"What?!"

The moment I stepped fully into the grove, the world rippled like a pond, and the trees drew close like green curtains.

The change wasn’t huge, but it was stark, like a sudden eclipse; a modest grove that once held a glimpse of a square now felt like the heart of a labyrinth.

All I saw was wood and leaf, trunks like spears and crowns like canopies; the ground was a quilt of weeds and wildflowers, a messy tapestry underfoot.

Nothing else remained—no stone, no trail—like a stage stripped bare; a view only the center could witness, an eye inside a storm.

“An illusion formation?”

I stared, dazed, like a deer in moonlight; only a formation could twist a scene in one breath.

“Hee-hee-hee, Yumigawa Sumeragi, welcome,” drifted a voice like mist. “Good news—the grove was seeded with an illusion long ago.”

“It woke the instant your first step fell, a trap-spring tugging at roots,” she purred, voice cool as rain through leaves.

“This formation is called Despair Maze, a name like iron; the forest is now a maze with no exit and no entrance, a sealed shell.”

“Break the formation or you can’t leave, like a bird caged in bamboo,” she teased, body smoke and words thorns.

“So do your best, Yumigawa Sumeragi,” she cooed, a night bird in a dark bough. “Obey me and not a hair will be harmed.”

“Refuse, and you’ll taste pain, hee-hee-hee,” she cackled, like a hyena at dusk; the laugh pecked my ears like crows.

“Hmph,” I growled, heat rising like a forge. “I don’t care what you want.”

“I won’t forgive anyone who hurt Hill or provoked the Mizumi Clan,” I vowed, voice a drawn blade.

I filled my lungs like bellows, then roared like thunder. “I will absolutely, absolutely, absolutely cut you down!”

“Such a shame,” she sighed, cool as ice on stone. “Lord Blackflame only wants you alive, so we’ll play slowly, hee-hee-hee.”

Her laugh turned cold and cruel, like winter wind over graves; that was her true face, a mask of frost.

Wariness coiled in me like a snake, scales tight; I fed it silence and let it watch the trees.

A chill knifed down my spine like sleet; I whirled, the Shattered Light Sword flashing like lightning.

Clang! An arrow fell in two, like a snapped twig; steel sang, and silence closed in like water.

“Phew, that was close,” I exhaled, breath a pale cloud; the broken arrow lay on the dirt like a severed fang.

No wonder she set a formation, a hunter’s blind in green; a forest favors an arcane archer like wind favors fire.

An illusion favors her even more, fog for wolves to run; a Magus Archer is a mage branch, like the Sword Wielder’s path.

Nareinya’s archery is keen and strong, a hawk’s stoop; in a place like this, it’s a cheat, a loaded die in leaves.

“This fight is stacked against me,” I thought, bitter as ash; calm settled like snow, and I forced a thin smile.

That dodge was luck, a gust and a prayer in the pines; if another arrow came, I couldn’t promise the same.

“Nice luck,” she murmured, voice a silver wire through brush. “Time to get serious—Spiral Triple Arrow!”

Three arrows spun like drills, slicing air like razors; they came from three angles, wolves closing in with cold eyes.

A direct hit meant no more battle, a fallen tree split; maybe even death, a candle snuffed by wind on stone.

“Sword Qi Storm!” I shouted, a thunderclap in green; Sword Aura whirled into a tornado, a hungry pillar of blades.

It caught the three arrows like leaves in a gale, then scattered them like chaff as the storm thinned like smoke.

“This won’t do,” I grimaced, bones like wet ropes; I can’t block with sword arts every time without breaking.

I scanned the grove, eyes raking bark like claws; only trees, packed tight like soldiers, stood in a listening hush.

The forest was eerily quiet, a muffled drum under moss; oppression hung like heavy fog clinging low to the ground.

“Piercing Arrow!” Her cry cut the hush like a knife; another arrow, shrouded in magic, flew like a comet through ferns.

“Right side?!” I snapped, senses taut as bowstrings; I flung Sword Aura right, a slicing crescent through sap and shade.

Thump. My aura met the arrow, surf on rock; the impact chewed the air, then dropped into quiet like falling ash.

“As expected of a Sword Wielder,” she laughed, a dry bell in the leaves. “Even that won’t land? Then let’s go deeper, hee-hee-hee.”

Her cackle scratched at me like thorns on skin; my mood sank like dusk pooling in a ravine.

How do I seize the initiative, a hunter’s sun on my back? Lose it early, and you’re half-lost, a ship swallowed by fog.

I’d blocked her shots, but joy wouldn’t rise, a cold spring; keep this pace, and I’ll fall, a fruit cut from its branch.

Think. There must be a way, a key behind a door; then light flickered, a memory lantern in a windless room.

Xinuo’s voice returned, soft as tea steam over coals. “Servant, spirit is bound to will, like flame to oil.”

“The stronger the will, the stronger the spirit, a taut bow; your will is born strong but sealed, a locked blade in its scabbard.”

“You don’t yet rouse it or use it, a sleeping tiger; even so, your spirit is strong, near a mage at the Holy Peak.”

“If you wield that spirit, surprises will bloom in battle, like spring in stone.” Her words rang like temple bells across a quiet courtyard.

Spirit—right; mages sense with it, bats reading waves; Qianji Sister taught me methods, breath and thread in the dark.

Do it now. I closed my eyes, a shutter in rain; I sank all focus into sensing, roots seeking water under loam.

“Mm… got you,” I breathed, a spark in black; southeast, three hundred meters, behind a big tree standing like a tower.

A slight spatial ripple moved, a fish beneath ice; in this grave-quiet grove, it stood out like a bell at dawn.

“My turn,” I growled, a wolf baring pale teeth. “Sword Aura Art: Bursting Walls!”

I drove the Shattered Light Sword into the earth, a shining stake; Sword Aura flooded the ground like veins of light under clay.

I locked onto that spot, a nail hammered into wood; the aura raced underfoot, a river sliding beneath stone.

It reached behind that tree in a blink, foxfire under roots; the earth flexed, and the bark shivered like skin.

“What?!” Nareinya’s voice cracked, a startled bird bursting; around her, eight walls of Sword Aura rose like crystal.

“Damn—Shadow Flash!” She slipped the trap like smoke through reeds; her secret art flickered and snapped like silk in wind.

Boom! The walls exploded, blossoms of white force in bloom; the blast bit her, and blood sprayed like petals across bark.

“Heh, looks like I won this exchange,” I said, a calm flame under rain. “You took the first wound, after all.”

Nareinya wiped her lips, red as a plum on snow. “Call it that,” she smiled, a blade hidden under silk.

“But next time, it’ll be your blood,” she vowed, steel in frost; “Count on it,” she whispered, and the grove fell still like held breath.