Chapter 26: Come Here If You Dare

The flames dissipated, leaving smoke and dust billowing in the air.

All around, the blood thralls had been burned to ashes. The infernal fire’s heat was so intense and its clinging nature so fierce that for these cannon-fodder level thralls, a single touch meant instant annihilation. Such searing flames could melt and vaporize even solid ice in a heartbeat, and yet the thick mist composed of water vapor around him showed no sign of fading.

That sweeping attack had wiped out six or seven hundred blood thralls. Adding in those slain by swordsmanship, at least a thousand enemies had been vanquished. Yet, peering into the fog, shadowy figures seemed to stretch on without end.

According to information obtained from the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, the Sari Settlement was not a large one. It was called a settlement precisely because it was far from any city, the population sparse, not even reaching the scale of a town—barely seven or eight hundred people on the official register. But now, after destroying over a thousand enemies, it felt as though the tide was unending.

Something was truly bizarre about this situation. Where did so many blood thralls come from? It was impossible that the vampire lord, who had yet to reveal himself, had brought them all this way. If he dared to openly migrate with such a massive horde of thralls, the Longteng authorities would surely intervene to eliminate him—even here, in this remote, low-security star system.

Looking around, Han Feng felt the environment was somehow wrong; much did not align with reality. Suddenly, a thought struck him—a certain type of psychic ability that could conjure an environment nearly indistinguishable from reality, blurring the line between illusion and truth.

This was the power of illusion.

As the strength of the ability grew, the highest level of illusion could deceive the senses so completely that one could suffer real harm inside it, or even die a slow, painless death within the dreamscape.

Han Feng recalled the strange fog that even the highest heat could not evaporate, the improbable number of enemies, and that pristine, cozy little house—so inviting, yet not a single pair of shoes in sight. One after another, these incongruous scenes paraded through his mind, each anomaly swiftly analyzed.

He had never considered an illusion before, but realization now struck him with clarity. There was no need to waste strength or spirit fighting endless enemy hordes.

If he could not break the illusion, he might well perish from exhaustion within it, battling ceaseless foes. Han Feng even suspected that other bounty hunters and official teams sent for this mission had already fallen into the trap.

But he had a trump card when it came to illusions—though he had yet to use it.

“Evil Eye Master!” This was a skill from the Shadowstep card—able to pierce deceitful visions. Although a passive skill, its effects were not constant unless consciously activated—more akin to a state than a perpetual talent.

Han Feng’s striking phoenix eyes suddenly turned pitch-black, as if black fire blazed within them. Between his brows, a black flame-shaped mark emerged, like a tattoo.

Thankfully, he did not sprout a third eye and turn into Erlang Shen, though he had to admit, the flame mark was rather dashing.

In truth, every time he wielded infernal fire, this mark appeared—he had simply never paid it much heed. But when using the Evil Eye Master skill, he always half-feared a third eye would open upon his brow; after all, the Shadowstep’s own forehead was grafted with a demon’s eye. He checked his reflection in his portable comm device—fighting could wait, but one must always look cool.

With the Evil Eye Master’s power active, the world around him rapidly shifted.

The thick fog dissipated, revealing a leaden sky. His field of vision expanded; the once tidy streets were now chaotic. Of the blood thrall corpses and ashes strewn underfoot, more than half vanished into nothing. Those still charging at him disintegrated like shattered bubbles, as though they had never existed.

What vanished were illusions; those corpses and ashes remaining were real. When truth and falsehood intertwine, when reality mimics illusion, it becomes nearly impossible to distinguish between the two.

Not far away was a small square, likely a communal space for the residents. Whether it ever hosted evening dances for the elders, he could not say. But scattered there stood about a hundred pallid blood thralls.

Behind them, atop a platform over a meter high, sat a handsome young man. His face was ghostly pale, one leg crossed over the other, the entirety of his form cloaked in a high-collared, dark red leather coat embroidered with strange designs. One hand rested on the back of his chair, the other held a goblet filled a third full with thick, red liquid—far more reminiscent of blood than wine.

He watched Han Feng’s battle with evident amusement. This prey was far stronger than those before, yet if he could not break free from the illusion, he would still end up drained of spirit and strength, meeting his end all the same.

Once the enemy was spent, he would simply finish him off and claim his prize—how delightful.

He noticed Han Feng suddenly fall still, standing motionless in place. Although Han Feng had unleashed a powerful area attack, destroying many of his illusions and thralls, there should still have been countless phantom enemies surging at him. Yet Han Feng had ceased moving—this piqued his curiosity.

“As expected, an illusion ability. To ensnare someone without them even realizing—at the very least a D-grade power. The details aren’t perfect, though, or I wouldn’t have seen through it so quickly.” With the Evil Eye Master active, Han Feng’s world snapped back to reality, and he could at last see the true enemy at the plaza.

Han Feng locked eyes with the man in the coat, who appeared somewhat confused; Han Feng’s eyes were pure black, unreadable.

The man in the coat had no idea Han Feng had already seen through his illusion, nor that Han Feng’s gaze had pierced him completely.

At first glance, Han Feng found the man strangely familiar, as if they had met before.

After pondering that handsome face for a moment, Han Feng finally recalled his identity.

Famuel—a crazed vampire of the Tzimisce clan, a legendary assassin in the later underground world, his power level reaching A-class. His illusion ability could construct a reality so convincing that it could imprison and kill powerful foes. He delighted in tormenting his enemies, forcing them to struggle and go mad within his illusions, exhausting their strength and spirit until death claimed them. His particular vice was recording their torment and watching it for his own enjoyment.

To put it bluntly, he was a vampire degenerate.

In his previous life as a professional gamer, Han Feng had once encountered Famuel. The vampire’s illusions had nearly ruined his mission, and only by cleverly unraveling certain clues had he managed to escape.

Now, meeting again, Famuel had yet to reach full power, his ability only at D-class. More importantly, Han Feng possessed the perfect counter to illusions—stripped of his psychic advantage, all that remained was Famuel’s physical strength.

Compared to the humans of the universe, vampires were naturally superior in speed and power, but Han Feng was undaunted. After all, he was a “cheater,” blessed with a fused card system and skill tree, granting him strength on every front.

A fair fight?

Come on, then!