Chapter 25 – The Deceiver's Gambit
Kneeling on the cold stone floor, the assassin's eyes darted between Chris and the man he believed to be the Duke.
Something didn't sit right.
There was no overwhelming aura, no soul-crushing pressure he'd expected from a mid-8th circle mage. The aura felt… artificial. Like it was made to be seen, not felt.
Then it hit him.
"This isn't the Duke…" he muttered under his breath, heart pounding. "This is a trick."
His confidence flared.
"Clever illusion… but not clever enough."
With a quick flick of his hand, he hurled a dagger directly at the Duke's heart. It whizzed through the air—And passed straight through him.
The figure shimmered… then vanished.
It was never the Duke.
It had been an illusion all along, conjured by Chris with Shapeshifting Magic of Yor and enhanced with spirit tricks from Igeris.
The assassin smirked.
"So it's just the brat."
He raised both arms, casting Aqua Ball, a high 3rd-circle spell, infused with condensed water pressure, launching it straight at Chris.
But Chris didn't flinch.
Boom!
A barrier flared up—rune-inscribed—as the Aqua Ball collided harmlessly and fizzled out.
Chris countered instantly, unleashing a mix of rune-enhanced fire blasts, constriction vines, and raw aura pressure.
A rapid exchange followed.
Magic flared and clashed across the room. The assassin was fast, dodging and retaliating with expert precision. But something was… wrong.
"Why—? Why can't I gain the upper hand?!"
Chris moved with experience far beyond his age, seamlessly combining aura with magic. His combat rhythm was unpredictable—like a veteran who had fought dozens of life-or-death battles.
Within minutes, the assassin's robe was scorched, his shoulder bruised, and his mana depleted.
Chris's next spell struck true—a rune chain wrapped around the assassin's legs, locking him in place. A pressure wave of aura knocked him to the ground.
The assassin collapsed, stunned.
He coughed blood, his mind in turmoil.
"Impossible… I'm a 4th circle. You're just a new 3rd—how can you—?!"
He reached for a concealed dagger at his waist, coated with deadly poison.
But Chris was faster.
In a blur, Chris struck his wrist with a precise burst of wind magic, disarming him.
"You're not dying on me yet," Chris said coldly, stepping forward. "You've got answers to give."
Just then, the chamber doors burst open. The two elite guards stormed in, weapons drawn—but quickly assessed the scene.
They saw Chris standing over the restrained assassin.
The situation was clear.
"Prince Chris!" one called out. "Are you injured?"
Chris shook his head. "No. Take him to the dungeon. Make sure he doesn't speak to anyone. One of you report to the Duke."
The guards nodded swiftly.
One dragged the unconscious assassin away. The other vanished into the corridor to deliver the news.
Chris finally let out a breath.
"So… he wasn't sent by amateurs," he muttered.
His gaze lingered where the assassin had stood.
This wasn't over.
It was just the beginning.