Han Yu's blade flickered desperately, sparks dancing in the air as metal clashed on metal. But something gnawed at his senses.
'They all feel the same.'
The puppets moved with the weight of reality, yet there was no distinction, he couldn't tell if they were real or fabricated by the array. Every swing felt solid. Every cut he received burned like true flesh wounds. The line between reality and illusion was smudged to nothing.
HUUUU
"This is hard..." Breathing hard, Han Yu leapt back, scanning them.
He realized his mistake. His instincts told him to look at their movements, their shadows, the way the ground trembled beneath their steps. But the illusions were too perfect. There was no break in their rhythm, no obvious flaw.
And yet… Han Yu still had one advantage.
