Dylan abruptly opened his eyes, gasping as if he'd held his breath for an eternity. Lying on his back, he stared at the rocky ceiling for a moment before slowly sitting up. His gray eyes swept over his surroundings.
After a quick assessment, he realized he was locked in a cell carved out of stone. This time, however, he wasn't chained. Yet, the heavy metal bracelets remained firmly fastened around his wrists.
Rising to his feet, he approached the bars and peered into the dimly lit corridor. Nothing else was discernible. Sighing, he turned away and sat back against the wall, trying to organize his thoughts.
Leaning against the cold surface, Dylan let out another sigh, an ironic smile stretching across his lips. How was he still alive? His entire body felt in perfect condition, far from the pitiful state he remembered after killing that gremlin.
But how long had he been unconscious? He had no idea. Memories of the gremlins turning on one another for the anima gem resurfaced. What had happened to them? Had one of them triumphed? And most importantly, how had he survived the chaos?
Dylan clenched his fists. He knew the savagery of those creatures all too well. They would never have let a wounded prey escape, especially not in his extremely weakened state.
Yet, against all logic, he had been fully healed. Even more surprising, he felt oddly refreshed, as if he had just emerged from a soothing bath. His clothes had been replaced, and there wasn't a trace of his wounds left. Even his scars were gone.
This situation, however, didn't reassure him. It all felt too orchestrated, too… calculated. One thought came to mind: the Matriarch.
He had only encountered her once, but it was enough to grasp part of her personality. She delighted in cruel games, spectacles that fueled her sadism. If she had saved him, it was certainly not out of compassion.
Dylan was willing to bet that his fight with the gremlin had amused her. She probably didn't want to see him die so soon—not after providing her with such entertainment.
The Matriarch had likely ordered the games to stop after one of the gremlins triumphed over its kin. A simple yet effective strategy to ensure Dylan didn't perish unnecessarily. After all, it's exactly what he would have done in her place to preserve an entertaining pawn.
As for his strength, Dylan didn't feel invincible or overwhelmed by immense power. On the contrary, he felt… normal. Perhaps slightly heavier, but nothing that hindered his movements. Still, he noticed something strange: a sort of flow coursing through him.
It wasn't blood but a subtle, almost imperceptible energy resonating with his heartbeat and breathing. It puzzled him for a moment, but he didn't need much reflection to understand.
During his time in the arena, he had been forced to confront this mysterious substance they called mana. It was likely that very thing now flowing within him. But one question haunted him: how had he absorbed something he had never directly touched or consumed?
Mana wasn't tangible; it was more like energy stored in an invisible battery. How had his body reacted to it? It wasn't as if he had a particular connection to this energy. And most importantly, what benefits did it bring?
From what he had observed, this energy seemed capable of strengthening the body and healing injuries. But was that all? Was that the extent of its functions, or did it hide other secrets?
Dylan had too many questions and far too few answers. He was almost certain he wouldn't find them anytime soon. But he couldn't sit idly by.
He stood up and approached the bars of his cell, gripping the cold metal. For a moment, he considered calling out for Basaros but quickly dismissed the idea. He didn't want anyone discovering their connection—not yet.
Taking a deep breath, he did what he did best: draw attention.
"I'm starving! Is anyone here? I'm dying of hunger, damn it!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing through the silent corridors.
The noise reverberated against the stone walls, amplifying almost menacingly. Dylan froze, straining his ears for any reaction.
A few seconds later, footsteps echoed down the corridor. Pretending not to notice, Dylan continued shouting, his voice growing louder in the oppressive silence of the cavern.
But he was suddenly interrupted by a deep, authoritative voice that compelled him to fall silent.
Basaros burst into a sinister laugh, a sound that seemed to shake the tunnel walls. Slowly, he stepped into view, his sarcastic applause echoing in the damp air.
"You've done some terrible things, you know," he said, scrutinizing Dylan from head to toe with an amused glint in his lone eye, faintly glowing under the flickering light of the corridor.
A predatory smile spread across his face.
"I'm so glad I didn't eat you this morning. You looked… appetizing. Stay just like this. I have big plans for you."
Dylan clenched his jaw slightly, his expression unreadable as he stared at Basaros.
"I haven't eaten since… I don't even know when," he retorted, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "You want me to starve to death before dying in the arena? Is that your plan?"
Basaros' smile widened, revealing sharp teeth. Without a word, he grabbed the lock on the cell door and crushed it in his hand as if it were a flimsy piece of paper. Then, with a casual gesture, he swung the door open.
Without waiting for an invitation, Dylan stepped out of the cell. Once outside, he noticed the other cells lining the corridor. Most seemed empty, but he couldn't get a full view of the place yet.
Basaros walked ahead of him, gesturing for him to follow. Left with no choice, Dylan complied, using the opportunity to discreetly glance around. To his surprise, the cells contained nothing.
"Why are these cells empty?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Basaros replied in a nonchalant tone, "Oh, you mean our 'product stock'? Well, it's all gone. I'll need to restock soon… but honestly, I'm too lazy."
The word "product" sent a chill down Dylan's spine. Unease grew within him, and he couldn't stop himself from asking another question:
"So why put me here, if it's just a place for storing food?"
Basaros slowly turned his head toward him, his smile twisting into a sinister, mocking expression. He leaned slightly closer and, in a near-whisper, said:
"You're no different from that. Hehe… Honestly, I've been holding back from taking a bite out of your tender flesh since this morning."