"Over a dozen strikes?"

Arag looked in shock at Moen, who stood not far away, leisurely fiddling with the pure white short blade in his hand. A sense of absurdity welled up in his heart.

He had already slashed at him more than ten times?

How could that be possible?

He hadn't noticed even a single…

"Hmm?"

The sneer that was about to emerge from Arag's lips suddenly froze.

Because a blade mark appeared on his face—a shallow cut running through his skin.

Then came the second, and the third.

More and more blade marks surfaced all over his body, yet there was no spray of blood. Instead, his form seemed to contort and distort, as if ready to collapse at any moment.

The illusion shattered—his form was revealed to be nothing more than a mirage meant to distract and confuse Moen.

Since this figure was fake, then the overly abundant herd of demonic beasts surrounding them, the despairing, wailing girl, as well as the arrow poised for a lethal shot—they were all false creations.

It was illusion magic.

But the scene still felt grotesque and terrifying.

A chill ran through Arag's heart. A chilling thought struck him: If he had foolishly shown his true self before this man—someone rumored to be unimpressive—wouldn't it mean he’d have already been hacked into pieces by now?

But when?

Even if it were Paul Marvin’s blade—the swordsmanship of a disciple of the Sword King—it shouldn’t be fast enough to completely escape his detection!

Arag's expression darkened in an instant. His illusory form flickered and shifted—his entire appearance changed. The silver uniform he wore turned crimson, and the emblem featuring a wild beast on his chest transformed into one depicting a mesmerizingly intricate heart.

This now was his true appearance, his true identity revealed.

Tower of Origin. School of Illusion Magic. Arag.

"I underestimated you, Moen Campbell."

Arag still hovered in midair, looking down at Moen from above.

Though his real appearance was now fully exposed, there was no way to be certain whether this figure was actually real or yet another illusion.

"You keep saying that phrase," Moen responded with a nonchalant shrug, utterly unperturbed.

"Can't you think of something better to say?"

"Then what of it!"

Arag's forehead twitched in irritation at Moen’s silent provocation but quickly regained his composure, his expression becoming smug once more—as if holding all the cards again:

"Even if you've realized this is illusion magic, so what? You're still trapped within it!"

"The moment you stepped into this trap, you were already at an absolute disadvantage. The initiative granted by magic cannot be nullified by even the fastest blade!"

"As long as you die here, inside this illusion, the real you will die as well!"

...

"You’re not wrong. I am still inside your illusion," Moen said, nodding slightly.

Facing Arag's intimidation, his expression remained calm and composed.

The grotesque beasts surrounding her continued to glare hungrily. The rancid stench and malice emanating from them were nauseating. And though Moen knew full well these were but false constructs of magic, no sane person would simply stand still and allow such abominations to land a bite.

"But... if I recall correctly, illusion magic relies on the existence of something real—an anchor point—in order to maintain itself."

Details about illusion magic flooded back into Moen's mind, reminding him that all his rigorous studies had, in fact, not been in vain.

"An anchor…"

Her gaze roamed the area until it landed on something—a corpse he had noticed earlier.

The unidentified body remained slumped silently against the wall, its vacant eyes lifeless. Yet at this moment, the corpse seemed to stare back at him.

"Oh~"

Moen chuckled lightly before his figure vanished like a fleeting shadow.

"Damn it!"

Arag’s expression changed drastically as he barked out a command.

"Stop him!"

The swarming demonic beasts howled wildly, charging at Moen with reckless abandon.

But Moen's agile movements and sharp, precise blade forced open a path amidst the swarm of pseudo-creatures.

Arag's expression turned increasingly grim.

The more realistic and "flawless" an illusion aimed to be, the greater it had to align with logic.

For example, even in a hallucination, conjuring a hundred sovereign-level beasts outright would instantly break the illusion.

While these illusory beasts were enough to physically exhaust Moen to death, they couldn’t slow him down—not entirely.

And so Arag could only watch helplessly as he drew closer…

Closer…

And closer…

Unbeknownst to anyone, Arag’s grim expression twisted into one of anticipation. A faint, eerie excitement curled at the corners of his lips.

He couldn’t help but lean forward, watching Moen finally reach the mysterious corpse. He stared intently as he raised the short blade in his hand.

His heart was giddy with excitement, nearly impossible to suppress.

Slash it.

Go ahead—cut it.

The moment you…

"Hmm?"

The blade froze mid-air.

Arag’s elated expression froze too.

Moen turned to glance back at him, retracting the blade she'd been about to swing. A mischievous grin flickered across her face.

"This anchor… it's a trap, isn’t it?"

"You…"

"As far as I know, hiding your anchor point well is a basic skill for any competent illusion mage." Moen cocked his head, as if contemplating something. "You wouldn’t use something this suspiciously obvious as your focal point, would you? You don’t seem that stupid."

"If you already know, then why—"

"Why did I still play along?"

Moen paused deliberately before smirking.

"For fun?"

"You!!!"

As Arag’s face flushed red with rage, veins bulging on his forehead, ready to explode, Moen casually added:

"And… to buy a little extra time for my ultimate skill to finish casting, of course."

"Ultimate skill?"

"Exactly."

Moen’s mysterious smile grew broader.

"Don’t forget, I’m not alone. And my dear Saintess… she’s not just for show."

*Ding!*

Just as Moen finished speaking, a clear, resonant chime echoed into existence.

In that instant, the space near Moen began to ripple. Out of the void emerged several pieces of black metallic fragments, distinctly familiar to Moen.

Their surfaces shimmered with glittering starlight and glowed with holy magic. They connected with one another, forming a matrix of intricate designs.

The entire illusory world trembled; invisible flames seemed to consume its parchment-like façade, burning away all falsehood.

Gentle, authentic light fell upon Moen's shoulders as a figure arrived at his side—a girl whose skirt swayed delicately, her beauty as radiant as ever.

"This… Impossible!"

Arag’s real body manifested in a completely different direction. He stared at the petite yet strikingly composed maiden, his expression one of absolute disbelief.

"You too should have been trapped in the illusion!"

"Indeed, I was trapped," Lea admitted, her brow glistening with a thin layer of sweat. Crystal-like magic pulsed at her fingertips as her adorably stern face gave a firm nod.

"But…"

"This multi-layered illusion of yours—I once read about it in a book. So, I was able to unravel it!"

"And frankly… I noticed it was an illusion immediately."

Lea stole a furtive glance to the side and whispered so quietly that no one else could hear.

"That Moen in the illusion… didn’t feel *real* at all."

"Hah?"

Arag paid no attention to her subtle asides. Instead, he remained utterly dumbfounded at her previous claim.

"You read about it… in a book?"

"And that allowed you to break it?"

What a joke!

He was the most brilliant talent of the School of Illusions—a pupil mentored by the finest instructor on the subject. His painstakingly constructed magic was being dismantled by some little girl who merely *read about it*?

Impossible. Absolutely absurd.

"Oh, it’s possible," Lea replied as if she'd read his exact thoughts. Her delicate face softened further with sincerity.

"As long as you study hard and read plenty of books, anything’s possible!"

"...…"

At this moment, Arag opened his mouth soundlessly. He looked like a fish gasping for air out of water.

His gaze darted back and forth between Lea's earnest, delightfully charming expression and Moen's smirking face. In this golden, luminous land, Arag could only shiver.

Tears of frustration welled in his eyes.

A pushover? A soft lamb?

Who invented such outrageously false intel?

Who was spreading such utterly misleading rumors?

How crushingly unfair!