The demons from the Legion of Deceit were known for one thing.
Just like their na, they never fought fair.
Tricks, traps, illusions, poison, curses—whatever it took to win, they would do it.
If you let your guard down, even for a mont, the next breath you take… might be your last.
Azhriel knew that.
He knew what kind of enemy he was facing.
So he walked forward with calm steps, his eyes sharp like a blade, his mind even sharper. Every sound, every movent, every shift in the air—he noticed it all.
Spatial Awareness Activated.
A soft chi echoed inside his head as the system responded.
He could feel everything within ten ters around him. The ground beneath his feet, the rustle of cloth, even the faint flicker of mana.
There were no surprises now.
Across from him, the Sergeant watched.
His grin widened slightly as Azhriel drew closer. The space around him pulsed—not loud, but deep, like distant thunder before a storm.
Dark energy coiled around his form, barely visible, but heavy enough that the air felt thicker.
He'd been watching from the start. From Azhriel's first strike to the mont he cut down the last demon, the Sergeant had observed every move.
He had seen the boy's space movent, his frost blade, the way he switched positions without warning.
And even though he hated to admit it—
He was impressed.
"A child… yet this sharp," the Sergeant thought, eyes narrowing slightly. "Tch. Annoying."
But admiration or not, he had no intention of losing. This guy could beco dangerous.
The space between them held silence.
Azhriel stopped just a few ters from the Sergeant.
His frost sword now rested at his side, the blade still gleaming faintly with cold light. Blood dripped slowly from a wound on his side, but his grip didn't shake.
The Sergeant tilted his head, his yellow serpent-mark glowing more brightly now.
"You're different from the others of your age I have seen." he said calmly, his voice smooth like oil over glass. "Stronger. Smarter. But still too young."
Azhriel said nothing.
The next second, they moved.
The Sergeant dashed forward, almost gliding over the ground. His hand shot out—not a fist, not claws, but a flat palm aid for Azhriel's face.
The palm looked harmless.
But Azhriel's instincts scread.
He ducked low instantly, bringing his sword up, aiming for the demon's ribs.
The blade connected or so he thought.
The Sergeant's body vanished the mont the sword hit him.
In the next mont, he was behind Azhriel.
Azhriel spun quickly, as he blocked it just in ti. The Sergeant's fist clashed with his blade, a heavy thud echoing out throughout the area.
Azhriel skidded back, his boots scraping across the stone floor.
'Is it a Illusion? No, it felt more like a clone.' Azhriel thought.
"Heh, surprised boy." The Sergeant laughed as he struck again, just to be blocked by Azhriel even though barely.
Azhriel mind raced, even with all going on his mind remained calm. He analysed as he looked and attacked at the Sergeant.
He adapted, as he felt each blow more heavier than before.
"Your ability, it let's you create a virtual clone of yourself, doesn't it?" Azhriel spoke.
"Hoh, i must say you are sharp for you to figure out my ability. You are correct." The Sergeant said and continued.
He grinned. "My gift is simple," he said, raising both hands. "Illusory Veil. I can create a perfect double of myself for a short ti. Real enough to distract, even draw attacks. But not real enough to be hurt."
As he spoke, another version of him stepped out from behind the shadows. Identical in every way.
Two now.
Both moved at once.
Azhriel focused, as his eyes glowed faintly. His space sense helped a little—he could feel the difference.
One of them had a true presence. The other was like smoke.
He stepped back, letting both attack. The fake passed through him. The real one—he parried.
Sparks flew as blade t clawed hand again.
But this ti, the illusion didn't disappear.
It lingered, circling like a second enemy.
"That's new," Azhriel muttered, frowning.
The Sergeant's smile widened. "I can maintain two, sotis three. Depends on how focused I am."
'Wow, to think people like him who told their enemy about their cards exists in reality.' Azhriel thought.
The fake dashed in again, swinging a blade made of red mana.
Azhriel raised his sword to block out of habit—then rembered.
Too late.
The fake passed through his sword, and though it couldn't hurt him physically, it still flared in his vision—blinding for half a second.
The real one moved in that mont.
Bam!
"Fuc- ugh"
A kick landed cleanly against Azhriel's stomach, sending him flying back into a broken stall.
He coughed, blood rising to his mouth.
"You're strong, boy," the Sergeant said, walking forward. "But you're not used to fighting people who lie with every breath."
Azhriel wiped his mouth and stood again, slower this ti.
He summoned a wave of cold from his sword, sending a sheet of frost across the ground. The ice crawled like a living thing, aiming to trap the Sergeant's feet.
The illusion stepped forward first—Azhriel ignored it. The real one leapt to the side.
Azhriel Switched mid-movent, appearing right beside him.
He slashed.
The Sergeant's arm ca up—blocking with bare skin. Frost began to spread over his forearm.
He winced slightly.
"You're clever. But not clever enough."
From behind Azhriel, a third copy appeared.
Three illusions now?
No—this one felt real.
Too late again.
The clone stabbed a red blade straight into Azhriel's back.
Pain erupted through his side.
He spun, swinging wildly. The blade passed through air.
It was an illusion. But he felt it.
What—?
"I lied," the Sergeant said softly, now right in front of him. "So illusions hurt the mind so deeply, the body believes it's real. Welco to real deception."
A punch landed straight to his nose.
Azhriel fell to one knee, panting. His vision shook. Cold sweat rolled down his temple.
He was losing.
Not because the enemy was too strong, but because he was fighting sothing unfamiliar without preparation—
Deceit.
Everything the Sergeant said, showed, or did could be false.
And if you believed it, even for a second… it beca real.
'No' Azhriel thought.
'I won't lose to tricks'
He stabbed Frost Born into the ground.
A pulse of space mana spread outward—blowing away the illusions nearby. The copies shimred and shattered like glass, revealing the real one's location clearly for a mont.
He locked eyes.
And then vanished.
Switch.
This ti he appeared directly above the Sergeant.
The demon barely reacted before Azhriel's blade ca down like a hamr.
It didn't kill him—but it struck true. A gash split across the Sergeant's shoulder, and frost dug into the wound, spreading with a hiss.
The Sergeant leapt back, grimacing. "So you can learn mid-fight. Interesting."
Azhriel didn't reply. He was already moving again.
From just one move the tide had shifted.
He didn't wait for illusions to co to him. He charged forward, striking with quick, brutal slashes.
The Sergeant dodged one, blocked the next, but the third caught his leg—blood splattered.
The fourth nearly severed his arm, if not for a sudden flip backward.
Azhriel kept up the pressure. He froze the ground to limit movent, used his Switch to appear from odd angles, and even shattered small space rifts to block counterattacks.
But the Sergeant wasn't done either.
He gritted his teeth, raised his hands—and three illusions split from his body at once.
They all attacked at once.
Azhriel focused—breathing deeply. He let the first hit him—nothing. The second—he ducked.
The third—he slashed.
tal rang.
Real.
He followed up instantly. Sword, palm, elbow—every strike he could deliver, he did.
But then—dark smoke burst from the Sergeant's mouth.
Phwsh
Azhriel stepped back, coughing, and his eyes stinging.
And in that blur—he felt a blade slice across his cheek.
His senses flared.
He turned instinctively, as he swung wide—and heard a grunt.
The smoke cleared.
And there the Sergeant stood, bleeding heavily now.
One arm limp, half his chest cut open.
His illusions shattered again.
His breathing was ragged. His yellow serpent-mark flickered.
He was running out of strength.
"So…" the demon said between breaths. "This is the power of a child…?"
Azhriel raised Frost Born again, his voice steady. "No. This is the power of soone who doesn't fall for lies twice."
The Sergeant charged—one last ti.
Azhriel didn't move.
He waited.
Watched.
And when the demon ca close—he Switched.
He reappeared behind him, and thrust Frost Born straight through his back.
The blade froze the insides, the heart, the lungs.
The Sergeant gasped once, tried to turn—
And then fell.
His body landed on the ground with a thud, frost spreading from the wound. The yellow serpent-mark slowly faded into black.
Azhriel stood still for a long mont.
The fight was over.
His chest rose and fell slowly. The blood loss, the ntal strain, the tricks—
It had all pushed him close to his limit.
But he won.
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