Starting out as a Dragon Slave-Chapter 64: Mordred VS Kalderaan (Part 2)

Mordred had never felt so frustrated. He’d faced gigantic monsters, mighty warriors and savage beasts... But what he was experiencing now was beyond anything he’d ever imagined. Every attack, every desperate attempt to hurt Kalderan, simply passed through his intangible body, as if he were trying to slice through the wind.

Kalderan, meanwhile, grinned like a predator, playing mercilessly with his opponent, openly enjoying Mordred’s distress. Every blow avoided increased his arrogance, every attack dodged fed his cruel confidence. Mordred struck relentlessly, but nothing helped.

- You’re tiring yourself out for nothing, slave!" taunted Kalderan, once again dodging a diagonal strike, letting the black blade pass through his transparent body. Immediately, Kalderan was solid again, striking Mordred in the chest with a powerful knee strike.

Breathless, Mordred was propelled backwards and collided violently with the sandy arena floor. Droplets of warm blood trickled down his chin as he struggled to his feet, fighting off dizziness. The pain was becoming intense, with each blow Kalderan landed pushing him a little closer to his physical limits.

Again and again, he lunged forward in a desperate attempt, but each missed strike opened a fatal breach in his defense.

And every time, Kalderan took cruel advantage, delivering punches, kicks and elbows with frightening precision. Mordred could feel his ribs cracking, his body covered with burning bruises.

Amidst the cheers of the audience exalted by the spectacle, Mordred vaguely heard the commentator’s voice echoing through the arena:

- Look at this massacre! The Obscure Blade is no match for the intangibility of the Butcher of Twilight! Is it already over for our favorite slave?

In the royal gallery above the arena, King Drakeor watched attentively, seated on a huge throne adorned with dragon fangs. His cold, unruffled face betrayed no emotion whatsoever about the battle in progress. Beside him, Prince Varyos wore a satisfied smile, savoring the brutality of the spectacle in his honor.

But behind them, in the background, a young silver-haired princess stood tensely. Lysiria was staring intently at the scene, her fingers gripping the armrest of her seat so tightly they were turning white. Beneath her mask of royal indifference, her heart was racing dangerously, her face betraying a discreet but real anxiety.

- Come on, get up, you idiot... she murmured in a very low voice, her golden eyes fixed on Mordred with a burning intensity of worry that she carefully concealed from the other members of her family.

She knew that if Mordred lost tonight, her own plans would be seriously compromised.

Her secret frustration and anger grew as the show became bloodier and bloodier, and as she felt her slave - her centerpiece - on the verge of succumbing.

On the other side of the royal stand, hidden in the shadow of the huge dragon who had brought her as his slave, a slender figure watched silently. Akane’s face was marked by the recent pain of wounds inflicted by Belgaroth, hidden beneath the thin clothes imposed by her new master.

Her gaze was dark, impotent. She watched, mute and frozen, as Mordred was humiliated. She wanted to scream, to intervene, to fight, but her chains and her condition as a slave painfully reminded her of her own powerlessness.

- No... hold on... you must hold on... she thought with impotent rage, clenching her fists until her nails cut into her flesh, her heart torn between despair and fury.

Belgaroth suddenly laid a possessive hand on her shoulder, smiling cruelly.

- Enjoy the show, my dear. Soon it will be your turn to entertain me again," he murmured with a cold cruelty that sent a shiver of horror down her spine.

Back in the arena, Mordred staggered under the violence of the blows he had received, panting and covered in bloody wounds. His vision was blurred by blood and pain, but despite this, he adamantly refused to fall. He was on the edge, on the verge of collapse, but a cold, implacable rage continued to burn within him, commanding him to hold on.

Kalderan, triumphant, slowly approached, fully enjoying the spectacle he was offering the crowd. He spread his arms theatrically, looking up at the stands and shouting with provocative arrogance:

- Is this your hero?! Look at your Lame Obscure! Nothing but a puppet incapable of hurting me! Watch him die!

The crowd roared with excitement, chanting Kalderan’s name in response.

Mordred clenched the hilt of his katana violently, trembling under the extreme effort of staying on his feet. His breathing became ragged and labored, but he refused to give in to pain or despair. He could almost hear the distant voices of Akane, Lysiria... feel their eyes burning with hope and fear.

Kalderan turned to him again, an unhealthy gleam in his dark eyes.

- You’re persistent, vermin... but it’s time to end it. He smiled cruelly, preparing to deliver the fatal blow.

At that very moment, Mordred inhaled deeply, his thoughts suddenly clear despite the exhaustion. He clearly understood that his salvation depended on a single moment, a precise instant when Kalderan would become vulnerable.

His intangibility technique was powerful, but it had one weakness. Kalderan had to become tangible in order to strike him.

Mordred struggled to his feet, spitting blood into the sand, staring intently at Kalderan with a look of pure determination. His voice was weak, but charged with an icy intensity:

- I won’t fall... not until you’re dead.

Kalderan laughed harder, shaking his head contemptuously:

- Then come, slave... show me your last pitiful attempt before I finish you off.

Mordred was on his knees on the sand of the Colosseum, panting, short of breath, his battered body shaken by the intense pain of his accumulated wounds. Blood ran in thin, burning streams down his skin, dripping onto the dusty ground to form a dark scarlet mosaic at his feet.

Kalderan, in front of him, still wore his arrogant grin, his face imbued with absolute confidence in his imminent victory. His dark eyes gleamed with crushing contempt as he slowly advanced towards Mordred, savoring every second of the humiliation he was inflicting on his helpless prey.

- Well, human? Where’s your ridiculous determination?" sneered Kalderan, twirling both his blades, ready to inflict the fatal blow. "Did you really think you could challenge a warrior like me?"

Mordred slowly raised his head, staring intently at Kalderan with a gaze burning with cold rage and implacable determination.

- I mostly thought you’d talk less..." he murmured in a low voice, gripping the hilt of his katana until his knuckles whitened. "But apparently, your arrogance knows no bounds."

Kalderan frowned slightly, irritated by this unexpected resistance.

Mordred, on the other hand, knew he had only one chance left, one last desperate combination that could turn the tide. No matter what the consequences, he had to play all his cards now, even those he had kept jealously secret.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting his mana flow through his entire body, a powerful flow that instantly gave him a feeling of calm and lightness. Then he felt the familiar energy of his skill awaken within him, now pushed to its peak after his fierce battles in the other world.

- Flight]! he announced clearly.

Instantly, an explosion of pure energy erupted behind his back. Two majestic wings of bluish mana appeared, radiating a cold, mystical glow that briefly illuminated the arena. These translucent wings, formed entirely of mana, vibrated gently, giving Mordred an almost divine appearance.

The entire crowd held its breath at this unexpected spectacle, captivated by this extraordinary display. Murmurs of wonder now filled the stands.

In the royal gallery, Lysiria immediately straightened in her seat, stunned. Her golden eyes were wide open, staring at Mordred’s mana wings with a fascination mixed with palpable anxiety.

- Interesting... she murmured almost involuntarily. "You’re full of surprises, Mordred..."

On the other side of the stand, hidden behind the massive shadow of her dragon master, Akane also widened her eyes, a slight smile of relief furtively playing across her chapped lips.

Kalderan took a step back, stunned and unsettled by the sudden change in his adversary. Nevertheless, he quickly shook his head, arrogantly regaining his composure.

- It makes no difference! Your speed alone will never be enough to overcome my power!

But Mordred wasn’t finished yet.

Without hesitation, he slowly raised his foot, then brutally slammed it against the ground with all the power he had left.

- Earthquake]!" he shouted forcefully.

A violent shockwave instantly swept through the arena, brutally cracking the ground beneath Kalderan’s feet. Caught off-guard by this unexpected attack, Kalderan wobbled dangerously, losing his balance and having to use all his concentration to stay on his feet.

This was the opening Mordred had been waiting for.

Without wasting a single second, he concentrated all his mana into his new mana wings and almost let himself fall forward, simultaneously activating the second technique of the Ogame school’s lightning kata.

- Shidensen!" he whispered through clenched teeth, propelled at breathtaking speed by the combined power of draconic flight and Shidensen.

This time, his body crossed the arena so quickly that only a few dragons managed to follow his movement. Kalderan, still recovering his precarious equilibrium, watched in horror as Mordred’s blurred silhouette swooped down on him at a speed beyond his reflexes.

He tried in panic to activate his power of intangibility, but this time he was too slow, desperately too slow.

The black blade of the katana plunged deep into his belly, piercing flesh and muscle with a wet thud. Hot blood spurted out immediately, splattering Mordred’s hands as he gripped the hilt of his weapon firmly in his enemy’s body.

They were now inches apart, Mordred holding Kalderan’s horrified gaze as he finally realized his vulnerability.

Mordred tilted his face slightly towards him, murmuring coldly:

- Arrogance comes before ruin, pride before a fall.

Kalderan let out a panicked cry of pain and hurriedly activated his power of intangibility to free himself from Mordred’s deadly grip. Suddenly intangible, he stepped back, pressing a trembling hand against his bloody belly, trying to escape Mordred’s fatal blade.

But this time, Mordred had no intention of letting him escape. Immediately activating his mana wings, he propelled himself back towards Kalderan, refusing to lose sight of his target.

He chained blows through Kalderaan’s intangible body without pausing, and Kalderaan tried desperately to keep his distance, and it was in this relentless pursuit, blade outstretched towards his opponent, that Mordred finally noticed something crucial. Kalderaan had become tangible again after 4 or 5 seconds. He swung his katana quickly, but Kalderaan, despite his wound, pushed the blade away.

This discovery was like a flash of pure lucidity in Mordred’s mind. Kalderan, aware that his secret had been discovered, now wore a face marked by pure, unadulterated terror.

The commentator, galvanized by the excitement of the fight, screamed into his magic microphone:

- Incredible turn of events! Mordred has discovered Kalderan’s weakness! The Butcher of Twilight is on the run, and the Obscure Blade is preparing for the final assault! What an exceptional ending!freewёbnoνel.com