Michaelâs gaze darkened. He didnât recognize the illusion technique used, but if it was subtle enough to slip in undetected, it wasnât some street-level parlor trick.
"Why wasnât I affected?" he muttered under his breath.
He clenched his fists slowly. The only explanation that made sense... was his intelligence stat.
At his level, it was extremely high.
And illusion-type attacks were spiritual. Mental. The higher oneâs mental resistanceâusually governed by intelligence or willpowerâthe harder it was to ensnare.
If the caster wasnât much stronger than him, it would take significant effort to pull him into such a trap.
A chill still slipped down his spine.
That meant someone was already here.
Someone powerful.
Not wanting to take any risks alone, Michael immediately summoned Spartan.
The figure of his armored undead materialized in a silent burst of dark mist.
Michaelâs lips had barely parted to issue a commandâ
When a voice pierced into his mind like a hot needle.
"Whatâs another Grand Tier doing here?"
"Shitâthis oneâs mentally strong. Damn it!"
The voice was raw, annoyed, almost panicked.
Michaelâs body tensed.
He didnât recognize the voice.
Before he could reactâ
Darkness.
It fell like a curtain.
No sound. No warning.
One moment he was standing in the corridor.
The next, he was falling through endless shadow.
It wasnât physical.
It wasnât real.
But it felt real.
A beat later.
Michael landed on something cold. Stone?
He looked around and saw he was in an opening with seven paths opened in front of him.
But there was another issue.
He was not alone.
A faint flicker of movement caught Michaelâs eye.
There were six others standing nearbyâdisoriented, cautious, but very much present. Some were already glancing at the paths, while others focused on each other like assessing threats.
One of them turnedâand Michaelâs gaze locked onto a familiar face.
The Old Duke of Evermoon.
The aged noble looked wearier than before. His once-sharp features were drawn tight with concern. Upon meeting Michaelâs eyes, he gave a wry, bitter smile, as though apologizing with his expression alone.
Michael opened his mouth to speakâbut someone else beat him to it.
A calm, measured voice echoed from his right.
"Newcomer." The speaker was a middle-aged man with long streaks of grey in his hair, dressed in simple but elegant robes. His eyes, however, were anything but simple. When Michael met his gaze, he felt the heavy weight of time itself behind themâlike this man had lived far longer than his appearance suggested.
The man gestured casually toward the seven paths. "Welcome to a Grand Illusion. Quite the work of art, isnât it?"
Michael blinked. "A what?"
"The illusion," the man continued, like he was explaining the weather. "Weâre trapped. A puzzle-type. However, something like this isnât formed on a whim though. It takes timeâplanning. The caster must have laid the foundation long before today."
Michaelâs eyes narrowed. "Then itâs the auction?"
Someone scoffed nearbyâan older man with a sharp voice. "Of course itâs the damned auction! Who else would have access to us all at the same time?"
Another shook their head. "Not necessarily. It could be opportunists. Or worse, some hidden faction using the auction as cover."
Michael listened but kept his gaze steady, scanning the others.
They were strong. He could feel it. Even without sensing their levels directly, their poise, calmness, and readiness said enough.
But what confused him was how... unbothered they all were.
He gestured toward the space around them. "Youâre all being awfully calm for people whose real bodies are currently vulnerable."
The middle-aged man gave a small chuckle. "What would you have us do? Panic? That wonât help. Besides, Iâm familiar with this kind of illusion magic."
He tapped his temple lightly. "Itâs range-based. Meaning whoever cast it... theyâre in here too."
Michaelâs gaze sharpened.
"Theyâre inside?" he asked.
The man nodded. "Correct. The technique doesnât distinguish between friend and foe. Everyone within the radius at the time of activation was pulled inâincluding the caster. Thatâs the flaw in illusions this deep."
The Duke finally spoke, his voice low and weary. "In other words... weâre not the only ones navigating this puzzle."
Michael frowned, putting the pieces together.
"So if we solve it before they do..."
"We win," the middle-aged man said simply. "And if they do first, or if we die in hereâwell..." He shrugged. "Letâs just say our bodies on the outside wonât be waking up again."
Michaelâs hands clenched by his sides.
The rules were clear.
Donât die.
Solve the puzzle before the enemy.
Find the way out.
Michael stepped forward slightly, scanning the seven paths aheadâeach one leading into darkness, each one emanating faintly different auras. But before he could take a closer look, the middle-aged man beside him turned and stared more intently at Michael.
His brows furrowed slightly.
"You... this appearanceâis it your real form?" he asked.
Michael blinked. "What?"
"I mean, is this truly how you look? Youâre not an old man hiding behind some youthful face, are you?" The man tilted his head, eyes squinting like he was looking for a disguise.
"No. This is me."
"Hm." The man didnât look entirely convinced.
Before the man could probe further, a voice chuckled from a short distance away.
"Come now, Your Highest," the speaker said with a half-smile. "You havenât been in the kingdom long, have you? Thatâs Mic Nor."
"One of the strongest young talents in the kingdom. Some even say he might become the Duke of Evermoonâs son-in-law."
Michael gave the speaker a sharp glance, but said nothing.
The middle-aged manâs eyes flicked between Michael and the Duke, who simply closed his eyes with a weary sigh.
"So youâre the one causing a stir in the capital," the man said with renewed interest. "I had heard rumors, but I assumed they were exaggerated."
Meanwhile back in the real world, Spartan scratched his head, well...his helmet, in confusion.
What was he supposed to do here, he wondered.
He turned to look at his master.