His heart pounding furiously in his chest, Mordred leaped to his feet in the darkness of his underground gallery, a palpable urgency coursing through every fiber of his body. Alaryon's failure and Adrien's critical condition meant that time was now running out. Every second could be decisive.

Without wasting another minute, he rushed through the narrow tunnels, dimly lit by a few torches hanging here and there. His footsteps echoed in the damp corridors, splashed with flickering light, while his mind raced at full speed. He had to act, now.

When he arrived at the entrance to the quarters arranged for Livia, he entered without warning, looking frantic but determined.

- "Livia!" he cried out abruptly, startling the young woman from her thoughts.

- "Mordred? What's happening?" she asked, immediately sensing the gravity in his gaze.

- "Change of plan," he announced curtly, his features tense with fierce determination. "The evacuation room isn't ready, but we have no choice. We must evacuate all the slaves immediately."

Livia paled slightly, aware of the real urgency that could be read in every word, every gesture from Mordred.

- "What happened?" she asked, rising quickly.

- "I don't have time to explain. Prepare them. Quickly. We must leave now!" he ordered with an intensity that brooked no reply.

Without waiting any longer, he rushed toward the slave barracks, Livia following close behind, alerted by the determination in his movements. They crossed the corridors quickly, Mordred brutally opening the door to the main barracks where the slaves, exhausted, had settled in for the night.

- "Up! Everyone up, immediately!" Mordred cried forcefully, quickly scanning the room with his gaze.

The slaves awakened with a start, some confused, others terrified.

- "What's happening?" murmured a woman, clutching her half-awake child against her.

- "No time to explain," Mordred replied bluntly, advancing with energetic steps to the middle of the room. "We must leave. Now. Livia will guide you. Do exactly what she says, quickly!"

The slaves began to rise hastily, gathering their meager possessions in an atmosphere of palpable confusion and fear. Mordred, seeing their slowness, raised his voice with implacable authority:

- "Leave everything behind! Only your lives matter now!"

He quickly headed toward the entrance of the tunnel concealed behind a wall panel, opening the way he had arranged precisely for an emergency evacuation. The slaves followed him, led by Livia who firmly indicated the course to follow, reassuring them as much as she could while maintaining a firm grip on the organization.

Mordred stood at the entrance, checking that everyone passed without incident, his heightened senses capturing every movement, every heartbeat accelerated by fear and adrenaline. When finally the last slave crossed the narrow entrance of the tunnel, Mordred seized a heavy wooden panel and firmly closed it, locking it with a thick metal bar that he fixed solidly to the structure's supports.

With cold and methodical calm, he took out a vial containing a viscous liquid, an inflammable solution, and quickly sprayed the floor and surrounding walls. With a quick gesture, he lit a torch and threw it into the room, flames immediately bursting forth, rapidly consuming the few material traces left behind them.

Mordred hastily rejoined the group, running ahead of them to guide their path through the dark maze of underground tunnels. He could feel their fear, hear their gasping breaths, but he couldn't slow down. They progressed in tense silence, disturbed only by their own hurried steps echoing on the rocky floor.

After several minutes of intense running, they finally arrived in a wider gallery, partially arranged, initially planned for a future evacuation. Mordred then turned around, signaling to Livia to organize the slaves so they could catch their breath for a moment.

- "Stay here and make no noise," he ordered in a low but clear voice. "I'm going to definitively seal the access to the barracks. You're safe for the moment, but stay ready to move at any instant."

He retraced his steps at full speed, quickly reaching the entrance they had used. He then undertook to trigger the partial collapse of the tunnel, a safety measure he had prepared for such an eventuality. With methodical rapidity, he moved the fragile supports, triggering a series of controlled collapses that definitively blocked the access.

Mordred remained motionless for a few moments, observing the now inaccessible passage, an expression of hard satisfaction on his face. No dragon could now follow their trail through this path. He hoped only that this would be enough to give them the head start they desperately needed.

Taking a deep breath, he turned on his heels, returning toward the refugee slaves, more aware than ever that their survival now depended on his ability to anticipate every threat and react without hesitation. The weight of this responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he was determined to hold firm, whatever the cost.

After checking one last time that the access behind them was definitively sealed, Mordred quickly rejoined the slaves in the wider gallery. He raised a hand, concentrating his energy, causing several luminous spheres of mana to spring forth that began to float gently around the group, illuminating the tired and anxious faces with a soft bluish light.

- "Follow me," he murmured in a calm but firm voice. "We have a long walk ahead of us, but we'll be safe where we're going."

Without waiting any longer, Mordred advanced into the tunnel, the floating lights faithfully following him, bathing the humid rock and anxious faces in a reassuring glow. The slaves, exhausted but determined, slowly fell into step, their fragile silhouettes outlined by the moving shadows projected on the rocky walls.

The progression was slow and painful. The tunnel that Mordred had dug was the longest he had ever undertaken, extending far, well beyond the known underground limits of the city. As they advanced, the familiar sounds of the city faded away, replaced by a heavy, almost oppressive silence, punctuated only by the regular sound of tired footsteps and gasping breaths.

Fatigue weighed heavily on the group. Each step became more difficult than the previous one, each breath seemed more laborious. Some slaves stumbled, supported by their companions in misfortune who advanced despite everything, driven by the fear of being found and the vague promise of safety that Mordred had given them.

- "One more effort," Livia encouraged in a soft but firm voice, supporting an elderly woman whose legs threatened to give way at every moment. "We're almost there."

Livia's benevolent lie resonated in the narrow tunnel, a desperate attempt to keep hope alive among these exhausted souls. Mordred, at the head of the file, advanced with a sure step, vigilant to every sign of weakness, ready to intervene if necessary.

Fear constantly hovered around them, like an invisible shadow. The slaves frequently cast anxious glances behind them, almost expecting to see a threat emerge at any moment. Every distant noise, every whisper seemed amplified by the palpable tension in the air. The only thing that prevented them from completely sinking into despair was Mordred's implacable determination, visible in the orange glow of his eyes, dimly illuminated by the mana spheres.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of trying and silent walking, they reached the current end of the tunnel. It was a larger cavity, still rough and unfinished, but spacious enough to temporarily accommodate the tired group. Mordred stopped and turned toward the slaves.

- "We're safe here," he declared with assurance. "We'll make a halt to regain our strength."

The slaves collapsed almost immediately, exhausted, relieved to finally be able to rest. Some instinctively grouped together to warm themselves, others simply sat against the cold wall, closing their eyes to try to recover some strength.

Mordred remained standing, carefully observing each of them, deeply feeling the weight of their anguish and fatigue.

Alaryon returned to the camp at high speed, his mind troubled and his patience now completely consumed. As soon as he landed heavily in front of the entrance, he brutally called out to the guards posted nearby.

- "You two, with me, now!" he ordered in a cutting voice.

Without hesitation, the two dragons quickly followed him to the barracks intended for holding slaves before their transfer for interrogation. Alaryon advanced with a quick and determined step, anger visibly boiling under his dark scales.

- "Check immediately that everything is in order, and make sure the slaves are ready to be moved," he barked at the guards.

The dragons rushed into the barracks, their eyes sweeping the interior with a quick glance. But quickly, their movements slowed, then froze completely. The barracks was totally empty. Not a trace, not a single soul, nothing but the stifling silence of abandoned places.

- "Lord Alaryon..." stammered one of the guards, turning a worried look toward him. "They... they're not there."

- "What?" cried Alaryon, his voice trembling under the effect of surprise and growing anger.

He strode into the barracks, scrutinizing every corner, every shadow, frantically searching for a clue, a trace, something that could explain this incomprehensible disappearance. But nothing. No sign. Just a total absence, almost supernatural, of the slaves he thought he had firmly under control.

- "Search everywhere!" he screamed, completely losing his composure. "Search every barracks, every tunnel, every corner of this camp! I want them found immediately!"

The guards scattered in haste, obeying his merciless order, inspecting every barracks, every corridor, turning over every stone with palpable urgency. But each guard returned empty-handed, with a dark and worried face, fearing the violent reaction of their superior.

- "Lord, we've searched every possible place," finally declared one of the guards returning to Alaryon, his voice hesitant. "They... they're nowhere."

Alaryon's fury then exploded, uncontrollable, devastating. He raised his head toward the dark sky and screamed his anger at the top of his lungs, his powerful and terrifying voice resonating throughout the camp.

- "HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!" he roared, his rage palpable, his voice vibrating with savage anger. "WHO DARES TO MOCK ME LIKE THIS?!"

Alaryon's cry of fury tore through the night, a scream that expressed all the frustration, all the rage of a dragon who had just suffered an unforgivable affront. The guards instinctively backed away, fearing the potential violence of their superior.

His jaws clenched, his claws gripped with such force that they left deep furrows in the ground, Alaryon remained there, standing in the middle of the empty barracks, his mind boiling with questions, doubts, and an inextinguishable anger. He had underestimated this unknown threat, and now he was paying the heavy price.