Reth took a slow breath, closing his eyes for one heartbeat. If this is real... then why doesn’t anything make sense?
When he opened his eyes again, the edges of the world had hairline cracks—thin, white cracks, disappearing when he attempted to look at them.
The mage stumbled forward. Seris moved beside him. The cracks grew deeper.
Reth raised his sword. Black fire burst, encircling his arm, pouring into the crevices in the air itself.
The marble beneath his feet trembled. The torchlight overhead splintered, shattered into shards like glass dropped slowly. Googlᴇ search Nov3lFɪre.ɴet
One stroke. Only that.
The sword did not strike the mage, nor Seris—it sliced through the air.
The world shattered.
Light seeped in from nowhere and everywhere, the ballroom exploding in a tempest of shards—walls folding inward, shadows creased like paper, voices ringing out into nothing. Reth fell forward onto solid stone, black fire dying from his weapon.
He was halfway up the great stair in the ballroom. Vacant. Silent.
Reth blinked at the wave of shimmering messages before him. The sharp text hung in the broken, fading light of the ballroom.
Everything still felt raw, like a fresh bruise—marble floor hard against his knees, but the air still resonating with the taste of broken magic.
He read the messages hastily, and his mind lagged behind.
[System Alert: Illusion Shattered – Major Cognitive Feat Achieved]
[EXP Earned: +150]
[Black Vow Lv. 1, 150/500 EXP]
[New Skill Learned – Illusion Resistance Lv. 1]
[Lessens the effectiveness of illusion and mental magic by 20% per level. Can perceive illusions in dangerous situations.]
[Skill Upgraded – Threat Perception Lv. 3]
[Now also detects illusions, mental attacks, and subtle manipulations. Activates "reality check" on anomalies.]
He breathed slowly. The dark fire on his sword disappeared into thin air. Illusion Resistance... at last. No wonder the System had stayed silent during the battle.
That mage’s spell had been too subtle for his old skills to catch. He’d broken through it on pure instinct—driven by that cold pulse of Corrupted Intent skill.
The "mage" and "swordsmen" were gone now, nothing but lies burned away.
He moved toward the stairs. Seris knelt in mid-air. Her eyes were wide and vacant, staring at something only she could see.
Her sword was gripped half-way, muscles strained as though she was still fighting. Sweat ran down her forehead. Her other hand continued to open and close. She was caught, still caught up in the illusion.
Damn... if it struck me that hard, what’s she viewing?
He hauled himself up, disregarding the pain in his body. Such delusions would destroy a mind if they persisted.
Shouting may be of no avail—and worse. It hurt him to hurt her. He required something tangible to bring her back to him.
Reth crept slowly, not wishing to scare her. "Seris," he breathed, voice firm. She did not stir. Her eyes continued to flick back and forth, tracking phantasms.
He paused, then took her shoulders and held them firmly. She winced, but did not step away.
"Seris, it’s me. Reth. Whatever you’re seeing—it’s not real. Listen to my voice. To me."
Her eyes flashed in his direction for a flicker. He moved a step closer, close enough to feel the heat of her breath. "You’re here. In the ballroom. No mage. No fight. Just us."
A chill ran down her. Her sword fell from her grasp and hit the marble. Her vision cleared like glass from mist. She gasped, leaning back by a fraction, but his palms held her in place.
They were standing inches apart now, noses almost touching. He could feel the beat of her heart in the space between them. Her chest was moving rapidly up and down. A flush moved up her neck.
Then panic crossed her face. "You—you’re—gods, you’re—" She reached out, touching his chest with trembling hands.
"You’re bleeding! I cut you, I—" Her voice cracked. She tugged at his shirt, looking for blood.
Nothing—no tear, no wound. Just the firm thud beneath her hands.
"Seris, stop," he breathed, holding her wrists in place. "I’m okay. It wasn’t real."
Her palms stayed there for a moment, sensing the proof of his declaration. She looked around slowly.
The ballroom was whole. The chandeliers glowed calmly overhead. No ash. No broken marble. Just silence, and their breathing.
What. did happen?" she gasped, her voice shaking as her gaze met his again.
Reth slowly uncoiled her wrists. "It was illusion," he stated. "A strong one. Layered deep enough to feel real".
Seris blinked hard, as if daring the world with every blink of her eyes. "Illusion...," she said, her voice almost bitter. And then she coughed—a harsh, rasping noise that doubled her over slightly.
Seris coughed again, rising hastily as she slapped at her lips. "Hnh. Figures. Should’ve picked up on that sooner," she growled, trying at that rough edge in her voice.
Her cheeks remained flushed, though, and she flinched from his glance a fraction too late. She stepped back, nearly too hastilly, pretending to look down at the ground to ensure her sword was properly secured before drawing it back out of its scabbard. The metal softly rung as she re-sheathed it.
Reth sensed the silent rigidity of her movements, the manner in which her hold on the hilt tightened as though she required something to clutch.
"You were trapped deep," he said quietly.
She snorted, shrugging her shoulders as if shoving away imaginary chains. "Please. I’ve had better. I just... didn’t think you’d get your face that close.".
A flash in her eyes—something of shame or blame—before it was gone the instant it had come. She turned to the rear wall, jaw set.
"Anyway... where’s the mage who created the illusion?" Seris snarled, glancing over toward the far wall. "There should—
She cut herself short, eyes going wide comically.
Reth trailed her gaze. Across the ballroom, half-hidden behind a collapsed chair, stood an old man in a loose, tattered robe.
The robe was so long that it lay puddled on the floor, its frayed ends sweeping along the dust.
His wiry, unshaven beard was filled with crumbs, and his pointed cap was slumping as if it had given up all hope.
His spindly fingers moved swiftly—pushing rings off fingers, digging coins from pockets, even shaking a pouch to listen to the tinkle before shoving it into a bulging satchel.
He grumbled occasionally to himself about "finder’s fees" and "hazard pay" as he proceeded to the next unconscious person.
Seris’s jaw dropped. She held on to Reth’s arm and breathed, "Isn’t that the same guy from illusion?!"