Rise of new dark guild

Chapter Four: Faint Light, Sharp Shadows

Year X710 – Magnolia Town, Fiore Kingdom

Victor had grown tall for his age, with inky black hair and eyes that revealed little but calculated distance. At fourteen, he was already whispered about.

Handsome in a cold, devilish way, he rarely spoke unless spoken to. He spent more time alone or with the system's holographic interface than with any of the rowdy teens who filled Fairy Tail's guildhall.

To the average observer, he was a quiet boy with an affinity for illusion magic. Subtle tricks. Ghost-light. Afterimages.

But no one knew the depth beneath that surface.

The Hidden Blade

Victor had long since unlocked the first layer of Djinn Equip: Belial's Weapon Equip.

In that form, he could summon a spectral scythe known as Belior Goldoreza, a weapon that could sever the senses of those it struck, disconnecting touch, hearing, even awareness from their physical body.

But its true nature was even darker. Belial's magic, rooted in manipulation and spiritual severance, had one hidden rule—if used with lethal precision, the scythe could banish a person's soul entirely to another dimension. A clean strike to the head would be fatal in a way that Earthland magic rarely permitted.

Victor, however, had never once summoned it in public.

He kept that knowledge guarded. A dagger still in its sheath.

His only known ability remained Belior Zakera—a spell that distorted the five senses, casting illusions and rewriting perception.

That illusion was his shield, and sometimes, his sword.

The afternoon was quiet. Victor sat outside the guildhall, legs crossed on the back porch, eyes half-closed as he monitored his own etherano flow.

That was when Milo, a lanky, sharp-eyed C-rank courier mage, stepped out onto the deck.

"Victor," Milo called, slightly winded, "you've been challenged."

Victor opened one eye. "By who?"

Milo smirked. "Damon Falk. He's talking loud in the courtyard, says you've been hiding too long. Half the guild's already watching."

Victor stood slowly, dusting his pants off.

He didn't sigh. He didn't frown.

But he did narrow his eyes.

"Then I guess I shouldn't be late."

Damon's Rise

Damon Falk had also grown. At fifteen, he had a swagger about him—burning with ambition, temper, and a grudge that hadn't faded over the years.

He was no longer just a bully. He'd earned recognition for his elemental magic, a rare subtype of Maker Magic known as Flame Lance Maker—he could generate fire-imbued spears with speed and precision.

Some guild members believed he had real potential to rise to B-rank, maybe even higher one day. His power wasn't flexible like traditional Maker magic, but it hit hard and fast, and that was enough for crowds to take notice.

Damon, of course, had always hated Victor.

He saw Victor's quiet intellect, his lack of visible training, his distant superiority—and it infuriated him.

So when he challenged Victor publicly to a duel in the training courtyard, it wasn't just a clash of magic. It was personal.

Victor's Plan

Victor stood still beneath the cloudy sky as a ring of guild members gathered. He had already calculated the variables.

If Damon got off even a single attack at full power, it could ruin his illusion of weakness.

He couldn't allow that.

So the moment the match was called, he activated a subtle layer of Belior Zakera—not to control Damon fully, but to delay his senses.

Enough to make him misstep.

Enough to make him miss.

Victor didn't need a weapon. He didn't summon his scythe or form any battle gear. Instead, he used nothing but faint flickers of light, doubled silhouettes, and timed sensory distortions.

Illusions shimmered, doubled his body, delayed his voice.

Damon's first attack launched straight through a fading afterimage.

Gasps echoed through the crowd.

Victor didn't smile.

The Guild Watches

High above the duel ring, three senior mages leaned against the balcony rail.

Corvin Hale, still and silent, didn't comment. But his folded arms tensed slightly.

"Illusion delay magic at that speed," he finally muttered, "requires either innate timing or a soul tuned to deception."

Junia Larksong twirled a strand of her silver-blonde hair. "Oh, he's not just cute, he's scary. That's some real misdirection rhythm. Like a false crescendo in a song."

Thorne Gavel, arms like stone columns, grunted. "Quiet ones hit hardest. You see that stance? He's not trying to win. He's trying to embarrass."

Junia giggled. "Well, it's working."

Evan, watching nervously near the ring, looked on with worry. "He's not… going to hurt him, right?"

Victor, of course, heard none of this. But he knew eyes were on him now. That was the point.

The Finish

Damon growled, frustrated by his inability to land a clean strike. Victor weaved illusions of movement, afterimages layering like ghosts. Then, at the final moment, Victor cast one sharp illusion:

He made Damon see him three meters to the right.

Damon spun, launched a fiery spear—and struck a guildmate who had just entered the ring.

The man's eyes widened, blinking through the confusion of the illusion. In a flash, a massive fist slammed into Damon's jaw.

Thorne Gavel had moved faster than anyone expected.

"You attack your own guildmates, you get cracked," he said flatly.

The courtyard fell silent.

Damon lay dazed on the ground, utterly confused.

Victor deactivated his magic and stood calmly, the illusion falling apart like smoke.

Murmurs rose. A few gasped in realization.

"He made Damon see the wrong target…"

"He didn't even fight back."

"He just made the guy hit someone else!"

Victor glanced toward Thorne, who shook out his hand like nothing had happened. Damon, still groaning on the floor, held his jaw in stunned silence.

Victor's eyes lingered on the guild, watching their reactions—not fear exactly, but wariness. Uncertainty. Respect wrapped in discomfort.

He let it settle. Let them watch him without speaking.

Then he turned and walked off the field.

System Notification

SYSTEM UPDATE

You have earned 10 Random Gacha Draws.

Criteria: Strategic use of illusion magic to influence the perception of an important social conflict.

Result: Guild-wide demonstration of potential.

Victor watched the message fade.

He felt no pride. Only calm.

The guild now understood one truth:

He didn't have to be strong to be dangerous.

And that was exactly what he wanted.

END OF CHAPTER FOUR