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A/N: I uploaded this chapter at the wrong time, sorry for the inconvenience.

Arios stood in the empty training yard, the faint hum of mana in the air the only sound breaking the stillness. The setting sun cast long, distorted shadows across the cobblestones, and the air was growing cool, carrying with it the promise of evening. Instructor Garron faced him from across the square, his expression unreadable, though the tightness around his mouth betrayed that something was being carefully hidden.

Garron's posture was rigid, his hands clasped behind his back, a man trying to project an air of authority while feeling anything but. Arios didn't move. He simply stood with his wooden sword resting at his side, watching, waiting. His stance was relaxed, his breathing even, the picture of a man utterly at ease.

"Do you know why I asked you here?" Garron said finally, his voice flat, almost mechanical, as if reading from a prepared script.

"You said you wanted to speak privately," Arios answered, his tone steady, giving nothing away. "But you didn't explain more than that. I am here now. What is it you wish to discuss?"

Garron took a step forward, and the dirt beneath his boots crunched, a harsh, grating sound in the silence. He lifted one hand slowly, palm outward, and the other hand moved in a series of precise, sharp motions. It wasn't a simple mana channel or a casual trick. Arios immediately recognized it for what it was—an advanced hand-seal sequence, something not normally taught to instructors below senior level. The movements were fluid, ancient, and deeply intricate, a form of magic Arios had only read about in the deepest sections of the academy archives.

"You're making hand signs," Arios said calmly, his body tensing even though his tone didn't change. His grip on the wooden sword tightened almost imperceptibly. "What are you planning? What kind of magic is this?"

"You'll see," Garron replied, a hint of something dark and dangerous in his voice. His hands snapped together, finishing the last sign. The air rippled, and a wave of distortion passed over the yard like heat rising from stone. Arios felt his vision blur, the shapes around him stretching and dissolving into a swirling vortex of color and light. The yard vanished. The academy vanished. The world as he knew it dissolved into a chaos of perception.

When his eyes cleared, he was no longer standing on training grounds. Instead, he found himself in a dark, forested space. Thick trees loomed overhead, their branches stretching like skeletal arms against a sky that was not sky, but a canvas of swirling, inky blackness. The air smelled of damp soil and rotting leaves, a primal, earthy scent that was jarringly real. The distant sound of howls echoed faintly in every direction, a chilling chorus that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"So this is it," Arios muttered, his voice a low, self-assured rumble. His wooden sword was still in hand, but the weight of the world had shifted. He could feel it in the mana threads around him—an artificial plane, a carefully crafted reality woven from pure magic and intention. "An illusion-dungeon. A little test, then."

Garron's voice was gone. No instructor, no yard, no safety. Only this crafted reality, designed to intimidate and confuse. Arios let out a slow breath and adjusted his stance, his muscles coiling with a familiar readiness. "If he thinks this will shake me, he doesn't know me very well. He thinks this is a battlefield of the mind, but all I see is a challenge."

A low growl rolled out from the shadows ahead. Arios turned his head, eyes narrowing as the sound grew louder, accompanied by the rustle of leaves and the snapping of twigs. Yellow eyes appeared between the trees, glowing faintly, like twin embers in the darkness. Then another pair. Then another. The forest floor shifted with movement. One wolf emerged first, its black fur bristling with an unnatural fury, saliva dripping from its fangs. It was large—larger than any natural wolf should be—easily the size of a horse, a true monstrosity born of illusion. Its shoulders rippled with muscle, claws carving into the dirt as it moved with a predatory grace.

Behind it, more shapes appeared. A whole pack. Dire wolves, their forms shimmering with a faint magical aura.

"So that's what you're starting with," Arios said quietly, a small, wry smile on his lips. He tilted his wooden sword slightly, testing its balance. The wolves spread out, forming a loose semicircle around him. They moved with frightening coordination, each step measured, each growl blending into the pack's rhythm. They were not mere illusions; they were extensions of Garron's will, given form and purpose.

The first lunged, a black blur of teeth and fur. Arios sidestepped cleanly, a blur of motion himself, letting its fangs snap at empty air. He twisted his wrist and brought the flat of the wooden blade against its flank with a sharp crack that echoed unnaturally in the confined space. The beast yelped, stumbling to the side, its form flickering slightly with the impact, but another wolf immediately replaced it, leaping forward with jaws wide, a snarling nightmare.

Arios bent low, the attack passing over his head, and swept the sword across the wolf's legs. The beast toppled, snarling, but a third wolf came from the left. Arios pivoted, raising the blade in a smooth block. Wooden edge met teeth, sparks of mana scattering as the illusion amplified the clash. The sound was a ringing clang of metal on metal, a sound that should not have come from a wooden sword.

He pushed forward, forcing the wolf back. His expression didn't change. Calm, steady, no wasted motion. He was a machine, a dancer of death, moving through the onslaught with a practiced ease that came from years of honed instinct.

The pack circled again, regrouping after the failed rush. Their growls deepened, vibrating through the air, a physical pressure against Arios's ears. He could feel the artificial cold of the illusion, the manufactured fear they were meant to inspire. Arios looked at them, then at the trees. He could see faint ripples along the trunks—marks of mana threads weaving through the illusion, a subtle sign of the magic that held this place together. He noted it silently, filing it away for later.

"They want to press me with numbers," Arios murmured to himself. "But numbers don't matter if you keep control. Control is everything."

The wolves lunged together this time, a coordinated assault. Three from the front, two from the sides. Arios inhaled, then moved. His foot slid back, anchoring him, as his sword came up in a fluid arc. The first wolf struck, and he brought the blade down sharply across its muzzle. The impact rang out like a drumbeat, and the wolf's head snapped back.

The second wolf aimed for his right arm. Arios twisted, letting the jaws snap shut on empty air, and drove his elbow into its head. Bone cracked, an illusion of a sound, but the beast stumbled, whining, its form flickering violently.

The third tried to close from behind, but Arios spun, sweeping the blade low. The wolf's legs buckled, and it went down with a grunt. He pressed forward, striking again before it could recover.

The other two hesitated, their yellow eyes glinting with a mix of fear and rage. Arios looked at them evenly, then stepped toward them instead of waiting for their attack. They flinched, growling louder, then charged despite the hesitation, their animal instincts overriding their manufactured caution. Arios struck the first in the chest, the sound of wood against flesh echoing unnaturally in the illusion. The second leapt high, a massive shadow against the inky sky, but Arios shifted his weight and let the beast pass overhead before ramming the hilt of his sword into its stomach.

The wolf collapsed to the ground, gasping, its form dissolving into a wisp of smoke.

The clearing was filled with snarls, whines, and the sound of claws scraping against dirt. Arios's breathing was steady, even, a testament to his supreme control. His wooden sword bore scratches where the illusion-wolves' fangs had pressed, but it held firm.

"This isn't about winning," Arios said softly to himself, the words a gentle mantra. "It's about testing. He wants to see if I break. He wants to see if I'll show fear."

He glanced up at the sky above the trees. It wasn't real—he could see faint distortions in the stars, subtle lines of code in the grand illusion. Garron was watching from somewhere. Monitoring. Waiting to see how Arios responded, what his breaking point was.

"Fine," Arios muttered, his voice a quiet challenge. "Watch all you want. I won't disappoint."

The dire wolves regrouped again. Fewer this time. Their pack was shrinking, but their fury grew, fueled by Garron's frustration. They snarled, saliva spraying from their fangs, their glowing eyes locked on Arios, an unholy hunger in their gaze.

Arios adjusted his grip on the sword. "Come on."

Two rushed together. Arios ducked the first, slammed the blade against the second, then pivoted back to strike the first as it turned. He moved with minimal motion, his expression calm, his steps calculated, a perfect fusion of instinct and strategy.

The wolves fell one by one. Their bodies dissolved into mist after collapsing, leaving no trace. Each defeat was silent confirmation of his progress, of his ability to withstand Garron's test. Yet the pack kept coming, as if endless, a conveyor belt of fanged beasts.

Minutes stretched into an hour. The darkness of the forest seemed to grow deeper, the air colder. Arios fought steadily, never faltering, his body moving with the efficiency of someone who refused to waste a single drop of energy. When the last wolf dissolved, the clearing went still. The only sound was his own steady breathing.

He stood there, sword at his side, his posture as perfect as when he had first entered.

"So this is how it begins," Arios said under his breath, a quiet recognition of the true nature of his predicament. This was not a simple spat between student and teacher. This was a war.

The forest shifted. The air rippled again, the trees bending unnaturally before snapping back. The sound of howling started once more, deeper, louder, more dangerous than before. The next wave of challenges was coming. Arios didn't react. He simply lifted his sword again, waiting. He was ready.

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