the wind."

Then Sairant.

"The Silverspines moved like the bones of a serpent."

His gaze shifted again.

"The Goldensight saw opportunities others could not."

"Citrineclaw hunted with patience."

His eyes flicked toward Killian and Cassandra.

"And some of you ...simply refused to fall."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"For my first battle... it was a good one."

The warriors below felt their chests tighten at the praise. For a brief moment, hope flared in their chests like wildfire. Then Draculeus slowly tilted his head.

"But."

The single word landed like a falling blade.

"I have not decided yet."

The hall froze. Seven hearts shattered at once. Hank’s grip tightened on his gauntlet. Luavier’s spear hand stiffened. Sairant blinked in disbelief. Forsha’s all seeing eyes narrowed. Killian clicked his tongue. Cassandra groaned loudly. Even Arteé’s glasses caught the faint tremble of his breath.

Draculeus looked at them quietly.

"To me, all of you are skilled. More skilled than I expected. If I wished... I would take all of you to my side."

A ripple of shock ran through the hall but his gaze slowly lowered.

"Yet something is missing."

Silence deepened. Inside his mind, a different voice whispered.

"What if they die?"

For a fleeting moment, images flashed across his thoughts. His brother with the clean knots of his white hair. His sister with the enormous arms. Their laughter. Their screams. Their sermon.

The memory vanished as quickly as it came. Draculeus’ expression hardened again. He looked back down at the seven.

"Perhaps.... or perhaps I am simply afraid to choose."

A heavy silence rippled through the hall, settling over the seven. Their chests tightened, their hearts sinking as if the air itself had been drained from them.

Percieval, standing a few steps behind, felt his own chest tighten. He had seen the weight of failure and hope before, but this—the pain, the raw, shattering disappointment of a chosen not chosen—was something else.

He stepped closer to Arteé, the nearest of the seven, lowering himself to meet the boy’s trembling frame. Arteé couldn’t stop the sobs, choking through the silence. Percieval’s voice was calm, steady, almost a whisper but it carried through the storm of emotion.

He knelt fully beside Arteé, one hand steadying the boy’s shoulder, the other brushing tears from his cracked glasses. His gaze was firm yet gentle, holding Arteé even through the torrent of sobs.

"It’s not your fault, my... grandson. You fought. You gave everything. That... that was enough. Draculeus’ choice... it isn’t a judgment on you. It’s him. He is not ready yet not you. Understand?"

He shifted slightly, pressing Arteé’s trembling hands into his own, grounding him.

"Look at me, Arteé. You are still Arteé. My grandson. You are still a warrior of House Citrineclaw. You are still strong. You are still... yourself. And that is what matters. Always." 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Percieval’s voice deepened, steadier now, carrying quiet authority that cut through the ache of defeat.

"Do not let this break you. Train more. Fight harder. Keep your heart. The King is creating many white blooded children. In a month, there will be more opportunities. There will be more Dragonborn to come. You will rise again and next time, the choice will be yours to claim, not someone else’s to give."

Arteé trembled, clutching Percieval’s arms, but the sobs slowly began to loosen. Percieval didn’t let go, letting his grandson absorb the reassurance, the quiet strength in his calm presence.

Arteé’s breaths came in shaky gulps, his shoulders slowly releasing their tension. His fingers unclenched just enough to still grip Percieval’s arms, eyes wide and glistening but now clearer, steadier.

"I... I understand. I... I won’t give up. I’ll train harder. I’ll... I’ll be ready next time. I won’t disappoint you, my grandpa... or my father in the heavens above."