CHAPTER 243: CHAPTER 243: LAYERS OF ILLUSION

The afternoon sun filtered through the enchanted glass of the arena dome, casting a faint golden glow over the stone tiers. Most of the matches were wrapping up—only a few remained. The crowd had grown quieter, more relaxed.

Noel remained seated, arms crossed, eyes lazily following the current duel on the field.

’At least here I’ve made progress,’ he thought. ’Unlike in the Holy Capital, where after weeks of nothing, I had to improvise. Here I can actually breathe for a moment. I know who the Fifth Pillar is... and I know what he does.’

He narrowed his gaze slightly.

’From what I remember in the novel, he’s not even that strong. Capturing him won’t be the problem. The real issue will be the aftermath. If the director of the Tharvaldur Institute of Arcane Might suddenly disappears, it’ll cause a massive scandal.’

"What are you thinking about so much, lad?" Balthor’s voice snapped him out of it.

Noel glanced over. "Nothing. Just thinking about what we discussed with the Headmaster."

Balthor leaned back, taking a deep breath. "Well, you can relax for now. Tonight’s the real moment. We’ll have to face my brother again..."

Noel nodded. "Yeah. I know."

His eyes drifted back to the arena.

’For now, this match isn’t important to anything I’m working on. It’s just some Velmora student against Anastasia. If she wins, she’ll face someone from Tharvaldur... and then Marcus. I’ll pray she wins. Not that I care—just less hassle.’

He sighed softly, already thinking ahead.

’Also... I still haven’t tested the Omen Coil. It’s supposed to block illusions. Let’s see if that part’s true.’

Down in the arena, the fight had already begun.

The demon from Velmora darted across the battlefield, his form constantly shifting—his shape blurring, splitting into three, then flickering out of sight.

Phantom images appeared at Anastasia’s flanks, one of them raising a blade to strike her from behind.

Noel squinted slightly. ’Illusion magic. High-level, too. Complex layering, delayed reaction time... someone unprepared would be completely overwhelmed.’

A surge of water exploded from Anastasia’s position.

The spell crashed through two of the demon’s clones, dissolving them instantly. She didn’t hesitate—her hand crackled with blue light.

The lightning arced forward, but the real target was still unclear.

Noel reached into his dimensional pouch and pulled out a slim, curved accessory—metallic with etched runes along the frame. He rotated it once between his fingers.

Balthor leaned over. "Oh? Are you going to use it?"

"Yeah," Noel said, already pressing it to his temple. "I bought it from your shop, didn’t I? Might as well see if it works."

"Well, it’s from the Drunken Hammer. Of course it’ll work," Balthor replied proudly, crossing his arms.

Noel didn’t answer. He let a small pulse of mana flow into the Omen Coil.

Click.

The device locked into place—transparent lenses folding out, resting over his eyes like thin goggles.

At once, the illusion field in the arena shifted. What had once been blurred images and fake phantoms now became sharply outlined—flickering lines of mana exposed the fakes, making it easy to tell which figure was real.

Noel sat back. ’So far, so good.’

The demon unleashed a new wave of visual distortions—dragons forming from fog, fire erupting beneath Anastasia’s feet, a shadowy blade cutting through her shoulder.

Except it didn’t.

She stepped calmly through it all, expression bored.

Two seconds later, he was caught in a surge of electrified water and flung across the arena.

Noel exhaled slowly. "Looks like it works."

Then he frowned.

Something was... off.

He adjusted the lens slightly and looked up—not at the fight, but toward the royal balcony.

The view shimmered strangely—waves of magical static clinging to the seat where the King of Tharvaldur sat.

He narrowed his eyes. "Hey, Balthor... these glasses aren’t working right."

Balthor turned, confused. "What do you mean? Want a refund? I’m not giving you one, if that’s what this is."

Noel removed the Omen Coil and handed it to him wordlessly. "Put them on. Look at the king."

Balthor accepted the Omen Coil with a raised eyebrow, muttering something under his breath as he adjusted the lenses onto his face.

He turned his head toward the royal balcony and froze.

"...They’re working just fine," Balthor said slowly.

Noel arched an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"The only thing is..." Balthor lowered his voice. "That’s not a normal illusion. That’s high-tier—way above the kind you block with a shop-grade trinket."

He removed the glasses and handed them back, his expression more serious than before.

"I didn’t see the king clearly. Just... distortions. A presence wrapped in layers of illusion magic."

Noel stared at the balcony again, eyes narrowing. "So it’s not just that we can’t see him. It’s that someone doesn’t want us to."

Balthor let out a breath. "...Oh."

"Yeah," Noel said, eyes still locked on the throne. "Oh."

The crowd erupted around them as the announcer’s voice boomed across the arena:

"Victory goes to Anastasia from Luceria Grand Academy!"

Applause broke out. The demon lay crumpled near the edge of the arena while Anastasia simply turned and walked away without acknowledging the cheers.

Noel stood up, brushing his cloak aside.

"Alright. Let’s go pick up my coat. Then we head to the meeting spot."

Balthor rose beside him, still frowning. "And what do we do about the king?"

Noel’s voice was quiet. "We’ll deal with that after the meeting."

He glanced one last time at the balcony.

"Right now, it looks like he’s a puppet... or something worse."

Balthor’s grip tightened slightly. "This is bad for us."

"It is," Noel replied. "Means your brother’s even more untouchable than I thought."

- Later that same day at night -

The streets of Tharvaldur buzzed softly under the falling evening light. The shops were closing, but the lower sectors—the ones hidden under polished stone and golden arches—were only just beginning to wake.

Noel walked beside Balthor, now dressed in his dark green tailored outfit freshly collected from Noriel’s boutique. The reinforced inner lining and enchanted fibers shimmered faintly under the lantern glow. His face was partially obscured by a smooth, dark half-mask that clung elegantly to the bridge of his nose.

Balthor matched his pace, wearing a deep crimson ensemble with gold-trimmed cuffs—proud and flashy, like everything he chose for himself. His own mask was more angular, forged with matte red metal and a jagged edge near the jaw. The dwarf’s swagger was unmistakable.

They approached the familiar building—a refined, high-end restaurant on the surface, but a facade for the real business beneath.

Noel gave a subtle nod to the butler at the door, the same older elf from last time, dressed in impeccable black and silver with white gloves folded neatly at his waist.

The butler’s sharp gaze passed over them for only a second before recognition sparked in his eyes.

"Welcome once again," he said smoothly, lowering his head in a respectful bow. "The gentleman is expecting you."

He stepped aside, holding the door open with a practiced flourish. "Please proceed. The master of the house is awaiting your arrival."

Noel didn’t respond verbally—he simply walked through.

Balthor followed behind, adjusting his collar. "Round two, lad."