Starting out as a Dragon Slave-Chapter 131: Spitting Out the Truth

The armored van was speeding along, flanked by an impressive escort. Around the vehicle, hunters mounted on black motorcycles equipped with sophisticated tactical devices maintained a tight formation. Overhead, the dull roar of combat helicopters saturated the night air, their searchlights piercing the darkness, illuminating the deserted city streets. The entire convoy seemed ready to counter a massive attack, each soldier heavily armed, fingers tensed on triggers.

Inside the van, the atmosphere was heavy, oppressive. Isaac, his hands still bound behind his back with special handcuffs that completely sealed his mana, stared at Inspector Marc Lemaire seated across from him. The harsh, blinding ceiling light carved the inspector’s facial features, accentuating his hard and ruthless expression.

Marc never took his eyes off Isaac, his fingers lightly drumming on the thick file resting on his knees.

- "Let’s start from the beginning, Isaac. Tell me once more what really happened in that dungeon," he said coldly, without looking away for even a second.

Isaac inhaled slowly, controlling his breath, then slowly raised his head toward the inspector.

- "I’ve already told you everything," he replied calmly, in a monotone and icy voice. "There was a dragon. It was the dragon that attacked Lazare and my team. I didn’t kill anyone."

Marc Lemaire stared at him intensely, his furrowed brows marking his distrust. He remained silent for a long moment, as if probing every nuance of Isaac’s impassive face, searching for a sign, a hesitation, a weakness.

- "A dragon," he finally repeated, his tone laden with cold irony. "Still this dragon story... You’re clinging to this tale as if it would save you. But look where it’s led you: you’re chained, accused of murder, and about to be sent behind bars for the rest of your days."

Isaac didn’t react. He didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on the inspector, completely motionless, a cold determination in his eyes burning with restrained anger.

Silence returned, interrupted only by the regular rumbling of the engine and the roar of helicopters flying over their route.

The van eventually slowed before stopping with a screech of tires in front of Hunter Bureau Headquarters. As soon as the doors opened, a deafening noise hit Isaac: camera flashes crackled in the night, cameras pointed at him, and a crowd of journalists held their microphones in his direction.

- "Mr. Isaac!" shouted a female journalist over the commotion. "Why did you commit this atrocious murder?"

- "Isaac! How did you manage to kill Lazare Korr, the country’s strongest hunter?" cried another, pushing his microphone in front of him.

Isaac felt his heart skip a beat. Lazare dead? Him, accused of killing him? All of this was impossible, absurd. His face tensed imperceptibly, doubt and incomprehension suddenly overwhelming him. Nevertheless, he continued to move forward without answering, escorted firmly by several heavily armed soldiers.

Members of Lazare’s guild stood to the side, their hate-filled gazes following him step by step, their venomous whispers reaching his ears.

- "Murderer..."

- "Traitor..."

Isaac continued to advance, seemingly impassive, even though his mind was racing. It was all surreal. He had done nothing. Nothing at all.

He was guided inside the building, crossing cold corridors lit by harsh fluorescent lights, before being led to a special elevator. He descended slowly into the depths of the building, the air becoming colder, more suffocating as he descended.

The door finally opened onto a dark, damp, sinister room. The walls were covered with cold tiles, stained in places with rust and moisture. In the center, a simple metal chair was fixed to the floor with solid bolts. Isaac was roughly pushed onto the chair, his hands still firmly bound behind his back, the runic handcuffs preventing any attempt at resistance.

The door opened again, revealing Inspector Marc Lemaire, his face hard as stone. Behind him slowly entered a hooded man, massive, dressed entirely in black, his hands gloved in reinforced leather. He silently positioned himself behind Marc, motionless, imposing by his mere presence.

Marc leaned slightly toward Isaac, his hard face drawing closer to his, his voice reduced to a threatening whisper:

- "Either you tell us immediately what really happened in that dungeon, and confess that you’re a murderer, a serial killer of hunters... or we’ll make you spit out the whole truth another way."

Isaac slowly raised his eyes to him, his jaw clenched, but his gaze remained icy, devoid of fear.

- "I’ve already told you the truth," he replied coldly. "I didn’t kill anyone. I am innocent."

Marc stared at him for a moment, then slowly nodded, backing away slightly before making an almost imperceptible sign to the hooded man behind him.

The man slowly cracked his knuckles, the sound resonating ominously in the silent room. He advanced toward Isaac, and without warning, delivered a brutal blow to his face. Isaac’s head violently jerked to the side, searing pain shooting through his jaw, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.

The second blow followed immediately, violently striking his stomach, drawing a stifled cry from him. His muscles painfully contracted, his breath cut short, his lungs burning with each breath. freёnovelkiss.com

- "I repeat," Marc said coldly, moving closer. "Who did you kill? Why did you murder Lazare Korr? Confess!"

Isaac slowly raised his head, spitting a thread of blood onto the floor. His eyes, despite the pain, still shone with fierce determination.

- "I am innocent..." he repeated in a hoarse voice, weakened but unwavering. "It was a dragon. I did nothing."

Marc’s face tensed, a flash of anger crossing his gaze.

- "Continue," he said coldly to the hooded executioner.

The blows resumed, brutal, merciless. Isaac felt each impact like a burning blade lacerating his body, his ribs painfully cracking under the repeated blows, his face deformed by bruises and blood. But he did not yield. He gritted his teeth, absorbed each strike, refusing to scream, refusing to beg.

The interrogation seemed to have lasted for an eternity. The dark, damp room was saturated with the smell of blood, sweat, and anger. Isaac was slumped on the metal chair, his body bruised, but his gaze remained implacably fixed on Marc Lemaire. The blows had distorted his features, marked his skin with purplish bruises, split his lower lip into a constant thread of blood. Yet his eyes had never wavered. They now burned with an incandescent orange, a cold and intense glow, openly defying the inspector.

Marc, standing before him, clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles whitened. His face was contorted with frustration and contained rage. His gaze oscillated between Isaac, impassive despite his injuries, and the hooded man beside him, whose blood-stained gloves testified to the brutality of the treatment inflicted.

- "Isaac," Marc growled in a hoarse voice, trembling with anger, "you don’t understand your situation. Confess now, tell me what I want to hear. Stop playing the martyr."

Isaac slowly raised his head. His pupils, now entirely ablaze, literally pierced the inspector’s face. His breath was calm, despite the pain radiating through every part of his battered body. His mind, accustomed to enduring the worst suffering in the other world, was almost impervious to such violence.

- "I have nothing to confess," he retorted in a cold, firm voice. "You are wrong. I didn’t kill anyone."

Marc approached quickly, his face just inches from Isaac’s, his voice now almost hysterical with anger and frustration.

- "Lazare Korr is dead," he shouted, almost spitting in Isaac’s face. "One of the most powerful hunters in the country was found massacred, and the only witness still alive is you! You were at the scene, covered in blood, alone! Do you really think we’re going to swallow your dragon story?!"

Isaac didn’t look away. He held the inspector’s gaze, his pupils glowing with supernatural intensity, as if he were looking through him, beyond his anger and frustration, straight into his soul.

- "Believe what you want," he said calmly, his voice low, almost glacial. "But the truth won’t change, no matter how many times you deny it. I am innocent. The dragon exists, and if you refuse to accept it, that’s your problem, not mine."

Marc violently backed away, angrily sweeping a file from the table, papers flying throughout the room, swirling silently to the floor in a whirlwind. He was panting, his chest rising at an irregular rhythm, his gaze haunted by panic and powerless rage.

The truth was that Marc had no more cards to play. He absolutely needed to obtain a confession. Without it, his entire case would collapse, his career would be over. Despair was slowly infiltrating his mind, gnawing at his confidence, his conviction. This arrogant hunter, this young man covered in wounds, with eyes burning with icy determination, categorically refused to give him what he wanted.

The inspector turned abruptly to the hooded man, signaling him to continue. Without hesitation, the executioner brought his gloved fist down once more on Isaac’s jaw, his head violently jerking to the side from the force of the impact. A new thread of blood ran down his cheek, but Isaac immediately straightened his head, his incandescent gaze still fixed on Marc.

Marc observed Isaac with powerless rage. Each blow delivered seemed to have no real effect. Isaac remained implacable, determined, his eyes burning with an inner flame that even this atrocious violence could not extinguish. On the contrary, it seemed to feed it, strengthen it.

- "Why won’t you talk?!" Marc finally growled, his teeth clenched, his fists trembling. "What are you trying to prove?!"

Isaac responded calmly, in a low and composed voice, as if he were explaining something obvious to a child.

- "I’m not trying to prove anything, Inspector. I’m simply telling you the truth. You don’t accept it, but it won’t disappear regardless."

Marc let out a roar of rage, grabbing Isaac by the collar, brutally pulling him closer to his face. His bloodshot eyes were distorted by desperate fury, a burning hatred fueled by imminent failure.

- "If you continue like this, I’ll destroy you!" he threatened in a voice choked with anger. "I’ll make you regret every second of your miserable life! Talk, damn it!"

Isaac, despite his broken body, despite the blood flowing over his bruised face, gave a cold, sinister smile.

- "You really think you can destroy me?" he whispered in a calm, almost serene voice. "You don’t even know what destroying truly means, Inspector. You know nothing about who I am, or what I’ve been through. Your threats are nothing compared to what I’ve already endured."

Marc brutally released his collar, pushing him back with contempt. He backed away a few steps, his hands trembling, the muscles in his jaw painfully contracting.

He stared at Isaac, eyes wide with hatred mixed with powerlessness. His career, his reputation, everything he had fought for over years was about to collapse. And this hunter, covered in wounds but yet as solid as steel, obstinately refused to yield.

The inspector closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, trying to calm himself, to regain control of his emotions. When he reopened them, his gaze was cold, merciless.

- "Very well, Isaac," he said slowly, his voice trembling slightly from contained rage. "You want to play it like that? You think you can take this much longer? We’ll see who cracks first."

He signaled one last time to the hooded man, who slowly approached, his fists clenched, ready to strike again.

But Isaac didn’t flinch. He held the inspector’s gaze until the end, his pupils blazing with cold rage, with absolute determination. He had survived far worse, and nothing, absolutely nothing, could now break this iron will forged by suffering and loss.