Starting out as a Dragon Slave-Chapter 65: Mordred VS Kalderaan (Part 3)

Kalderan staggered back slightly, his left hand pressed firmly against the gaping wound Mordred’s black katana had opened in his belly. He could clearly feel his blood flowing at an alarming rate, hot and sticky between his fingers. The warrior clenched his teeth violently, fighting the pain that pulsed intensely through his entire body.

He knew he didn’t have much time. The wound was deep and, without immediate intervention, would be fatal.

- Cursed human... he muttered with rage and pain, giving Mordred a look of pure hatred tinged with a fear he stubbornly refused to admit.

Kalderan had never excelled in the art of mana. Unlike other Colosseum fighters, he preferred to rely on his brute strength and relentless fighting technique. To him, mana was a weakness, an unstable resource that only cowards or the weak could rely on as a last resort.

But this time, he had no choice. He had to act fast, and only mana could save his life right now.

Clenching his teeth violently under the effort, he desperately drew on what little magical energy he possessed. Concentration was a painful effort, his face tense with the intensity of the operation.

Slowly, painfully, a tiny glowing ball of fire began to appear in the palm of his right hand, flickering and unstable as if it might disappear at any moment.

- Just a little bit more... just a little bit more, dammit!" growled Kalderan, struggling to keep the trembling flame alive. His face was now dripping with sweat from the colossal effort required by this simple act of magic.

Finally, with a muffled cry of pain, he pressed the flame violently against his wound, brutally pressing his palm against his open flesh.

The pain was searing, excruciating, burning his nerves like a red-hot iron plunged into his guts. A sickening smell of burning flesh immediately rose to his nostrils, causing him to retch with difficulty. But he kept his hand pressed firmly against his belly, his muscles contracting violently under the torture of this savage cauterization.

- AAAAAAAAH!" he screamed, his eyes bulging with pain beyond endurance.

When he finally withdrew his trembling hand, the gaping wound was now sealed by a thick, black, steaming scab, stopping the flow of his blood dead in its tracks. His breath came in rapid, gasping gasps, but at least he was in no immediate danger of bleeding to death.

Kalderan slowly looked up at Mordred, his gaze now charged with murderous fury

Mordred, his mana wings still vibrating behind him, felt every pulse of pain run through his body, but he kept his mind focused, precisely on the fatal flaw in Kalderan’s power. He was sure he had found the key to victory, certain that all he had to do now was wait for the precise moment when his opponent would become tangible again before striking.

But Kalderan, for all his wounded arrogance, was still a formidable fighter, and above all, terribly cunning. He had already sensed Mordred’s icy understanding of his power. Knowing that his secret was out, he immediately changed strategy, aware that he didn’t have the luxury of a second mistake.

When Mordred charged towards him again, concentrated to the extreme, Kalderan this time began to use his power of intangibility with surgical, desperate mastery. Instead of making his entire body intangible, he applied his skill only to the precise area targeted by Mordred, or became intangible for just a fraction of a second, disrupting all his opponent’s carefully worked-out calculations.

Mordred, over-confident in his approach, was unable to react in time to this subtle variation in his enemy’s strategy.

- Die!" shouted Kalderan suddenly, shifting slightly to the side to avoid Mordred’s black katana and becoming intangible just where the dark blade was aiming.

Mordred felt his attack cross the void again and instantly realized his mistake. But this realization came too late. He had charged forward with such determination that he was unable to dodge Kalderan’s lightning counterattack in time.

Kalderan’s short blade shot towards him, cold and deadly, shining cruelly under the arena’s magical torches. Mordred immediately felt an icy terror seize his insides as the sharp point of the sword inexorably approached his face.

At that very moment, time seemed to slow to a near standstill around him.

Mordred saw every detail with absolute clarity. He saw Kalderan’s steel-sharp glare, the look distorted by his enemy’s savage rage, the drop of sweat slowly beading on his own forehead. He felt his heart beat with surreal slowness, each painfully distinct beat sounding like a war drum in his ears.

The tip of the blade moved even closer, inexorably, to his right eye. He could almost feel the cold metal touching his eyelashes, grazing his skin with unbearable slowness. He clearly saw the horrified reflection of his own gaze in the gleaming steel, detailing with horror every muscle fiber twitched in his face.

Then came the pain, searing and brutal.

Kalderan’s blade sliced deep into his face, from the top of his forehead to his cheek, just below his right eye, coming within a millimeter of piercing his eye. The skin tore brutally, hot blood immediately spurting out in a scarlet spray splashed across his field of vision. An excruciating pain instantly burned his entire face, like a blade of fire passing slowly through his flesh.

Mordred let out a hoarse cry, instinctively staggering back under the violence of the impact. He immediately brought a trembling hand up to his face, feeling with horror the rush of blood between his clenched fingers. He then realized that he had come within a hair’s breadth of losing his eye for good.

Kalderan stepped back too, exhausted, panting violently, but grinning wildly, cruelly and triumphantly.

- Not so sure of yourself now, are you?" he roared, sneering despite his own pain. "I told you you couldn’t win, slave. You’ll die slowly, piece by piece." freewёbnoνel.com

The crowd was now in a frenzy, howling with perverse pleasure at this spectacular turn of events. In the royal gallery, Lysiria gritted her teeth anxiously, her heart beating furiously in her chest as she watched helplessly Mordred’s critical condition.

Hidden in the shadows, Akane felt a dull terror as she saw the abundant blood running down Mordred’s face. She clenched her fists violently, her nails piercing his skin in a gesture of desperate rage.

Mordred, now covered in wounds, struggled to keep a clear head. Every breath had become a torture, every heartbeat intensified the pain in his mutilated flesh.

His knees trembled slightly, threatening to give way beneath him. But Mordred stubbornly refused to fall. He wobbled, spitting blood that slowly trickled down his chin. His vision was now tinged red, blurred by pain, but he clung desperately to his conscience.

I mustn’t give in, he thought, panting, his mind teetering dangerously on the edge of madness.

He inhaled deeply, staring intently at Kalderan through the bloody haze that clouded his vision. Then, in a hoarse, weak voice, he began to slowly recite his mantra, each word weighing heavily on his wounded mind, as a final defense against panic and despair:

- A warrior never gives up... a warrior endures pain... a warrior accepts wounds... for scars are the marks of his honor... I am a warrior, and this pain is nothing compared to my will...

Kalderan frowned as he heard her murmur, perplexed and irritated by this resistance that never seemed to go away.

- Are you losing your mind, slave?" he growled, clutching his short blades. "Let’s get it over with."

But Mordred couldn’t hear him. He kept repeating his words, desperately trying to keep his mind clear in the midst of the chaos:

- A warrior never gives up... pain is fleeting... honor is eternal... I won’t give in... I won’t die here....

Mordred felt every cell in his body protest violently against the extreme effort he was imposing on them. His mana core, forged by absorbing crystals in the depths of the dungeon, was now spinning at dizzying speed, like an engine pushed to the limit of its endurance. Every heartbeat sent burning pulses of pure energy through his veins, relentlessly fueling his mana wings, which vibrated with an almost uncontrollable intensity.

His gaze was riveted on Kalderan, determined to end this fight once and for all. The searing pain of his wounds was now a distant backdrop, submerged by the sheer adrenalin of the moment.

Kalderan, facing him, was still panting, one hand clutching at the horribly cauterized wound in his abdomen. He knew he’d been close to death, and this proximity to the abyss seemed to have infused him with a new rage, a murderous fury that blazed in his eyes.

They dashed forward simultaneously, their silhouettes blurred in the public eye by the speed and precision of their movements. Mordred pushed his draconic flying skills to the limit, the sudden acceleration momentarily taking his breath away. The air whistled violently in his ears as his black blade traced deadly arcs through space.

Kalderan dodged with frightening skill, rendering intangible every part of his body targeted by Mordred’s blows, retaliating with precise, merciless strikes. Every time the katana passed through his body, Kalderan became tangible again just long enough to strike, exploiting every opening.

The fight was now a deadly dance, a complex choreography combining sheer speed, anticipation and raw power. The captivated audience could no longer even breathe normally, their eyes riveted on this confrontation where the slightest misstep meant immediate death.

Gradually, Mordred began to adapt. His mind entered a state of absolute concentration, observing and anticipating Kalderan’s every intangible move. He struck again, the blade tracing a direct horizontal trajectory towards his enemy’s torso.

Kalderan smiled cruelly, convinced that this attack was predictable. His silhouette immediately became intangible at the precise point where the blade would pass.

But this time, Mordred was ready.

As his blade pierced Kalderan’s immaterial body, Mordred saw clearly into his opponent. The black steel passed through him like a shadow. And it was precisely at that moment that he knew what he had to do.

With implacable determination, he twisted his wrists violently upwards, abruptly changing the trajectory of his blade in mid-movement. A muffled cry escaped his throat as the muscle in his forearm tore under the violence of this unexpected twist. The searing pain nearly tore a scream from him, but he held on, his mind clear despite the suffering.

Then the black blade shot upwards, slicing vertically from inside Kalderan’s belly to his chest and face.

Kalderan, totally unprepared, instinctively cancelled his intangibility, certain that Mordred would continue the initial trajectory horizontally, as he had done every other time. It was a fatal error.

Mordred’s blade, which became tangible again at the precise moment Kalderan returned to physical reality, brutally split his body in two from the pelvis to the collarbone. The wet sound of tearing flesh echoed clearly through the now silent arena, accompanied by a massive spray of scarlet blood that gushed out in all directions.

The two halves of Kalderan’s body slowly fell away from each other in an almost unreal tumble. His eyes, wide with astonishment, remained fixed on Mordred, expressing utter disbelief at the reality of his defeat. Finally, he collapsed heavily on his back, raising a cloud of dust.

His eyes, staring up at the night sky above him, quickly lost all glimmer of life, giving way to an eternal emptiness.

Mordred stood over him, panting deeply, the blade of his katana aimed at the ground. His right arm, now useless, hung painfully down his body, streaming with blood. But he remained motionless, his cold, merciless gaze fixed on Kalderan’s mutilated corpse.

[*Ding* Absorption possible]

[Physical stats] / [Physical skill] / [Special skill]

Without giving it much thought, Mordred clicked on Special Skill. The system panel closed and Mordred knew he’d see the results when he returned to his world, so he didn’t worry about it any longer.

The silence in the arena was total, every spectator transfixed by the incredible scene they had just witnessed. Then, suddenly, a solitary cry broke the absolute stillness:

- The Obscure Blade triumphs! Mordred has defeated Kalderan! What a fight! What power! What determination!

An explosion of shouts and hysterical applause filled the arena, the audience chanting Mordred’s nickname with frenzied passion.

The tension in the royal gallery reached its peak when Mordred finished off Kalderan in a manner as brutal as it was spectacular. The astonished silence of the crowd was immediately replaced by frenzied cheers and shouts, but in the gallery, another unexpected event captured the attention of the royal family.

Lysiria, the dragon princess known for her reserve and icy indifference, had suddenly leapt from her seat, her eyes shining with excitement and pure joy, a dazzling smile lighting up her usually cold face. Her hands clasped in front of her, she looked at Mordred with obvious admiration, unable to hold back the spontaneous cry:

- Yes! He did it!

Around her, shocked silence was immediate and total. King Drakeor slowly turned his head towards his daughter, an expression of surprise mingled with disbelief on his stern face. Prince Varyos, his brother, raised an amused eyebrow, staring at Lysiria as if he’d just witnessed a rare phenomenon.

The royal guards, usually stoic, discreetly exchanged embarrassed glances, unsure of what to do in the face of such an unusual reaction from the dragon princess.

Lysiria’s face went from excited red to livid white in an instant. Aware of the stares she was receiving, she sat up abruptly, desperately trying to regain a neutral expression, but her heart was beating so fast she could almost hear it.

King Drakeor leaned slightly towards her, his deep voice tinged with genuine concern:

- Is everything all right, Lysiria? This behavior isn’t like you.

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words seemed to get stuck in her throat. She felt her cheeks flush with shame, her internal panic intensifying with every passing second. Finally, she managed to stammer out a clumsy reply:

- I... uh... Yes, Father. I’m sorry, I... I was just thinking about something else. I was surprised by the sudden end of the fight.

Drakeor frowned slightly, unconvinced by this clumsy explanation, but finally chose to nod slowly, seeming to accept her justification momentarily. However, his persistent gaze clearly betrayed his doubts.

Beside him, Varyos suddenly burst out laughing, clearly amused by his sister’s obvious embarrassment:

- Well, Lysiria, I didn’t think a mere human could arouse such a reaction in you! Have you finally discovered a passion for the Colosseum fights, you who always scorned them so much?

Lysiria’s face tensed further under her brother’s mocking teasing. She abruptly averted her eyes, staring obstinately at the arena, avoiding her father’s questioning gaze and her brother’s amused one. Finally, she murmured, trying to preserve what little dignity she had left:

- I don’t know what you’re talking about, Varyos. It was nothing more than a momentary surprise. Nothing more.

The prince chuckled softly, clearly unconvinced by his clumsy excuse, but chose not to add anything, simply savoring the rarity of the moment.