Chapter 224: Skeletons

All the illusions Merlin encountered couldn't be shattered by external force alone. Even with the **Stone of Clarity**, its effectiveness was finite. Over time, Merlin noticed the once egg-sized stone shrinking bit by bit. This revealed an unsettling truth: the unique aura emitted by the stone wouldn't last indefinitely. When the stone was depleted, if Merlin hadn't yet learned to break illusions through his own power, he would likely be trapped in the **Dark Maze** forever.

"Faith. With unwavering faith, I can pierce through all deceptions and dispel every illusion!"

Determination lit up Merlin's face. He realized illusions weren't inherently terrifying—they only affected the mind. Neither sheer will nor mental energy seemed to counteract them effectively. However, faith—firm and resolute—could render any illusion powerless.

Strong faith wasn't something cultivated overnight. Reflecting on his journey, Merlin recalled starting as an ordinary man in the Kingdom of Light. With the magical notes left by Old Etta and the aid of the **Matrix**, he had risen to become a six-system spellcaster.

Yet, he questioned himself: could he have achieved this without the **Matrix**?

"Without the **Matrix**, perhaps I wouldn't have become a six-system spellcaster," Merlin admitted to himself. "But even if the road had been more arduous, I would have found my way. I would have built spell models from scratch and still become a wizard!"

The thought lingered in Merlin's mind: was his reliance on the **Matrix** hindering his development? The answer crystallized in his introspection. Magical tools were valuable, but they must never become a crutch. To possess true faith was to believe in oneself above all else.

"Faith… Faith…" Merlin whispered to himself, a newfound clarity glowing in his eyes.

Storing the **Stone of Clarity** back into his ring, Merlin allowed the illusion to reemerge. The environment around him morphed into a horrifying inferno, winds howling as if straight from the depths of hell.

Slowly, Merlin extended his hand, feeling the immense magical power coursing through him. His twelve spell models hummed in harmonious operation. This was the true measure of his strength—the force under his direct control.

Faith, Merlin realized, was rooted in strength. To possess strength was to foster unwavering conviction. A small smile graced his lips as he embraced this understanding.

Faced with the vivid chaos of the illusory inferno, Merlin closed his eyes with a calm smile. When he reopened them, the illusion was gone. The cold, dry cave once again surrounded him, and he hadn't moved an inch.

"It's broken. The illusion no longer has any hold over me!"

Merlin's grin widened with triumph. Through faith, he had shattered the illusion within the **Dark Maze**.

In truth, there were many ways to overcome illusions. Some wizards relied on deep attachments, while others pursued pure-hearted strength. The common thread was a resolute spirit, and Merlin's unwavering faith had been his key to breaking free.

"Only three days have passed," Merlin realized after consulting the **Matrix**. Although he had conquered the illusions, he refrained from rushing into the cultivation of the **Dark Heart**. After all, the **Dark Heart** had three forms. Merlin, though confident he could achieve the first form, wanted to explore the possibility of the second or even third.

To prepare himself fully, Merlin resolved to stay in the **Dark Maze** longer, exposing himself to increasingly complex illusions to hone his resolve.

---

Outside the **Dark Maze**, Leo sat cross-legged, his expression calm but his glowing **Blood-Eye** betraying a flicker of unease. Nearby, Hobbes, Gaiselo, and Balin—three senior wizards of the Abyssal Fortress—stood watch.

"It's been three days since Merlin entered the maze," Hobbes remarked, his gravelly voice breaking the silence. "We warned you, Leo. The **Dark Maze** isn't so easily navigated. Even with the **Stone of Clarity**, its aura diminishes over time. Perhaps you don't fully understand the nuances of the maze, so let me explain."

Hobbes continued, his tone somber. "When Damanie Archwizard created the **Dark Maze**, it was meant to aid wizards in cultivating the **Dark Heart**. Each form of the **Dark Heart** corresponds to increasing levels of illusion. The maze has three tiers, divided across seven days."

"Days one through three contain the weakest illusions. Surviving this period typically guarantees success in cultivating the **Dark Heart's** first form."

"Days four through six are far more intense. Wizards who endure this phase often succeed in achieving the second form."

"The seventh day," Hobbes concluded darkly, "is the pinnacle of the maze's power. Even we, as seventh-level wizards, can't withstand its illusions. Those who survive this day might attain the **Dark Heart's** third form. However, in the entire history of the Abyssal Fortress, wizards who succeeded on the seventh day are exceedingly rare. If Merlin remains beyond seven days…" Hobbes paused, his smirk icy, "he'll likely be lost. Remember your promise, Leo."

Leo's expression remained stoic. "Let's discuss it after seven days."

Though his tone was steady, the **Blood-Eye** atop Leo's forehead flickered ominously as he cast his gaze toward the dark, foreboding entrance of the **Dark Maze**.

---

Inside the **Dark Maze**, Merlin sat cross-legged in deep concentration. On the fourth day, the illusions had grown noticeably more potent. This time, familiar figures materialized before him—his two wives, Avril and Sherlis, his father, Old Wilson, and even acquaintances from the Kingdom of Light like Old Etta, Gutt, and Anson.

Each figure spoke as though alive, their voices stirring long-buried memories.

"Merlin, late again? Thanks to you, Perot's going to punish me too!" grumbled Anson, his red hair fiery as ever.

"Merlin, guess what? I've found twin sisters! Come on, let's go!" whispered Gutt, a mischievous grin lighting his face.

"Merlin, if you keep running off with them, I won't forgive you!" scolded Sherlis, her fists clenched in mock anger.

Even Old Wilson and Old Etta appeared. Their voices, their faces, were so vividly real that Merlin couldn't help but smile wistfully.

"An illusion," Merlin murmured, his voice tinged with nostalgia. Though he recognized the deception, the comfort of the familiar faces tempted him to linger.

"But it's all a lie," he declared firmly. "I'll return to the Kingdom of Light—not through this illusion, but in reality. Gutt, Anson, Father, wait for me. This ends now!"

With unshakable conviction, Merlin closed his eyes. When he reopened them, the illusion had vanished, leaving the cold cave around him unchanged.

"How long have I been in the maze?" Merlin asked the **Matrix**.

"Five days, eight hours," the **Matrix** replied.

Surprised, Merlin realized he had lost track of time amid the illusions. On the fourth day, the challenges had indeed grown significantly harder.

"Five days… It's time to try cultivating the **Dark Heart**."

Just as Merlin was preparing to begin, his gaze caught sight of something on the ground not far away—skeletal remains, eerily dry and brittle.

"Could they be former Abyssal Fortress wizards who perished here?" Merlin wondered. Standing, he cautiously approached the skeletons.