The scroll in Rowan's hand felt heavier than it should.
Not in weight—but in implication.
"Create an impossible event witnessed by three high-ranking mages."
No real mana. Only illusions, curses, and lies.
Rowan sat alone in the east tower observatory, watching the stars shift like thoughts.
He unrolled the scroll again. Beneath the trial conditions, there was a sigil—a seven-pointed star woven with a line through the center.
Faye had called it the Door of Belief.
A trial only offered to those ready to abandon reality as a fixed concept.
"I need something... they'll believe so hard, it becomes real."
He tapped his fingers against the desk.
A dragon? No. Too common.
A second sun? Too dangerous.
A prophecy? Tempting.
His eyes wandered to a forgotten relic in the corner: an old academy banner that had been torn and thrown out. It depicted the founders of Arcanum—three archmages, revered as near-divine.
His grin returned.
"What if they came back?"
---
Three days later, the plan was ready.
He had visited the Arcane Archives during midnight hours. He had memorized the voices of the founders from enchanted recordings. He had crafted glyphs beneath the Training Arena—runes that did nothing but looked terrifying.
He even cursed three library books to whisper the same rumor: "The Founders will return. Look to the eclipse."
And then he waited.
The eclipse was scheduled for the following morning.
How convenient.
---
Day of the Trial.
Three professors had arrived to watch the special "demonstration."
Master Caelor – Enchantments.
High Arcanist Vyne – Prophecy. And Professor Tellmoor – Illusions.
Faye stood in the shadows, masked, observing.
Rowan entered the ring in silence, robes windless despite the magical pressure in the air.
"Demonstrate," Vyne said flatly.
Rowan simply raised a finger.
The sky above dimmed.
The moon shifted.
And the eclipse began—naturally.
But to those in the arena, something unnatural followed.
The ground trembled.
Light spiraled down from the eclipse like a divine thread.
A ghostly sigil formed above the arena—a seven-pointed star.
From the glyph, three translucent figures descended, cloaked in silver flame.
The crowd gasped.
"The Founders..." Caelor whispered. "That's Archmage Solen... and Lady Irith..."
Rowan didn't speak. He let the illusion speak for him.
The first figure raised a spectral staff. "In the time of reckoning, the Weaker shall lead."
The second laid a hand on Rowan's shoulder. "Bearer of the Broken Core. Rise."
The third simply bowed to him.
As the crowd stood frozen, Rowan added a final touch—a harmless prank glyph activated beneath Tellmoor's feet. It exploded in a puff of pink smoke and released a swarm of squeaky rubber duck illusions.
Tellmoor yelped and stumbled back as the ducks began to quack rhythmically: "Believe, believe, believe!"
Even Vyne twitched. "What in the—"
Rowan looked unphased. "Symbolic manifestation of belief," he said solemnly. "Ducks are sacred in some realities."
Caelor actually nodded, writing something in a notebook.
Vyse stepped back, shaking.
"Impossible. This wasn't... this wasn't scripted magic."
Tellmoor activated three detection runes.
All failed.
Rowan turned slowly.
"Do you believe yet?" he said.
The three professors looked at each other.
Caelor whispered, "We must inform the Headmaster."
The figures began to fade.
And with them, the truth.
---
[JOKER SYSTEM – Trial Complete]
> Witnesses Believed: 3/3
Effectiveness: 98%
Passive Upgrade: Aura of Absurdity → Aura of Anointed Paradox
Grants minor divine credibility to cursed illusions. Higher chance of false prophecy acceptance.
---
Faye approached as the arena emptied.
"You just rewrote myth," she said quietly.
"Did I pass?" Rowan asked.
"You passed. And you've started something that won't be easy to stop."
He nodded.
"What now?"
"You join the Veiled Path—full initiation. We give you access to the Black Mirror Archives, the Room of Silent Tongues, and a personal cursecrafter."
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "Personal cursecrafter?"
Faye grinned. "You'll like her."
A whisper echoed in the air—faint but familiar.
"Chosen of contradiction... the world bends for your jest."
Rowan looked up at the fading eclipse.
"No," he whispered.
"I bend it myself."
END OF CHAPTER 7