Chapter 131: Spitting Out the Truth
The armored van was speeding along, flanked by an impressive escort. Around the vehicle, hunters mounted on black motorcycles equipped with sophisticated tactical devices maintained a tight formation. Overhead, the dull roar of combat helicopters saturated the night air, their searchlights piercing the darkness, illuminating the deserted city streets. The entire convoy seemed ready to counter a massive attack, each soldier heavily armed, fingers tensed on triggers.
Inside the van, the atmosphere was heavy, oppressive. Isaac, his hands still bound behind his back with special handcuffs that completely sealed his mana, stared at Inspector Marc Lemaire seated across from him. The harsh, blinding ceiling light carved the inspector’s facial features, accentuating his hard and ruthless expression.
Marc never took his eyes off Isaac, his fingers lightly drumming on the thick file resting on his knees.
- "Let’s start from the beginning, Isaac. Tell me once more what really happened in that dungeon," he said coldly, without looking away for even a second.
Isaac inhaled slowly, controlling his breath, then slowly raised his head toward the inspector.
- "I’ve already told you everything," he replied calmly, in a monotone and icy voice. "There was a dragon. It was the dragon that attacked Lazare and my team. I didn’t kill anyone."
Marc Lemaire stared at him intensely, his furrowed brows marking his distrust. He remained silent for a long moment, as if probing every nuance of Isaac’s impassive face, searching for a sign, a hesitation, a weakness.
- "A dragon," he finally repeated, his tone laden with cold irony. "Still this dragon story... You’re clinging to this tale as if it would save you. But look where it’s led you: you’re chained, accused of murder, and about to be sent behind bars for the rest of your days."
Isaac didn’t react. He didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on the inspector, completely motionless, a cold determination in his eyes burning with restrained anger.
Silence returned, interrupted only by the regular rumbling of the engine and the roar of helicopters flying over their route.
The van eventually slowed before stopping with a screech of tires in front of Hunter Bureau Headquarters. As soon as the doors opened, a deafening noise hit Isaac: camera flashes crackled in the night, cameras pointed at him, and a crowd of journalists held their microphones in his direction.