Starting out as a Dragon Slave
Chapter 135: False Truths

Chapter 135: Chapter 135: False Truths

The darkness was brutally torn apart, like a veil ripped away from the light. Mordred was wrenched from his nightmare world... only to fall into another.

Isaac’s eyes flew open suddenly. The grayish ceiling, the vibrating neon lights, the enclosed room with its metallic and disinfectant smell. The return was brutal, immediate. His wrists instantly hurt the runic handcuffs still firmly in place behind his back. His body was bound to this metal chair, cold against his skin, and his muscles screamed with fatigue and pain.

And before him, just inches from his bruised face... Marc Lemaire’s smile.

A triumphant smile. Viscerally unwholesome. A predator’s smile who had just found a weakness, an opening, leverage.

- "You’re finally awake..." whispered the inspector, his voice flowing, sickeningly sweet. "Perfect."

Isaac clenched his jaw, his pupils still slightly clouded by the shock of his return. But the orange glow in the depths of his eyes still burned, even weakened. Even if the vise of pain from the other world still weighed on his consciousness, even if he was physically broken, he was not subdued. Not yet.

Marc Lemaire tapped something in his inside pocket and pulled out a small black vial connected to a translucent injector, the contents of which vibrated with a strange glow.

- "I found something you should like," he announced, his voice falsely jovial, tinged with barely contained sadism. "A very... special little gadget. Illegal, of course, but between us, who cares?"

He twirled the syringe between his fingers, as if presenting a work of art.

- "It’s a toxin... extracted from a very rare creature, found nowhere else but in a single dungeon in the world. Very unstable. Very... precious. It circulated for a long time on the black market before we got our hands on it."

He leaned even closer, his eyes gleaming with sick pride.

- "Once injected, it releases an agent that interferes with your nervous system... and enhances it. Thanks to this little device here," he tapped a module connected to a control, "I can make you say what I want. Make you do what I want. Your gestures, your words... even your facial expressions. I’m in control."

Isaac didn’t respond. But his face hardened. He felt a cold pulse run down his spine. He knew what was coming. And he also knew there was nothing he could do about it.

Marc Lemaire didn’t give him time to protest. In a second, the needle plunged into his neck, the toxin immediately pouring into his body. Isaac tensed, his muscles cramping in unbearable tension. He tried to resist, but his will had no effect. A strange heat rose along his spine, then spread to his arms, legs, skull.

His vision blurred for a moment, and then... he lost control.

His body fell back into the chair, lifeless, then... straightened up. Not of his own volition, but as if pulled by invisible strings. His arms slowly stretched, his eyes raised. And his face froze in a twisted smile.

- "Perfect," whispered Marc. "Gentlemen, prepare the recording."

The two technicians activated the cameras, their faces pale and tense. They, too, knew that what they were doing was abominably illegal. But they said nothing. Not a word. Not a gesture.

Marc positioned himself behind the camera, then next to Isaac, placing a hand on his shoulder like a cynical presenter.

- "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Isaac Mordred. Hunter, liar... and killer."

He pressed a button on the remote. And then, Isaac’s voice, against his will, came out of his mouth. It was his own, but distorted by a grotesque intonation. A false, manipulative tone. A sinister theater.

- "My name is Isaac Mordred. And I killed all the members of my team in the portals."

A grimace of suffering briefly tore at his features, but his body still spoke. Without him wanting it to.

- "The dragons? An invention. A fable. An illusion I created to protect myself, to divert attention. In truth... I am responsible for everything. And I did it because I wanted to see how far I could go. Because it amused me."

A laugh triggered, automated, artificial, monstrous. Isaac could do nothing. He was a spectator of his own body, forced to play this infamous role. His eyes screamed, but his mouth smiled. His voice confessed to crimes he had never committed, atrocities that tore him apart from the inside.

- "Lazare Korr?" continued the voice, still under the control of the toxin. "I killed him too. Slowly. It was fascinating to see a man like him beg. A rare pleasure."

Marc knelt beside him, watching the control screen with satisfaction, savoring every word of this despicable staging.

- "We have everything we need," he finally said. "This will be perfect for the authorities. And for the media."

Then he turned his head toward Isaac, moving closer to his face again, his smile crueler than ever.

- "You see, Isaac? You don’t need to speak for us to hear what you ’think.’ Now, you are exactly what we needed you to be: a monster."

Isaac, inside himself, was screaming. Not from physical pain he had known worse. Not from simple anger he had gone beyond that. What he felt now... was absolute hatred. A black, icy flame that consumed everything.

He was no longer afraid. He no longer hoped for justice. He didn’t even dream of redemption anymore.

Hunters’ Bureau HQ — Press Room, 24 hours later

The conference room of the Hunters’ Bureau was packed. Cameras lined up, flashes popping, microphones pointed forward like hungry spears. Silence fell as soon as Marc Lemaire walked through the door. Impeccably fitted suit, midnight blue tie, face closed but triumphant. Behind him, a delegation of high-ranking Bureau officials. Powerful men. Very powerful.

Marc calmly ascended the platform, adjusted the microphone in front of him, and let a carefully orchestrated tension hang in the air. Then, in a clear and perfectly controlled voice, he began to speak:

- "Ladies and gentlemen, good morning. After several weeks of investigation, the Hunters’ Bureau is now able to confirm the identity of the person responsible for the murders that occurred in the portals of the European sector. It is Isaac Draven, a rank A hunter, previously considered a survivor of a series of still unexplained incidents."

Murmurs ran through the room, hands stirred, journalists rushed to their keyboards.

Marc continued, unperturbed.

- "Thanks to our advanced investigative services, we were able to obtain full confessions from the suspect, confirmed by audiovisual recording. He is an individual with a manipulative, unstable profile, capable of concealing his true nature for years. His motive, in his own words, was nothing more than the pleasure of killing. The existence of the dragons he mentioned was just a lie orchestrated to blur the tracks."

He paused for a moment, then added gravely:

- "This same individual is responsible for the death of rank S hunter, Lazare Korr, a tragic loss for our nation and our security."

The room exploded. Journalists almost shouted their questions, brandishing their microphones in a disorderly cacophony. But Marc Lemaire remained unshakable. He knew his moment had come.

In the hours that followed, the video of the interrogation was discreetly "leaked" by an influential media outlet. Edited, cleaned up, calibrated to provoke maximum emotional impact. It showed Isaac, smiling, coldly confessing to each of his crimes, even laughing at the pain he had inflicted.

France — National Reaction

Headlines literally exploded on all information channels:

"THE MONSTER BEHIND THE MASK: ISAAC DRAVEN, THE HUNTER OF A HUNDRED DEATHS" "BETRAYAL OF THE CENTURY Lazare Korr’s assassin was one of their own" "Dragons? An invention! The Bureau unmasks the conspiracy"

Hysterical debates raged on television. Some called for the death penalty. Others demanded investigations into all past portals. Former colleagues of Isaac were invited onto shows to talk about his "strange behavior." Psychology experts analyzed him as "a cold, brilliant, and dangerous manipulator."

On social media, death threats poured into his private messages. Even his name had become an insult.

- "You’re really an Isaac, you piece of shit."

"Throw him into a rank S portal with no return."

"This guy screwed up the whole country, and you still want to believe his dragon nonsense?"

Marc Lemaire savored his triumph. During a closed meeting with high-ranking members of the Bureau, he received personal congratulations from the Central Director, then from the Ministry of the Interior. There was talk of "exceptional work," "dedication to the nation," "unprecedented results in such a complex case."

And finally, the promotion came: appointed Chief of the special unit for magical counter-insurgency. A position tailor-made for him.

But behind this facade of victory, a storm was brewing.

For the truth didn’t take long to make itself felt.

Without Lazare, without Isaac, France instantly lost its greatest striking force against high-level portals.

France dropped three places in the international ranking of Hunting powers, going from 6th to 9th in the world. A national humiliation.

And a diffuse, new fear began to set in.

Who would protect the country now?

Where was the next Lazare?

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