Old Grant steadied his breath, eyes narrowing as the little fox's form vanished into the treeline.
As a beast tamer, he prided himself on his vast knowledge of magical beasts.
Illusion-based creatures were rare, but he knew every one that had ever been recorded by the empire. And no matter how high their bloodline, none of them possessed a magical ability capable of ignoring the barrier of level.
Yet this Snowveil Fox… it had not only wielded a magical ability beyond its natural ice attribute, but its illusion even managed to ensnare him, a Sixth Circle Wizard, despite the gulf of four realms between them.
Old Grant dug deeper into his memory, past common records, past the rumors among beast tamers, into the fragments of legend.
And then it struck him like thunder.
A magical beast spoken of only in myths.
A magical beast whose illusions could bind kings, demons, even dragons.
A magical beast that no creature, no man, no mind could resist.
The Mystical Beast—Mirage!
