Starting out as a Dragon Slave-Chapter 97: Dungeons Have Two Entrances ?

Still breathless, his body trembling from the intensity of the kiss, Mordred slowly backed away, as if a veil had been ripped from his dulled senses. The imprint of Elystria’s lips still burned on his when his fragmented consciousness began piecing itself back together—painfully, like shards of a shattered mirror.

He froze. His pupils, glowing with a deep orange hue like embers beneath ash, contracted as his gaze locked onto Elystria—the dragon princess—whose face was still dangerously close to his. Confusion flashed across his features first, then dizziness, and finally a brutal grimace twisted his face.

- "Y-You... You actually kissed me?" he stammered, stumbling backward as if he had just licked something poisonous.

His face contorted in visceral disgust. In a near-convulsive gesture, he scrubbed his mouth roughly with the soiled sleeve of his tunic, rubbing so hard the fabric scraped his skin raw.

"Ugh... I’m gonna catch some draconic infection or mutate into a lizard, for sure," he muttered through gritted teeth.

Elystria watched him, at first stunned by the theatrical rejection, then an amused glint lit up her features. A crystalline, almost melodic laugh—surprisingly light for someone so predatory—escaped her throat.

- "You expect me to believe that the great Mordred, the silent killer of the quarry, the one who made even seasoned champions bleed, is afraid of a few germs?" she teased, crossing her arms, a playful gleam dancing in her amber eyes.

- "Not ’a few germs,’" Mordred spat, still scrubbing his lips like his life depended on it. "A dragoness. A damn dragon princess! The most arrogant, cruel, and condescending species alive! And you shoved your forked tongue into my mouth?! Seriously?"

She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, feigning offense but visibly savoring his overreaction.

- "My tongue? Such vivid imagination..." she tilted her head slightly, a carnivorous smile curving her lips. "You didn’t seem that... reluctant a few heartbeats ago. I could’ve sworn I felt your hands clench around my hips."

- "I was in shock," he snapped back, vehement. "It’s a mind-control technique, isn’t it? Some psychic manipulation? You dragons are infamous for that!"

Elystria burst into laughter again, the sound bouncing against the cold walls of the cell. But beneath her mocking facade, something deeper flickered in her gaze—a near-imperceptible fragility, a hidden worry she fought to conceal. When she spoke again, her voice had lost its edge, taking on a more measured tone.

- "Are you going to let me speak now, or do you plan to keep blessing me with another vindictive monologue about how much you hate us?"

Mordred exhaled heavily, slumping back against the rough wall of the cell. He crossed his arms over his chest, his weary gaze fixed on the shifting shadows above. His resigned silence was permission enough.

Elystria took a deep breath, her shoulders subtly squaring as she stepped closer again, though she kept a calculated distance this time.

- "Something happened during my audience with the royal council," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, as if even the stones could betray them. "A dragon returned from a dungeon mission in... critical condition."

She paused, searching for the right words.

- "He’s technically alive—if you can call it that. His torso was severed cleanly, as if by a blade of pure fire. The portal closed while he was still halfway through. Only his upper body made it across."

Mordred stiffened, a cold sweat trickling insidiously down his spine. His pupils dilated imperceptibly in the gloom, betraying the storm raging behind his carefully composed mask. He understood instantly.

It was him.The dragon he had fought.The one against whom he had unleashed his draconic form.

- "He’s... alive?" Mordred whispered, feigning a surprise that was almost convincing.

- "Barely," Elystria answered, tilting her head slightly. "He’s in a deep coma, sustained by the most powerful healing enchantments. But before he slipped into unconsciousness... he whispered a few words. Words that were deeply troubling."

She stepped even closer, lowering her voice further.

- "He spoke of a dragon allied with humans... and of betrayal."A heavy silence settled between them. Mordred remained expressionless, but the dull pounding of his heart echoed in his temples like a war drum.

- "The king is more furious than I’ve ever seen him," Elystria continued, a flash of genuine worry crossing her gaze. "Rumors are spreading like wildfire. The most radical nobles are already calling for purges, bloody investigations within the draconic bloodlines. My brother immediately proposed targeted interrogations... and they were approved."

- "Interrogations?" Mordred repeated, his throat suddenly dry.

- "Yes. Every dragon involved in interworld missions, everyone who’s ever set a claw inside a dungeon, will be interrogated. Magically." She lowered her eyes. "Including me," she added in a whisper barely audible.

A shiver ran down Mordred’s spine. Magical interrogations left no room for lies—no corner to hide the truth.

Elystria sighed deeply, then stepped back with a decisive motion.

- "I have to go," she said, straightening her shoulders and regaining her royal composure. "Don’t get distracted by all this. I remind you that in a few hours, you fight in the Colosseum." A sharp warning flickered in her eyes. "You’d better be flawless. My brother, the king, is in a murderous mood, and it wouldn’t take much for him to order an execution... even that of a champion as popular as you."

With those heavy, veiled words, she vanished into the corridor’s shadows, leaving behind only the lingering scent of sulfur and rare spices—and the bitter taste of the warning she had just delivered.

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Alone in the darkness of his cell, Mordred stared at his hands under the pale light filtering through the barred window.

He blinked once, then twice.

The blood wasn’t really there he knew it and yet, he could see it.

Red, thick, sticky.

It flowed between his fingers, seeped under his nails, painting macabre arabesques across his pale skin.

It’s not real. It’s not real.

He clenched his fists violently, digging his nails deep into his palms until the pain forced him back to the present.When he opened his hands again, the vision lingered for a few seconds before finally fading, leaving behind that all-too-familiar sensation—that indelible stain that no amount of water could wash away.

- "You’re still there, aren’t you?" he whispered into the oppressive silence.

And for the first time,he wept.

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Later, as the darkness thickened around Mordred’s cell, a living thing feeding on his darkest thoughts. For the first time since arriving in this draconic hell, his mind wasn’t solely focused on immediate survival. It opened to a dizzying possibility.An escape.

Curled into the darkest corner of his prison, knees drawn to his chest, back pressed against the rough wall that scraped his skin through the threadbare fabric of his tunic, he stared into nothingness, his mind burning despite the exhaustion numbing his limbs.The pale moonlight, filtering through the corroded bars of his narrow window, cast a ghostly glow across his tense features.

He kept replaying the image of that dragon—the one he had fought deep within the dungeon.The one now hanging between life and death—literally torn in half.

If he managed to emerge from the dungeon while the portal was closing... then...

Mordred frowned, his fingers slowly clenching the ragged fabric of his pants until his knuckles turned white. His breathing grew deeper, more controlled, as he forced his fractured mind to focus on this new perspective.

He couldn’t understand how half a draconic body had ended up here, in the dragon realm, when the dungeon had sealed shut behind him.The portal was supposed to connect point A to point B, right?One entrance, one exit—that was the ruthless logic of dungeons as he had always known it.

But if that half-body had been expelled into this world—a world he’d only ever seen from within a prison cell... then maybe another way existed.A second passage.A breach in the system.A link between worlds.

If a being from their world could cross over from ours to here...Then maybe a human—or something close enough—could do the reverse.

His heart quickened, blood pulsing through his veins like a flood of new possibilities.

The implications were staggering. Until now, he had believed himself hopelessly trapped, condemned to endure night after night of slavery, combat, and suffering.But if a direct link existed between the two worlds through the dungeons...

Maybe he could do more than just survive day to day.Maybe... he could act.Strike.Take revenge.

Nothing guaranteed that these passages would be easily identifiable, of course.The visible portal in his original world had only been an official entry point, monitored and controlled. But if an exit to the dragon world existed somewhere deep within the dungeons—well hidden, off the beaten paths, reserved for draconic creatures—then it revealed a terrible yet potentially life-saving truth:The dungeons were not just deadly traps.They were a sophisticated transport system.A network connecting worlds.

Mordred swallowed with difficulty, his throat tight. The tension knotting his guts no longer came solely from hunger or fear.It was the primal excitement of a predator sensing a weakness in its prey’s defenses.

If he could locate that second passage...He could become the first human to infiltrate their world willingly.The first to turn their own system against them.

But what worried him even more was the link between his two identities.That dragon he had faced while in his human form as Isaac...He had seen him.He had likely sensed the anomalous draconic aura leaking from him when his true nature had briefly surfaced.And if that dragon survived long enough to speak...

He could make the connection between the human and the gladiator. Between Isaac and Mordred.

Sure, the two forms didn’t share the same physical appearance. But these ancient creatures didn’t rely merely on appearances. They sensed life force.The unique imprint of mana.The indelible signature of the soul.

Shit...

He exhaled slowly, his gaze lost in the almost tangible darkness.

If he wanted to survive—and more than that, if he wanted to regain his freedom—he had to get ahead.He had to act before the king and his inquisitors began their campaign of magical interrogations.Before the fragmented memories of that mutilated dragon stirred targeted suspicions.

Mordred slowly closed his eyes, his features hardening in the dark.

A decision crystallized in his mind, as clear and sharp as the blade that had once cut through his enemy.

He would no longer simply endure his fate.He would hunt for that passage.And if he found an entrance into their world... he would also find the way back.

And then, everything would change.Because this time, they would be the invaded ones.

"I wonder what would happen if both my Isaac and Mordred bodies ended up in the same world," he thought. "Which body would my mind inhabit? And what would happen to the other one? System?"

The system remained silent, offering no answer.