Fate's Forgotten Trickster

Chapter 13: Testing the Trickster's Blood (II)

Refining Illusions—Understanding the Limits

Noctis sat in his dimly lit study, the golden glow of candlelight flickering across the leather-bound tomes that surrounded him. His fingers drummed against the desk, deep in thought.

The night before had been a success—he had gathered valuable information, marked his first target, and tested the breadth of his abilities. But knowledge alone wasn't enough.

He needed mastery.

"A trickster who does not understand the extent of his own deception is no better than a fool lying to himself."

Noctis closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. His abilities had already proven useful, but he had felt the strain, the frayed edges of illusion threatening to collapse under scrutiny.

Tonight, he would push himself further.

He would not just wield illusion.

He would command it.

Illusions were fleeting by nature. They bent perception, but how long could they hold?

Noctis focused on the empty chair across from him, summoning the same shadowy figure he had conjured before.

This time, he would not let it fade.

Seconds passed.

The figure sat motionless.

One minute.

Noctis clenched his jaw, pouring more concentration into maintaining the illusion.

Two minutes.

A flicker. The shadowy figure wavered, like ink dispersing in water.

Three minutes.

Noctis felt his pulse quicken. The strain was subtle but present, a dull pressure building at the base of his skull.

Three minutes and twenty seconds.

The illusion collapsed.

Noctis let out a slow breath, rubbing his temples. That was the threshold.

"Three minutes… perhaps slightly longer under perfect focus. But maintaining illusions for extended periods will drain me."

He needed to find ways to extend their lifespan. Perhaps layering them? Perhaps resting between casts?

A problem for another night.

For now, he would move on.

Creating a vague, indistinct shape was easy. But what about something detailed? Something that could fool someone up close?

Noctis stood before the large mirror in his study, examining his reflection.

"If I can make a chair appear occupied, why not alter my own appearance?"

He envisioned himself taller, older, with different features.

His mind reached into that strange part of him—the essence of deception.

His reflection shifted.

His hair darkened, his eyes turned a deep gold, his facial structure sharpened. For a moment, he appeared like an entirely different man.

Then—the cracks appeared.

The illusion wavered. The edges of his figure blurred and shimmered unnaturally, like a mirage on hot stone.

Noctis narrowed his eyes.

"So, I cannot physically change… only manipulate how I am perceived."

It wasn't true shapeshifting.

It was perception bending.

If he wanted to use this in public, he would need subtlety.

A complete transformation would draw suspicion if people sensed something was off. But small changes— shifting the color of his eyes, slightly altering his facial structure—could go unnoticed.

This was the key.

He smirked at his reflection before letting the illusion drop.

"Progress."

"If illusions are tricks of the mind, what happens when someone tries to touch them?"

Noctis grabbed a gold coin from his desk. He studied it for a moment before placing it on the wooden surface.

Then, he conjured an illusory duplicate.

To the naked eye, the two coins looked identical.

He flicked the real one into the air, catching it with ease. Then, he reached for the illusion.

His fingers passed through nothing.

Noctis frowned.

He tried again, this time reinforcing the illusion in his mind. He envisioned texture, weight, the cold metal pressing against his skin.

But reality would not bend.

"Illusions have no substance. They cannot be touched. They do not cast shadows."

It was a weakness—one that could easily expose him.

Yet, weaknesses could be worked around.

"If I cannot create real objects… then I must manipulate how people react to them."

He would have to use misdirection—draw people's attention elsewhere before they could test the illusion.

Perhaps a distraction, or layering the illusion with suggestion magic, planting the idea that the object was real before anyone doubted it.

It was a puzzle.

One he would solve.

Thus far, Noctis had only worked on individuals. But could he influence multiple people at once?

He needed a real test.

One that involved unwitting participants.

Disguising his presence, Noctis moved through the halls of House Umbrael, heading toward the servant quarters.

At this hour, a handful of staff remained awake—talking, playing dice, or preparing for the morning's duties.

Perfect.

Hiding in the shadows, Noctis concentrated.

His goal: Make all of them believe something that wasn't real.

He reached for his power, weaving an illusion over the hallway.

A shadow moved in the corner of their vision.

A maid gasped. "Did you see that?"

A footman frowned. "See what?"

Noctis pushed harder, shaping the illusion—a dark figure standing in the doorway, faceless and motionless.

The reaction was instant.

The maid screamed. The footman stumbled back, knocking over a chair.

Another servant froze in fear.

But then—an older butler, sharp-eyed and skeptical, marched toward the figure.

Noctis held his breath.

The butler reached out.

His hand passed through the illusion.

He blinked. "What—? There's nothing here."

The spell collapsed.

Reality reasserted itself.

The servants hesitated, their minds catching up to what had happened.

Noctis cursed silently, retreating before he was spotted.

The lesson?

Illusions worked best when people already believed in what they saw.

Fear amplified deception.

But rationality destroyed it.

A skilled observer—someone who relied on logic—could see through him.

"Which means I must control the conditions in which my illusions are seen."

He would need to anticipate scrutiny. Prey on emotion.

Only then could he deceive without fail.

Noctis returned to his chambers, sinking into his chair.

Tonight had been revealing.

Illusions had a time limit—three minutes, at most.

They could not physically interact with the world.

They could alter perception but not override logic.

Fear made them stronger. Skepticism made them weaker.

His powers were not absolute.

But they were still dangerous.

Limitations were not flaws. They were rules to be exploited.

He just needed to learn how.

And once he did—

The entire noble world would never know what was real and what was a lie again.