Starting out as a Dragon Slave-Chapter 26 - : Resisting temptation

The dragon-guard's brutal roar echoed through the gloomy dormitory, abruptly snapping Mordred out of his precarious state of appeasement. The protective layer he had managed to summon dissipated instantly, leaving the open wounds on his back once again exposed to biting pain. He struggled to his feet, feeling every muscle tense painfully beneath his damaged skin.

All around him, the other slaves also stood up in silence, their dull eyes and frail bodies testifying to the cruelty of their daily lives. Mordred quickly swept his gaze around the dormitory, his heart clenching as he noticed the absence of the girl who had welcomed him on his arrival. She had been sent to the coliseum the day before, and Mordred felt a sharp pang of anxiety at the thought of what might have happened to her.

The massive, menacing dragon-guard advanced slowly along the rows of slaves, occasionally striking the ground with his whip as a reminder of his superiority. His cold, cruel gaze suddenly came to rest on Mordred, and he moved closer until he was only a few centimeters from his face.

- You," he growled in a dull, menacing voice, "didn't bring me anything yesterday. If you fail again today to bring back even a single moonstone, I assure you you'll regret those miserable lashes.

The threat chilled Mordred's blood and he swallowed hard, feeling his pulse quicken painfully in his temples. He forced himself to hold the creature's terrifying gaze without blinking, aware that to show weakness would be fatal.

The dragon-guard finally turned away, clearly satisfied with the fear he had instilled, and motioned for the slaves to follow him. This time, instead of being led to the open-air quarry, the slaves were directed to a dark, narrow entrance carved into the rock face.

Mordred felt a growing sense of apprehension as they slowly penetrated the damp, oppressive depths of the earth. The passage was so narrow that the slaves had to advance in single file, their shoulders brushing against the cold, dripping rock. A smell of mold, mingled with that of damp earth and sweat, quickly invaded their nostrils.

The further they descended, the heavier the air became, laden with moisture and dust that made every breath painful. The silence, broken only by the metallic clank of the prisoners' chains and the muffled murmurs of a few slaves, reinforced the suffocating sense of anguish that pervaded Mordred.

Eventually, they emerged into an immense underground gallery, dimly lit by torches hanging from the walls. The place was a nightmare. Dozens of emaciated slaves were already at work, relentlessly pounding the rock faces with rusty pickaxes. Their movements were mechanical, their faces inexpressive and worn by years of suffering.

Mordred looked around in horror. Tunnels stretched as far as the eye could see in the darkness, some slaves disappearing into the shadows, carried away by their exhausting task. A dragon guard suddenly threw a pickaxe at his feet.

- Dig in! And don't let me see you hanging around," he barked harshly.

Mordred picked up the tool, feeling the weight of the object pulling painfully on the wounds in his back. He delivered the first blow to the rock, immediately feeling the violent shock travel down his arms to his shoulders. Each movement awakened his wounds, reopening some of them and causing them to bleed again.

Around him, the slaves worked tirelessly, without complaint, having already given up all hope of liberation. Mordred could feel the rage and frustration growing inside him. He struck again, this time with greater force, refusing to be overwhelmed by despair.

Every movement awakened his wounds, reopening some of them and causing them to bleed again. Mordred gritted his teeth with every blow against the cold, unforgiving rock. The stabbing pain in his back seemed to want to embed itself permanently in his body, wringing muffled groans from him with every gesture. But he couldn't slow down, not with the dragon-guard's terrifying threat still echoing clearly in his mind.

Time seemed to stretch on in an endless hell underground. His muscles screamed under the effort, every blow he landed costing him a superhuman effort, his breathing becoming more and more labored. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, his pickaxe struck something harder than the usual rock. Carefully, Mordred slowly pushed aside the debris to uncover a small luminescent stone, radiating a soft, hypnotic bluish glow.

His heart raced as a system notification appeared before his exhausted eyes: [Moonstone discovered:

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[Moonstone discovered. Do you want to absorb it? Yes / No]

The temptation was overwhelming. Everything in him cried out to accept, to seize this chance to become stronger, to escape this misery, but the brutal voice of the dragon-guard immediately came back to mind. Reluctantly, he discreetly placed the stone in his basket, feeling an almost physical frustration at having to part with it.

All around him, no slave dared to raise his head, each immersed in his own silent suffering. But suddenly, a slave next to him collapsed to his knees, exhausted by the continuous effort. The sharp, brutal crack of the whip sounded immediately.

- Filthy vermin!" shouted the dragon-guard, his growling voice filling the gallery. Who gave you permission to rest?

- Pity..." murmured the slave weakly, raising his hands to protect himself in vain.

- There's no such thing as mercy here, you scum! spat the dragon contemptuously.

A second lash landed, cutting deep into the man's already bruised skin, and he let out a heart-rending howl. Mordred looked away, nausea rising in his throat. He continued to strike the rock with desperate energy, dreading that the whip would come down on him in turn if he dared to slow down.

Finally, after several excruciating hours, the guards gave the signal for a temporary pause. The slaves immediately collapsed to the floor, some unable even to sit up. Mordred contemplated his meager basket, then his eyes fell on that of a neighboring slave, much fuller than his own. A furtive desire crossed his mind: to steal a few stones to ensure his own survival. But then a wave of guilt swept over him as he imagined the terrible fate of the person he would be robbing.

- It's hard today," breathed a faint voice behind him.

Mordred turned slightly, meeting the exhausted, terrified gaze of an extremely thin young man.

- Yes..." replied Mordred, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. Do you think you can fill your quota?

The young man shook his head slowly, looking defeated.

- I don't know... I just hope I survive the day...

Before Mordred could reply, the brutal crack of the whip resounded again in the heavy air.

- Get up, you parasites!" roared the dragon-guard furiously. The next one to dawdle or stop before my command will suffer far worse than a mere lash!

A cold shiver ran through Mordred as he struggled to his feet, clutching his pickaxe with trembling hands.