Carl turned toward him. His expression unchanged. But there was the faintest edge in his voice now, low and calm:
"…You're messing with my eyes."
Lucas didn't deny it.
Didn't need to.
'Phase Two: Confirmed. Subconscious response is starting to register false signals.'
He lowered his sword slightly, stepping sideways across the platform. Calm. Composed. His mana continued to whisper beneath his feet.
Not a single chant.
Not a single visual cast.
Because his illusions weren't spells anymore.
They were integrated.
Threaded into his sword style. Layered into posture. Motion. Angle. Eye contact.
Every step was a suggestion.
Every gesture a manipulation.
And the best part?
He was still holding back.
Lucas circled again, testing Carl's shoulders. Watching where he shifted weight. He was close to identifying Carl's anchor point—the micro-habit he used to start most of his movements. Once he had that...
'One more exchange.'
