Mordred opened his eyes abruptly, his body heavy and aching from the exhaustion accumulated during his evening with Jonah and the others in his ho world. The contrast was brutal, icy. He was back in that dark, damp cell, the air filled with the rancid sll of sweat, dried blood and cold earth. His heart was beating violently, his breathing labored, and a dull rage was already rumbling inside him at the ongoing injustice of his situation.
The cell’s heavy tal door opened violently, revealing the massive figure of the dragon-guard, who entered arrogantly, violently striking the bars with the handle of his whip to rudely awaken the still-sleeping slaves.
- Get up, you vermin!" he shouted brutally, his tone full of palpable contempt. Today, you’re going back into the mine, and none of you will leave this place without fulfilling your quota!
Mordred waited a mont, his gaze instinctively turning to the door, secretly hoping to catch another glimpse of Akane, the strong, enigmatic woman who had saved him earlier. But this ti, the door remained empty. No one ca to interrupt the daily brutality of his existence. The guard seed to sense his silent expectation and sneered cruelly:
- Were you expecting your little protector? Not today, vermin. Today, you’ll finally understand that you’re nothing but an insignificant slave!
The dragon grabbed him roughly by the arm, dragging him violently out of the cell without any precaution. Mordred gritted his teeth, holding back a grunt of pain as the rusty chains rubbed painfully against his already wounded wrists.
He was thrown unceremoniously into the convoy of slaves, the other prisoners staring blankly, resigned, terrified of the exhausting day ahead. The journey to the mine was made in heavy silence, broken only by the occasional crack of the dragon-guards’ whips against the slaves’ backs, slowing their pace.
The mine was still as dark, damp and oppressive as he rembered. The acrid sll of dust and sweat saturated the air, and Mordred felt his heart clench with apprehension at the thought of reliving another day of extre suffering. Yet, as he grabbed the rusty pickaxe that was rudely thrown at him, he imdiately noticed the difference.
His increased stats now gave him a new strength, an impressive ease of movent. He struck his first blow against the hard rock, imdiately feeling the raw power that now animated his muscles, his increased speed enabling him to efficiently shatter the pieces of rock.
The guards imdiately noticed Mordred’s unusual efficiency, approaching warily, their reptilian eyes charged with a mixture of concern and suspicion. Yet they said nothing, simply watching, intrigued by this strange developnt.
Before long, Mordred found his first moonstone, glinting softly in the oppressive darkness.
[Ding! Absorption available: Would you like to absorb the Moonstone?]
He contemplated the glittering stone in his palm for a mont, aware of the constant dilemma. Absorbing the stone would give him more power in his ho world, but if he didn’t fulfill his quota, the consequences would be dire.
Resigned, he quickly made his decision: he discreetly absorbed every other stone. With each absorption, he imdiately felt a discreet, subtle energy flow through his veins, like a gentle comfort that reminded him of the power he could harness elsewhere. But he kept enough stones to satisfy the guards, avoiding the incessant lashings.
The hours passed slowly, each minute seeming an eternity of physical suffering and ntal pain. The skin on his hands split open under the incessant rubbing of the pickaxe, his arms were covered in blood and dust, but he stubbornly kept on digging, encouraged by his obvious physical progress.
Yet other slaves were not so lucky. A few ters from him, a man suddenly collapsed to the ground, exhausted and exhausted. A dragon guard imdiately approached, his face twisted with rage, and brutally struck the slave with his whip, each blow echoing with terrifying violence in the silent mine.
- Did you think you could rest, vermin?" he shouted cruelly, striking even harder. You’ll work until you die if necessary!
The man’s screams echoed in Mordred’s ears for a long ti, like an agonizing reminder of the permanent brutality of this cursed place. He looked away, helpless, feeling a cold, intense anger growing inside him.
But he knew he had to keep up his strength to survive, whatever the cost.
Ti seed to stretch on forever, but Mordred didn’t slow down. His determination was now as solid as the stone he hamred away at. Every ti he found a moonstone, the dilemma returned, but he held firm to his initial choice: absorb every other stone to continue strengthening his power, while ensuring a minimum quota to avoid daily violence.
Finally, after what seed an eternity, the harsh voice of a dragon guard announced the end of the workday.
Exhausted but relieved, Mordred slowly joined the line of slaves heading for the exit, holding on tightly to his basket filled just enough to avoid punishnt.
The return journey was as silent as the outward, each slave imrsed in his own dark and painful thoughts. Mordred, despite the total exhaustion of his battered body, nevertheless felt a certain inner satisfaction, aware of the progress made thanks to his increased stats.
Back in his cold, dark cell, he slumped heavily against the wall, silently observing his wounded hands, his bruised fingers covered with dried blood and dark earth.
The day had been a terrible ordeal, but he had survived, once again.
He slowly clenched his fists, determined never to let this place break him completely. He knew that each day, each absorption, each stone collected brought him a little closer to freedom.
Only a few hours after his exhausted return from the mine, Mordred was sitting in his cell, leaning against the cold, damp wall, his wounds a painful reminder of every second he spent striking the unforgiving rock. His mind, haunted by the cries of pain from the other slaves, was vainly trying to find a mont’s peace, when suddenly the tallic sounds of heavy boots echoed down the narrow corridor.
The cell door opened violently with a sinister creak, revealing a massive dragon-guard, his reptilian gaze icy with familiar contempt.
- Get up, you vermin!" he snarled, throwing his now customary leather gladiator outfit and protective gear down at Mordred’s feet. Get ready quickly. You’re fighting again today.
Mordred slowly raised his head, gazing into the dragon’s cruel eyes with a dull but controlled anger. Without answering, he stood up slowly, reaching for the leather protectors, his hand lightly gripping the black katana he’d received last ti.
- Try to put on a better show today, vermin," sneered the guard contemptuously. And if you try the slightest rebellion... tell yourself that the whip will be a sweet relief compared to what I’ll put you through.
Without waiting for his reply, the guard brutally closed the door, leaving Isaac alone to prepare himself in silence. Slowly, he put on his leather protections, his mind focused and determined despite the accumulated fatigue. With each movent, he clearly felt his muscles protest violently, but also a strange satisfaction at his newly acquired power.
Finally ready, Isaac was rudely escorted into the arena, through the damp corridors to the gladiators’ entrance. There, he was left alone in the relative darkness, silently waiting for the show to begin.
Around him, tension was rising rapidly as the dragon spectators slowly began to fill the upper tiers of the arena. The dragons arrived from the sky, their imnse wings spread majestically, before descending in a graceful, powerful movent towards the stands. Isaac watched silently as they transford into fascinating yet intimidating humanoid forms, each more beautiful, majestic and arrogant than the last.
Finally, the trumpets sounded solemnly, announcing the arrival of royalty. The silence imdiately beca total, almost religious, as an imnse black dragon, accompanied by three other impressive dragons - white, blue and green - majestically flew over the arena. Their imnse shadows slowly enveloped the entire space, imposing an almost overwhelming aura of power and undisputed supremacy.
Isaac, fascinated despite himself, watched their regal descent. Their massive, terrifying form dissipated in a fraction of a second, giving way to four perfect humanoid forms, graceful and magnificent, who took their places solemnly in their seats of honor, clearly dominating the crowd below.
Seconds later, powerful trumpets sounded once again, officially announcing the start of the gas. Imdiately afterwards, the announcer, dressed in his extravagantly colorful outfit, advanced towards the central stage, his voice magically amplified :
- Welco, noble dragons and honored spectators! Tonight, once again, blood, spectacle and glory await you! We have for you an exceptional selection of fighters, humans, monsters and creatures of all kinds, ready to sacrifice their lives for your entertainnt!
The crowd imdiately erupted in wild cheers, eager for the violence they had been waiting for. Isaac, from the dark depths of the arena, felt an unpleasant shiver run up his spine. No matter how strong he beca, he remained for them a re distraction, destined to die for their cruel pleasure.
The announcer continued, enthused by the hysterical shouts of the spectators:
- Without further ado, let’s kick off the first fight! Today, we have a brutal confrontation between two promising gladiators: on one side, Garak, the human with the war hamr, and opposite him, a rciless creature straight from the wild depths of the north: THE FREEZING LYCANTHROPE!
The crowd imdiately erupted in enthusiastic roars, excited by this announcent promising pure blood and savagery. Isaac watched with extre tension as the first gladiator advanced across the sand, massive but clearly nervous despite his imposing build.
Opposite him, a terrifying monster erged from a dark cage.
The creature resembled a huge humanoid wolf with muscles taut as steel ropes, covered in white and bluish fur, its sharp claws gleaming dangerously in the cold sunlight.
Isaac looked away montarily, acutely aware that this fight would probably be Garak’s last. But he couldn’t afford to be distracted: in a few minutes, it would be his turn.
He slowly closed his eyes, inwardly repeating his personal mantra:
"Lightning strikes without hesitation or remorse. My body is perfect, my movents precise."
As Garak’s terrified howls echoed brutally across the arena, a clear sign of his failure against the ruthless lycanthrope, Isaac maintained his absolute calm, focusing his mind solely on the challenges ahead.
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