Illusion of Self. Part 1.

A dark corridor.

Dry, cold floor. Stone walls streaked with moss and the dust of centuries. The air was heavy, sticky — as if the labyrinth itself was breathing.

Alrik opened his eyes.

"So this is the second stage…?" he whispered, glancing around carefully. "Didn’t expect a magic-circle teleport. Interesting."

A confined space. Two passages, left and right, stretched into unknown darkness — equally dangerous paths. Above him shimmered a magical barrier, dense and lethal. Breaking through it would require an S+ rank artifact… or magic on par with a professor.

Alrik let out a dry chuckle.

"Yeah. Not much of a choice."

He closed his eyes and focused. From the right corridor came a faint pulse of mana — strong. Possibly a mid-level mage… or something more sinister.

"Not worth the gamble."

He stepped to the left. "First rule — don’t fall for the obvious trap. This is an exam, not a game for kids."

The corridor narrowed. The walls grew damp, coated in a thin slime. The darkness thickened. There were no monsters here — but the atmosphere itself pressed down on the mind. As if the labyrinth knew who you were… and what you feared.

Alrik moved in silence. Every step measured. Every motion efficient. He wasn’t just a student — he was someone who had learned that mistakes cost lives.

"Almost there. Just a few more steps—"

He emerged into a wider chamber. Six new passages opened before him, like the fingers of an open hand. Five of them — narrow, ominous. The sixth — wide, spotless. And… suspiciously safe.

"Of course."

He gave a dry, sarcastic laugh. "A classic trap. Straight out of a low-budget war sim."

He crouched down, inspecting the wall. Structure looked normal. No sign of spells. But that might be the trick — an illusion of safety.

He calculated three possible strategies:

> 1. Break through the wall with brute force.

2. Trust his instincts and memory to find the exit.

3. Team up with someone — but in a test like this, allies can be liabilities.

Thirty seconds. No wasted movement. Just cold logic.

Then — a sharp motion. He drew his sword. Mana pulsed in the air, gathering along the blade like a taut string.

"Piercing Blade!"

A flash. A wave of energy burst forward, tearing through the corridor. Even the professors watching from the stands felt the backlash.

Irma Delar, observing through a crystal:

"Whoa… Someone’s not holding back."

Sirius, professor of combat magic, narrowed his eyes:

"Whoever you are… young monster, you’ve made it onto my radar."

When the smoke cleared… the wall was untouched.

Alrik didn’t flinch.

"Figures." He sheathed his sword with a sigh. "It was worth a try."

He turned toward the sixth corridor — the one that looked “too safe.”

"Alright. Forget what I said earlier. I’ll take the idiot’s path."

The path was straight. And unnervingly… pleasant. The walls were clean, lined with ancient symmetrical patterns. The ceiling glowed faintly — not from torches, but from the stone itself.

"Suspicious," he muttered. "Or maybe I’m just missing something."

He walked for over ten minutes. No traps. No monsters. Just the echo of his steps and the soft hum of silence.

Then — movement ahead. He stopped.

From the fog at the corridor’s end, a figure stepped forward. Not just a figure — his exact copy. Same clothes, same sword, even the same cold gaze.

"An illusion," he said calmly. "Second-stage combat trial?"

The illusory Alrik took a battle stance. The real one blocked the first strike without hesitation.

"Well, that’s unexpected." He stepped back slightly. "Fighting myself, huh? Symbolic. If I win, I overcome who I was."

The illusion tilted its head.

"I am your ideal. What you will never become. Stronger. Colder. Unshaken. Without weakness."

"That doesn’t sound like a virtue." Alrik narrowed his eyes. "Weakness means you're still human."

The illusion smirked.

"Are you? A human? Or just a tool? A weapon? A shard of the past?"

Steel 

clashed against steel.

Sparks.

The echo of mana through stone.

The real battle had just begun.