Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest-Chapter 968 - 224.1 - Illusions and Hammer

The timing.

Carl was efficient. A step in, swing. A guard. Follow-up. His entire style was clean and minimalist, designed to waste neither mana nor breath.

But Lucas?

Lucas was ghost walking in the skin of a swordsman,

'The skills from the future are still out of reach. My body can't handle the mana flow... the nerves aren't tuned yet!'

He exhaled, his other hand coming to rest behind his back in thought.

'But the illusion sequence...'

He'd been refining it slowly. One part Middleton Sword Technique. One part memory. One part adaptive spellcasting from the Arkwrights. What started as a mimicry of Damien's illusions had since diverged. Improved.

The trick wasn't just creating illusions.

It was making the opponent believe they weren't illusions.

'And it's getting better.'

He glanced at Carl again, this time not just seeing the present-but the echo of what he knew was coming.

From the future, he remembered this man. Not the quiet, watchful version standing across from him now, but the battlefield leader. The defender. The one who stood firm beside Ethan when everything else burned.

'A knight without a title. A shield without pride. You... you were like me.'

Both of them had lived in shadows. Both knew what it was like to be adjacent to

greatness without basking in it.

Carl's stance hadn't changed. He was waiting. Watching. Patient.

Lucas's lips twitched upward.

'Let's see how well you hold formation against misdirection.

Instructor Verren's voice rang out again. "Ready."

Lucas raised his sword. His mana stilled to a whisper, already threading into the ground beneath him.

Carl mirrored the movement, pulling a broad, shield from its holster as well as his huge hammer.

"Begin."

Lucas didn't move.

Not immediately.

Instead, he let the silence breathe. The air itself seemed to slow, thickening-not from pressure, but from perception. His body didn't need to shift if the world around him already started to blur.

His foot slid back half a step. His posture leaned ever so slightly to the right.

To Carl, it would seem like he was favoring that side-prepping for a diagonal feint.

That was illusion, Phase One: Assumption Seeding.

From there, it would build.

And when he moved...

Carl would think he saw the attack before it came.

That was the idea.

Lucas's sword arm tensed, and a shimmer ran through the blade-not light, not mana -but the suggestion of motion. Echoes of previous swings layered into the current moment. A false pattern.

He struck.

But not the strike Carl would see.

Not yet.

'Let's dance, Braveheart!

Because beneath the swords and footwork, this was what Lucas excelled at.

Layering moments.

Rewriting expectations.

And in this match, he wasn't fighting to win.

He was fighting to test his illusions-

And to see if someone like Carl Braveheart.... could be deceived.

SWOOSH.

Lucas moved.

A blur-not of speed, but of intent. His mana didn't flare, didn't shout. It whispered. A low hum that skated across the platform, sliding under the stone like fog between

cracks.

Carl shifted immediately.

THUD.

The sound of his boots digging into the arena floor was like a war drum. His shield came up in one smooth motion, body pivoting behind it-bracing for impact. That was Carl's way. Direct, grounded. Reliable.

But Lucas wasn't there.

SWIPE.

A streak of silver shimmered past Carl's left side, just outside of reach. The faintest shimmer-a blade? No, a suggestion of one.

Lucas appeared on the opposite side, real this time, just outside Carl's hammer radius.

Phantom Reflection - First Layer]

CLANG!

His blade tapped the rim of Carl's shield-nothing more than a testing blow. Sparks

flew.

Carl didn't flinch.

"Hmm," he muttered, low and unreadable.

BOOM.

The response came fast. Carl's hammer swept horizontally, trailing behind it a

shockwave of compressed earth mana.

[Quaking Arc

CRACK.

The ground beneath the swing fractured in a shallow crescent, shards lifting. Lucas

leapt back, flipping once through the air.

'Too heavy for deflection, Lucas thought mid-spin. He landed light on the balls of his feet, skidding backward. 'Good reaction time. No wasted motion. Reads the difference

between real and fake well... but not perfectly!

Because-

He glanced left.

Carl's eyes had twitched just slightly at the illusion flicker earlier. A small, instinctive

shift in stance. A single moment of buy-in.

It was enough.

Lucas pressed forward again. Fast this time.

TAP-TAP-TAP.

His footsteps were deliberate, light, angled.

One feint. Left.

Second feint. Overhead.

Carl brought his shield up. Reacting to the rising blade.

CLANG!

The sound of sword on metal rang loud-but Lucas was already gone.

What struck the shield was only a shadow, a lingering afterimage of blade and light.

From behind, the real strike came.

Phantom Reflection - Second Layer]

SHH-CLNK!

Carl's eyes widened as the blade grazed past his side-just a hair's width from skin. His

shield turned, but not in time. Lucas vanished into motion again before a proper

counter could form.

'He's adjusting already, Lucas noted, retreating a few steps, exhaling steady. Carl planted his feet again. The air around him began to thrum with a heavier, deeper

mana resonance.

Bastion Pulse

BOOM.

A low shockwave rippled out from Carl's body-protective mana flaring in a wide

radius. A counter to illusions. To feints. A declaration: You will fight me up close, or

not at all.

Lucas's eyes narrowed.

Smart.

His illusions bent perception. But Carl was using pressure, resonance, and auditory

disruption to anchor his senses.

'So you do have answers!

Lucas flicked his blade once, resetting its orientation. Then, he leaned forward.

"Then let's test your depth of faith!

He moved in again, but this time, the illusion was stacked.

Not one.

Not two.

SHH. SHH. SHH.

Three.

Three versions of himself emerged across the platform. Each one slightly off-the

weight of footsteps, the angle of approach, the timing of breath. Real enough to

convince someone watching at full speed.

'Let's see if you can pick the thread out of the weave!

Carl's eyes scanned. His hammer rose.

Then-

BOOM!

He chose the left one-slamming his hammer downward in a crater-like burst of mana.

Stonebreak Descent

CRACK-CRACK-BOOM.

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Dust kicked up. Stone fractured.

The left image exploded into a flurry of dissipating motes. Not real.

But the real Lucas came from the right, blade pointed low, twisting up for a reverse

slash.

SLASH.

The edge scraped the underside of Carl's pauldron.

A clean hit.

No damage-his armor was too dense for that-but t was proof. Lucas had gotten in.

He leapt back, blade steady, chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm.

'Heh...'