Chapter 104: Full Confession
Mordred succumbed to physical exhaustion, and Isaac abruptly awoke from unconsciousness, his eyes snapping open like doors torn from their hinges. A desperate gasp tore through his throat as air flooded his lungs with the force of a tidal wave. The harsh, clinical white light struck him directly, eliciting a painful blink. This artificial brightness, devoid of warmth, seemed intent on piercing the depths of his soul.
He remained in the sterile interrogation room a soulless concrete cube where even shadows dared not linger. Four grimy white walls, a brushed metal table bolted to the floor, and two chairs fixed in place. A setting designed to break spirits rather than host conversations. The room itself stood as a silent accusation.
His wrists, restrained by cuffs biting into his skin, rested on the table’s icy surface. Instinctively, he attempted to summon his mana, to feel the familiar warmth coursing through his veins. Nothing. Not even the faintest spark of energy. It was akin to trying to breathe in a vacuum—a futile effort against an invisible yet absolute force.
His increasingly lucid gaze fell upon his bound hands. The cuffs were no ordinary restraints. Forged from an ink-black material, they absorbed ambient light rather than reflecting it. Faint violet veins pulsed across their surface, as if imbued with a life of their own. Observing them closely, Isaac discerned their nature: mana inhibitors, crafted to sever the user from their magical energy source.
- "Interesting," he mused with calculated detachment. "They’re taking no chances. They know exactly what they’re doing..."
The door suddenly swung open with calculated force, the metal clanging against the wall, slicing through the silence like a blade. A theatrical entrance, designed to unsettle. Isaac remained unmoved, his mind now tempered by the harsh trials he had endured in the other world.
Two figures framed the doorway. Inspector Marc Lemaire entered first. Beside him was Laura Bennett, shorter but equally intimidating. Her electric blue gaze seemed capable of dissecting lies with surgical precision.
Marc approached the table and dropped a hefty stack of documents onto it. The dull thud echoed in the room like thunder on a summer’s day.
- "So," he articulated in a voice as sharp as a razor’s edge, "are you finally ready to talk, Isaac?"
Isaac slowly lifted his eyes, calculating every micro-movement of his face. He molded his features to reflect a studied vulnerability, a trauma that no longer existed. His mind, once genuinely shattered by the horrors he had faced, was now clear as crystal, honed by his experiences as Mordred. The labyrinth of his thoughts was now a maze he navigated effortlessly, aware of every corner, every hidden passage.
- "Yes..." he murmured with a deliberately hoarse voice, as if each syllable scraped his throat. "I’m ready... I’ll tell you everything."