Aaryan landed in the dense forest outside the sect. The moment his feet touched the ground, his mind immediately rejected what his senses were telling him.

Smooth teleportation? No nausea? No sudden disorienting shift?

“Wait…?” His brows furrowed. “That was too easy.”

His head snapped up, scanning his surroundings with sharp precision. The towering trees stood unmoving, their branches unnaturally still. The air held no disturbances—no distant murmurs of disciples, no subtle ripple of a concealed formation activating. Even the mist threading through the roots moved too naturally, too seamlessly.

This had to be a trap.

He stood still for a moment, waiting—expecting something to go wrong. Nothing did. That only made it worse.

Aaryan flexed his fingers, pressing them into the cool, damp soil. It crumbled between his fingers, textured just right. The temperature, the weight of the air, even the faint lingering spiritual energy in the environment—it was flawless.

“…Damn it,” he muttered. “The illusion got smarter.”

The last one had been tricky—but at least it had felt like something was wrong. This? This was worse. No glaring inconsistencies. No obvious signs.

“How detailed is this?”

Aaryan took a slow step forward, hyper-aware of the ground beneath him. He placed his foot down deliberately, testing if the illusion would subtly correct itself—nothing. Just a natural shift of weight against the earth.

His lips pressed into a thin line.

Then, after a long pause, he sighed and muttered,

“…At least the writing quality improved. Last time, I was thrown into chaos immediately.”

Silence.

No response. No cracks forming in reality. No amused voice mocking him from the void.

Which meant one of two things: Either this illusion was absurdly advanced, reacting to his awareness without breaking… or this was actually real.

Aaryan scowled.

“Tch. Clever trick.”

Just to be sure, he turned and smacked the nearest tree.

Aaryan strode toward the sect like a man utterly convinced he was trapped in a dream.

He moved like a man waiting for reality to betray him.

He reached out and rapped his knuckles against the nearest wall. Solid. He pressed his palm flat against it, then gave it a suspicious shove. Still solid.

“Huh.”

Narrowing his eyes, he crouched down and ran his fingers over the stone pavement, feeling its texture. Cold. Rough. Completely normal. Too normal.

Taking a step back, he turned and walked backward—slowly, deliberately—watching over his shoulder for any glitches in the matrix. The path remained unchanged. No sudden corrections. No distortions. No suspicious shifts in perspective.

He narrowed his eyes. "Sneaky."

Tilting his head, he muttered, "Maybe I need to break the script…"

Then, without warning, he threw his hands up and bellowed,

“I KNOW YOU’RE WATCHING! THIS IS WAY TOO DETAILED. IS THIS A FULL-BUDGET ILLUSION OR WHAT?!”

The sect disciples in the distance tensed. Conversations halted. Training exercises slowed to a crawl. Several people exchanged wary glances.

One disciple, whispering urgently: "What in the hells is he doing?"

Another, stroking his chin, muttered, "Could be enlightenment. Or madness. Same difference, really."

A younger disciple leaned toward his friend and whispered, "Should we… report this?"

His friend shook his head sagely. "No need. The universe will correct itself. Probably."

A third disciple scoffed. "Tch. Classic cultivation deviation. Tragic."

Another disciple, slightly more invested, whispered, “You think he’s possessed? Or maybe he unlocked some secret technique?”

His companion squinted at Aaryan’s strange movements. “No, no. This looks like a bottleneck-induced breakdown.”

Nearby, an elder walking past spared Aaryan a glance, frowned, and deliberately walked the other way.

Aaryan, completely oblivious to the growing concern around him, continued testing reality by lightly kicking a rock. It rolled away normally.

He rubbed his chin.

“Damn. They even got the physics right.”

For good measure, he grabbed a random sect banner, gave it a firm tug, and watched as it fluttered in the wind, reacting exactly as it should.

Still suspicious, he suddenly leaped onto a passing disciple's back.

The unfortunate disciple let out a strangled yelp. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Aaryan, arms crossed as he perched on the man's shoulders: "Testing inertia."

The disciple buckled under his weight, staggering before collapsing entirely. "GET OFF ME, YOU LUNATIC!"

Aaryan rolled to his feet, brushing off his robes, and nodded to himself. "Hmm. Even simulated weight distribution. Impressive."

By now, the sect grounds had declared an impromptu Aaryan-watching session.

A disciple turned to his senior. "Brother, should we stop him?"

The senior disciple watched as Aaryan poked a random man’s forehead like he was testing for a projection glitch and sighed.

"No. If we get involved, we acknowledge it."

"And once we acknowledge it… we’re in it."

Aaryan, still thoroughly convinced he was trapped in a high-budget illusion, continued his reality checks—this time by flicking a disciple’s sleeve just to see if the fabric reacted properly.

“Damn,” he muttered. “They even got the weight distribution of loose silk right.”

Then a voice cut through the murmuring crowd, laced with amusement and something sharper beneath.

“Well, well, look who finally crawled back after hiding for a month.”

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Aaryan turned.

Varun.

Of course, he wasn’t alone. He never was. His usual group of followers stood behind him, arms crossed, expressions ranging from amused to outright mocking.

Aaryan’s gaze swept over them. Not a single rendering error. Impressive.

“Ah,” he mused, nodding to himself. “They even programmed you in? How much effort went into this illusion?”

Varun’s smirk faltered. His head tilted slightly, like a predator confused by prey acting out of character.

“…What the hell is that supposed to mean?” His amusement sharpened into something colder. “You mocking me?!”

Aaryan, utterly convinced none of this was real, barely paid attention.

“No, no, just thinking out loud,” he muttered. “Your responses are surprisingly natural. I wonder…” He squinted at Varun, as if examining him under a lens. “Do you even have free will in here?”

Then he snapped his fingers. “Say ‘potato.’”

A tense pause.

“…Pota—” Varun started, then froze.

Aaryan nodded in approval. “Nice. Response time is fast. But why would an illusion obey so easily? Suspicious.”

His own lackeys turned to stare at him, their expressions shifting between confusion and barely-contained laughter.

Varun blinked. “Wait. What the—” His face twisted in rage. “YOU—”

He lunged.

Aaryan, more occupied with how smooth the attack animation looked, barely dodged in time. The wind from the strike ruffled his robes.

“Oho,” he mused. “Attack patterns are seamless, too. Didn’t even stutter.”

One of Varun’s lackeys muttered, “Is he… narrating a fight with himself?”

“Shh,” another whispered. “I wanna see where this goes.”

“STOP TALKING LIKE THAT!” Varun snarled, already swinging again. His friends didn’t step in—yet—but they were watching, waiting.

Aaryan, still refusing to take this seriously, leaned back instead of dodging properly, letting Varun’s fist graze past his cheek.

“Hmm,” he muttered. “Pain sensitivity intact. Didn’t cut corners, huh?”

That was the last straw.

“Hold him,” Varun barked.

Before Aaryan could react, two of Varun’s lackeys moved in—one grabbing his arm, the other reaching for his collar.

Aaryan immediately concluded it was a scripted event.

“Wonder if I can break the sequence? Maybe if I refuse to engage, they’ll glitch.” He deliberately went slack, not resisting in the slightest, as if expecting them to freeze up.

One of the lackeys, already used to Aaryan’s antics, sighed. “This idiot’s about to do something stupid again, isn’t he?”

Another chuckled. “I dunno, but I like where this is going.”

Varun cracked his knuckles. “Let’s see if your script holds up under pressure.”

He lunged, his fist rocketing toward Aaryan’s face.

Aaryan tilted his head slightly, watching the incoming strike with mild curiosity. Hah, let’s see how the illusion reacts when I break the rules.

At the last second, he took a lazy step to the side. Varun’s punch whiffed entirely, sending him stumbling forward from his own momentum. Aaryan frowned, unimpressed.

“Really? That was the attack pattern? I’ve seen drunken farmers throw better punches.”

Varun growled and spun, throwing another punch, faster this time. Aaryan yawned—actually yawned—before ducking under it with the barest effort. The wind from the swing barely ruffled his hair.

“Damn,” he muttered. “This illusion really wants me to feel superior, huh?”

Varun snarled and unleashed a flurry of strikes, each more aggressive than the last. But Aaryan moved through them like water, sidestepping, ducking, even absentmindedly stretching his arms at one point.

One of the lackeys still holding him hesitated. “Uh… should we—”

Before he could finish, Aaryan twisted his wrist, slipping from their grasp with ridiculous ease. With a flick of his foot, he kicked one lackey’s knee out from under him. The poor guy let out a strangled yelp before crashing to the ground.

The second lackey instinctively grabbed for Aaryan’s collar. Bad move.

Alright, if this is an illusion, then what happens if I break the rules completely?

He barely glanced at him before flicking his fingers. A whip-like force lashed out—Serpent Bind.

The spectral coils snapped around the lackey’s arm, but instead of instantly pulling him in, they tightened the moment he tried to yank free. His eyes widened in panic as he struggled, only for the bind to constrict further, snaking up his wrist like a living thing.

"H-Hey—what the hell is this?!" he sputtered, thrashing.

"Stop flailing, you idiot!" another disciple hissed, but it was too late.

The more he fought, the stronger the technique responded—until, with a sudden, vicious whip, the lackey was ripped off balance and sent hurtling forward. His body collided hard into Varun just as he was mid-swing.

Thud!

Varun’s own punch, meant for Aaryan, instead sank into the lackey’s gut. The disciple let out a strangled wheeze before crumpling like a dropped rag doll.

Varun barely had time to register what happened before Aaryan stepped in, body close, one hand raised.

His fingers snapped forward—not as a simple tap, but as a precise strike to Varun’s solar plexus, where the breath and strength of a fighter were centered. His movement was sharp and controlled, exploiting a gap in Varun’s stance.

The impact wasn’t flashy, but the result was instant. Varun’s breath hitched—then completely cut off. His body locked up, eyes bulging as his diaphragm spasmed. He staggered, gasping, a desperate hand reaching toward Aaryan’s sleeve as if to hold himself up.

For a brief moment, his body fought against the collapse. His legs wobbled, muscles straining as he tried to stay upright. But his lungs refused to draw in air, and his vision blurred at the edges. The fight drained from his stance, his grip on Aaryan’s sleeve barely more than a twitch.

Then, his knees finally gave out. He hit the ground hard, a choked wheeze escaping as he crumpled into a heap.

Silence.

Aaryan tilted his head. “Weird. No vanishing effect? Not even a flicker in the environment?” He prodded Varun’s arm with his foot, frowning. “Hah. Finally making this illusion work properly, huh?”

The surrounding disciples, who had been watching with barely-contained amusement before, now stood frozen, their faces drained of color.

“What was that technique?!”

“He just casually knocked out Varun like he was a fly?!”

“That wasn’t even a full strike—he just touched his chest, and Varun collapsed?!”

Aaryan glanced at them, raising an eyebrow. “You guys are really committing to this script, huh?”

The disciples shared uneasy glances. This wasn’t normal. Aaryan had always been competent, sure, but not this monstrous. Varun was no pushover, yet he had been swatted aside like a bug.

Meanwhile, Aaryan, utterly convinced he had just broken the illusion’s mechanics, folded his arms, nodding in satisfaction.

The stunned silence stretched on, thick with disbelief. The disciples still hadn’t moved, most still staring at Varun’s crumpled form like he might suddenly jump back up. Aaryan, on the other hand, folded his arms and gave a satisfied nod.

“Hah, classic illusion-breaking technique. Bet if I push it further, the whole thing will unravel.”

But just as he was considering his next “test,” movement at the edge of his vision made him stiffen. A familiar figure strolled into view, hands tucked lazily behind his back, expression unreadable.

Dharun.

Aaryan’s thoughts screeched to a halt before flipping into absolute, undeniable certainty.

Oh, look! The mastermind behind the teleportation disaster!

His paranoia spiked like a blade through his skull. It was all coming together now.

His eyes narrowed. Dharun’s presence here? Too convenient. The illusion was trying too hard. It was testing him, throwing in its final boss, seeing if he’d fold under the pressure.

Aaryan’s lips curled into a snarl.

Dharun stopped mid-step. For the briefest moment, something flickered in his expression—amusement? Curiosity? It was gone just as quickly, smoothed into careful neutrality.

“OI, YOU!” He jabbed a furious finger in Dharun’s direction. “YOU THINK I FORGOT ABOUT THE TELEPORTATION TOKEN, YOU SLY OLD BASTARD?!”

The disciples stiffened. A ripple of unease spread through the group, eyes darting between Aaryan and Dharun like they were witnessing an oncoming catastrophe. One even took a hesitant step back, as if expecting an explosion.

The entire group of disciples flinched. Dharun remained still, his expression once again unreadable—though now, a trace of something else lingered. Calculation? Exasperation?

"The… teleportation token?" Dharun repeated, his brows knitting together. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to recall something. A pause. Then, with mild curiosity, he added, "Why are you saying it like that?"

Aaryan didn’t wait. He charged.

The surrounding disciples scattered as he bolted forward, his mind running faster than his feet. Of course, it made sense now!

* The illusion wasn’t breaking because Dharun was its anchor.

* He was here to reset everything.

* The moment Aaryan lost focus, he’d be back at square one, trapped in this damn hallucination!

No chance in hell.

“DON’T ‘WHY?’ ME, YOU BACKSTABBING GOAT! YOU THINK I DIDN’T NOTICE?!”

Aaryan practically flew across the training grounds, fists clenched, his entire presence radiating unchecked hostility. Dharun, for his part, merely watched him approach, eyes cool, stance utterly relaxed.

“…Should I be concerned?” Dharun mused aloud. He half-turned to one of the frozen disciples. “What exactly is happening?”

The disciple could only gape in horror. “O-Overseer Dharun, I—I think he’s lost his mind—”

“LIES!” Aaryan bellowed. “You corrupted the teleportation array, didn’t you?! And now you’re here to tie up loose ends!”

He swung.

Dharun stared at the charging idiot, exhaled through his nose, and briefly closed his eyes. There was no saving this situation.

He didn’t even move at first. He just blinked—slowly. Then, with all the urgency of swatting a drifting leaf, he shifted.

Aaryan’s fist met empty air. He barely had a second to register it before Dharun pivoted, one hand snapping out. A single, light tap to Aaryan’s wrist.

The next thing he knew, his entire momentum flipped against him.

With a startled grunt, Aaryan felt his balance shift violently, his body tilting forward—

—and suddenly, he was face-first in the dirt.

A beat of stunned silence.

Aaryan blinked.

The dirt was real.

He could feel the individual grains against his skin. The faint ache of impact vibrated through his bones. The scent of dust filled his nose. It wasn’t some flickering illusion effect. It wasn’t fake.

It was real.

Slowly, horrifyingly, the realization crept up his spine.

“…Oh,” Aaryan muttered into the ground. “Oh no.”

A soft, almost imperceptible chuckle drifted through the air, like the whisper of silk against stone. Amusement, deep and unfathomable, coiled around the unseen edges of the world.

"How... entertaining."