The Illusion Exam

“Crap—”

Roland was sprinting across a rugged, jagged Gobi desert, his muscles straining with exertion.

“Damn it, why doesn’t this stupid exam allow us to bring weapons?!”

Ducking and bending his knees, he leaped onto a high platform. Seizing the moment, he glanced back.

A giant spider covered in oily sheen was chasing him. The spider was pure black, with white only at the joints of its limbs. Roughly estimating, even with its eight sharp limbs folded, it stood over five meters tall. Its crimson eyes were locked onto him, its legs slightly retracted, and its chelicerae kept twitching—clearly in hunting mode.

“Sssssss—” A sharp screech came from its tooth-filled mouth, sending chills down Roland’s spine.

“You little spider, what’s there to be cocky about! If I had a sword, I’d have chopped off your stinking legs long ago!”

He yelled at the spider and turned to run.

‘Although its magical fluctuation was lower than mine, without a weapon, I’m no match for this monster.’

This entrance exam forbids bringing weapons like magic wands, swords, or knives, but allows protective magic items. The academy mainly worries about examinees harming each other inside 【Illusions】; although the monsters are very realistic, the real danger to examinees is each other. Being killed by a monster only results in being teleported out. But being killed means failing the exam.

So if you can’t win, you run—normal, even for a hero.

Roland ran, spider chased. He channeled magic into his legs and soon got a feel for it, almost gliding.

‘Faster, faster, even faster.’

‘Good, just a bit more, shake off that stinky spider. When I get back, I’ll have the little Demon Lord give you a foot massage!’

After all, arthropods have poor stamina. After Roland ran continuously for ten minutes, the giant spider viciously spat a pool of dark green venom onto the ground, waved its forelegs, let out a sharp roar, and gave up on this troublesome target.

“Whew—I almost exhausted my magic. Glad I shook off that monster.”

Leaning against a rock wall, hands on his hips, he rested to recover stamina and magic. Too much spent during the escape. To be safe, he decided to rest a while.

“Where did the little Demon Lord run off to?”

He spread his perception. The place was open, with no trees blocking, so his range was larger than usual.

“Within a hundred meters, there are three people, but their magical fluctuations aren’t hers…” He looked up at the stars. “The door is to the northwest, quite far. How do I get there…”

Ding—

His left hand leaning on the wall suddenly felt a rebound force. He looked: a small wrist blade from his sleeve had accidentally popped out. It was very hidden and made of a material that blocks magical perception, so it wasn’t discovered when entering the academy.

“Heh… this thing is somewhat useful against people, but impossible against monsters.”

He reassembled the blade, sighed, rubbed his nose.

“Let’s head toward the door first. Wonder how the little Demon Lord is doing. Will she be there too?”

****

“Hehehehehehehehe…”

A slimy arm dripping with dark red liquid twisted at an eerie angle, wrapping around Freyja’s neck, while a head pressed against her right ear, letting out distorted murmurs.

Through the mirror, she saw that bizarre head. It could no longer be called a ‘face’; it was a round mass of flesh stitched together from broken limbs and minced meat, with an opening at the bottom from which the sound came.

“Haah—haah…” Her heart twitched wearily in her chest. Freyja tried to steady her breathing, telling herself it was an illusion.

“Illusion… You think… I’m an illusion?” The opening in the flesh formed something like a smile. “Hahahahahahahahahaha—”

“You… you… what are you?” Freyja felt cold sweat all over. “How… do you know what I’m thinking?”

“Hehehe…” The flesh let out a low hum, then released its grip on her neck, slowly walked to the broken mirror shards, letting the light from above illuminate itself.

Only then did Freyja see it clearly. Her face went from pale with tension to sickening terror, her stomach churning.

It was a huge pus-filled cyst mass, roughly stitched into a humanoid shape. As it moved, it kept oozing white pus and dark red stinking fluid.

“Disgusting, isn’t it…” The flesh wriggled, and a blob of white pus emerged from below.

“Ugh—cough cough—” She couldn’t hold it anymore; stomach acid surged up.

“Hahaha… ah… what right do you have to feel disgust?”

“Haah…” Freyja wiped the sour liquid from her mouth with the back of her hand. “What are you… talking about?”

“Hmm… wasn’t it you who turned me into… this?”

The flesh began to writhe, pus and cysts falling off, blood and pus flowing to the ground. After a nauseating transformation, a man covered in blood emerged from within.

The man was tall, muscular, dark-skinned, and completely bald.

A strange sense of familiarity welled up in Freyja’s heart. She couldn’t help but step back, her head starting to ache.

“Ah—” The man let out a sinister smile. “Still haven’t remembered? Looks like I need stronger medicine.”

Snap—

He snapped his fingers, and the surrounding darkness instantly transformed into the interior of an exquisite palace.

Freyja looked around with a shocked and uncertain glance. But not long after, the man softly chanted a spell, and a beautifully crafted recurve bow appeared in his left hand.

“A weapon? How can there be weapons here?”

The man didn’t answer. A black light flashed in his right hand, and an arrow appeared.

“Now, do you remember? My name is…” He nocked the arrow and aimed it at Freyja’s head.

“Ha—ha—you, you are…” Breathing quickened, heart raced, blood rushed to her brain.

Head hurt so much…

Freyja pressed one hand hard against her face, her purple eyes faintly glowing.

“I am—” The bowstring was stretched to its limit, making a creaking sound.

“The one who died by your hand—” The hand holding the string released, the arrow shot with a cold gleam.

Whoosh!

“Bright!”