CHAPTER 524: REFLECTION

Across the vast and boundless terrain of Aesmirius’s domain, the echoes of two immense forces clashing thundered across the entire realm. The golden and verdant landscape below quaked violently, its serene beauty marred by explosions of flame and darkness colliding over and over again. Each impact carved deep craters into the earth, sending tremors through the air and scattering waves of mystic energy in every direction.

Liam and his illusionary counterpart were locked in a relentless struggle, each strike faster and deadlier than the last. From the very moment Liam had made the first move, neither of them held back. Every motion, every flicker of power was aimed to kill. There was no hesitation, no mercy—only the pure clash of two identical beings driven by opposing wills.

The fight surged with brutal intensity until a figure wreathed in fading flames was hurled through the air, crashing violently into the ground below. The impact tore through the earth, dragging a long scar across the terrain before coming to a halt. A storm of debris and golden dust billowed into the air, obscuring the battlefield in a heavy fog.

When the dust finally began to settle, the figure slowly rose, his body trembling slightly from the force of the fall. It was Liam—the true one.

Smoke curled off his skin as the last embers of flame flickered out, leaving faint burn marks and scorched patches along his clothes. Blood streaked the left side of his face, a thin line trickling down from his brow to his jaw, while his right eye narrowed in pained irritation. Despite the damage, his grip on his dagger remained steady, though loose, the blade trembling faintly with lingering dark myst.

’Just like I suspected... this bastard really is a Mid-Tier Six-Star and not a High-Tier Five-Star,’ Liam thought, his gaze sharpening as he fixed his eyes on the dark silhouette approaching through the smoke. ’If I had grown any stronger before fighting him, he would’ve done the same. Makes perfect sense.’

Straightening his stance, he exhaled slowly as the illusion finally emerged into full view. The replica bore that same smug, insufferable smirk across his lips, eyes glimmering with mockery. Unlike Liam, he looked almost untouched—his aura stable, his breathing calm, as if the fight had barely begun for him.

"I must say," the illusion began, his tone calm but dripping with arrogance, "you’ve improved since the last time. You’ve become sharper, more precise, and more dangerous..." He paused, then tilted his head slightly. "But still—not strong enough to defeat me. Not now. Not ever."

"And why is that?" Liam asked, his tone cold and detached, not even a hint of frustration in his voice. "What makes you think this isn’t our last encounter?"

The illusion chuckled, the sound low and taunting. "Our last encounter? You wish, Hunter." He took a step forward, shadows swirling faintly at his feet. "We’ll face each other again and again and again. You want to know why? It’s because I’ll always be steps ahead of you. Always."

Liam’s expression remained unreadable as he listened, though his mind was already dissecting every word. ’Yeah, no shit. You’re me. It only makes sense you’d know everything I know.’ His inner voice was calm but calculating. -But the real question is—how much do you actually know?’

That thought lingered in his mind like a whisper in the dark. The illusion clearly possessed all of Liam’s knowledge, memories, and experiences—everything he had ever learned, whether in reality or within Aesmirius’s domain. Every battle, every lesson, every revelation—all mirrored.

But if that was true, then there had to be something the illusion could use that Liam himself wasn’t utilizing. Some skill, instinct, or truth buried deep within him that remained untapped. That, he realized, was likely the "potential" Aesmirius had spoken of—the untapped depth separating what Liam was from what he could be.

But what was it? What did he know that he hadn’t truly used?

’Tsk... only one way to find out,’ he thought, tightening his grip on his dagger as dark energy began to coil faintly around the blade. ’Keep fighting until I figure it out.’

"Hey," he said aloud, his tone suddenly casual, cutting through the charged silence between them. "Tell me something."

The illusion raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"What makes you better than me, actually?" Liam asked. His crimson eyes gleamed faintly, though his voice stayed calm and curious. "I’m curious."

The illusion tilted his head, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Oh? You really want an honest answer?" He let out a small chuckle. "Nothing—except the fact that I’m you."

Liam’s lips curved slightly, not in amusement but in quiet understanding. "I see," he murmured, voice low as his eyes began to glow faintly with that familiar crimson hue. "So, you’re nothing more than a reflection... a copy trying too hard to replicate."

The instant the final word left Liam’s lips, the air between them cracked—then exploded. Both figures vanished in a blur of motion, leaving only a violent shockwave that rolled through the grasslands like a tidal wave of heat and shadow.

A moment later, two silhouettes collided midair with a thunderous boom, daggers screaming against each other. Sparks scattered like shooting stars across the torn landscape. Liam’s eyes burned crimson as he twisted his wrist, sliding his blade along the illusion’s and snapping his knee upward toward its chest. The illusion leaned back, narrowly evading the strike, then caught Liam’s arm and spun—throwing him downward.

Before Liam could crash, a burst of flame erupted beneath him, propelling him backward across the terrain. He landed in a low crouch, boots grinding furrows into the dirt as molten cracks snaked outward beneath his feet. He didn’t pause—he was already moving again.

The illusion was upon him instantly, its movements a mirror of his own, but sharper—more refined. Both swung at once, each dagger flickering between offense and defense like twin vipers. Clang, clang, clang! Their blades collided with surgical precision—dagger meeting dagger, elbow brushing aside a strike, knee parried by shin. The rhythm of their duel grew almost musical, a deadly choreography where hesitation meant death.

Liam ducked under a slash, flames igniting across his arm as he twisted into a rising uppercut slash. The illusion bent backward, the blade grazing its chin before it retaliated—knee driving forward like a piston. Liam caught it with his forearm, the impact reverberating through his bones. He used the force to flip backward, landing lightly as tongues of fire circled him in a spiraling blaze.

The illusion smirked, hands spreading apart as shadows rippled from its form, morphing into jagged, serrated blades. "You’re losing focus," it sneered, voice overlapping with Liam’s own.

Liam said nothing. Instead, his flames condensed violently around him, forming an incandescent aura that made the air shimmer. The ground beneath him glowed, melting in thin lines where his boots stood. In a heartbeat, he launched forward again, flames trailing behind like wings of wrath.

Their clash resumed—faster, fiercer, impossible for mortal eyes to follow. Every strike became a blur of red and black, every parry sending shockwaves that split the air. When Liam swung low, his dagger cloaked in compressed heat, the illusion countered with a shadow blade that absorbed the flame’s outer layer before redirecting it back in a dark burst. The explosion scattered fragments of molten rock around them like glowing shrapnel.

Liam burst through the smoke, spinning with both blades in an intersecting slash. The illusion met him mid-motion, crossing its weapons to block. The collision generated a fiery vortex that pulled both inward before detonating outward, hurling them apart once more.

Liam skidded backward, one boot gouging the earth, a line of blood running down his cheek. His breathing was steady, his mind sharper than ever. The illusion, untouched, descended through the haze like a phantom—smirking again, the way Liam hated most.

Liam vanished. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared behind the illusion, flames bursting from his feet as he delivered a sweeping cut aimed for its neck. The illusion ducked, spinning into a counterstrike that Liam blocked with his dagger’s hilt. Sparks cascaded across their faces, the glow of firelight painting their eyes like reflections of the same inferno.

They moved in tandem, two identical predators locked in perfect synchronization. A step. A breath. A strike. Each attack anticipated, each defense immediate. Yet beneath the flawless symmetry, subtle differences emerged. The illusion relied purely on speed and precision—Liam began to adapt, blending his instincts and his improvisation.

He feigned a stumble—drawing the illusion closer—then ignited a burst of heat beneath his heel, propelling himself upward in a twisting kick. The illusion blocked, but the force sent it spiraling back a few meters. Liam landed hard, palms slamming to the dirt as flames erupted outward in concentric rings, distorting the air with blistering heat.

The illusion rose, grinning darkly. "You’re learning," it said.

Liam stood straight, rolling his shoulders, the dagger spinning once between his fingers. "Maybe," he replied coolly.

The illusion lunged again, its daggers spinning in a storm of shadows. Liam countered head-on, both blades meeting in a cyclone of light and darkness. Each swing left streaks of flame and void intertwining through the air like serpents locked in eternal combat.

Then Liam saw it—a gap. A half-second lapse in the illusion’s recovery pattern, something he wouldn’t have noticed before. His crimson eyes narrowed. He dove through a barrage of shadow blades, letting one cut across his arm to close the distance. His dagger ignited, burning brighter, hotter—almost white.

He swung.

The illusion crossed its blades defensively, but Liam’s attack detonated upon contact. The resulting explosion was no ordinary flame—it was condensed heat, pure solar fury, a miniature sun bursting to life between them. The shockwave tore through the landscape, flattening the surrounding fields and sending molten shards raining from above.

When the light faded, the illusion’s form was disintegrating from the chest outward, smoke and black mist swirling as it struggled to regenerate.

Liam stood several yards away, shoulders squared, his silhouette framed by rising embers. His right arm trembled faintly, dagger still smoldering. His expression was unreadable, though the faint glow in his eyes hadn’t dimmed.

Across from him, the illusion steadied itself, fragments of its body reforming. It looked up at him—and then, to Liam’s mild irritation, it laughed. That same, sinister laugh that grated against every ounce of his patience.

"You’re getting dangerous," it said, tone dripping with mockery. "Guess I’ll have to try harder."