The moonlight filtered weakly through the canopy of the Twilight Pinewoods, dappling the worn path ahead in shifting shadows. Raen moved silently, every footstep measured, his breath calm. Talin walked just behind him, blades sheathed but fingers twitching near the hilts. Nira followed last, casting a faint detection rune every few steps, her eyes narrowed with caution.
They had crossed into the outer border of the Sibilant Coil's territory—a sect rumored to have mastered illusions so subtle, reality itself could betray you. The forest reeked of stillness. No insects. No wind. Just silence… and the quiet rustle of leaves that didn't quite match their steps.
Raen raised a hand. They halted.
Nira's eyes flickered with light. "We're being watched. No direct mana traces, but something is… threading the air."
Raen didn't answer. He drew his blade slowly. The whispering hum of the blade's spirit stirred faintly, as if it too sensed deception. The polished steel shimmered under the moonlight, its edge too sharp to belong to this world. He focused, calling upon the Sutra of Silent Steps, the foundational art of his new path.
Suddenly, the trees shifted.
Not moved—changed.
The trail ahead looped back behind them. Talin spun, startled. "This wasn't—"
"Illusion boundary," Raen muttered. "We've already stepped into it."
From the trees stepped figures cloaked in white silk, their faces covered with veils stitched from what looked like thread and bone. Each of them held a curved sickle with an emerald sheen.
The lead figure bowed mockingly. "Trespassers in the Coil's forest. How bold. How foolish."
Raen stepped forward. "We're just passing through."
"Passing?" the figure echoed with a grin beneath his veil. "There's no such thing here. You enter… and you stay. One way or another."
Nira's runes began to pulse, forming a counter-grid to the illusion. "They're spider-kin," she whispered. "Crimson Fang bloodline. I see the silk weave in their aura."
Talin growled. "Crimson Fang again? How many times do we have to kill these creeps?"
Raen didn't wait for their reply. He charged.
The air cracked as he passed through an unseen layer—reality briefly fracturing around his blade. The leading silk-clad warrior barely raised his sickle in time. Sparks erupted as steel met curved fang.
Behind him, the others erupted into motion. Talin dashed forward in a blur of steel, meeting a second silk warrior head-on. Nira's hand glowed bright violet, her runes lashing outward like serpents to bind and blind.
The clash of steel was unlike before. These weren't mere scouts. The Sibilant Coil had sent warriors trained in the Weaving Fang Style, an art known for using illusion mid-combat. Every strike Raen delivered seemed to pass through a shadow, and every blow he dodged came from a direction that twisted his instincts.
His blade hummed urgently.
"Feel for the truth beneath the thread…"
The whisper echoed in his mind—the voice of the sword spirit.
Raen let his breath slow. He closed his eyes briefly, trusting in the sensation of weight and tension rather than sight. When the sickle came for his throat, he ducked without seeing it. When the silk warrior spun to deliver a hidden fang strike, Raen's blade snapped upward, cleaving silk and flesh alike.
The illusion shattered. Reality groaned.
The warrior gasped, blood gurgling through his veil. "Impossible… you saw through the… Silver Thread Veil…"
"I listened," Raen said simply.
As the enemy fell, the forest shimmered again—revealing the true path forward and more enemies closing in.
But Raen smiled faintly.
"I was hoping they'd send more."
---
To be continued…