ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 523: How To Approach

After nearly a week had passed, Liam remained unmoving, a still shadow against the restored landscape of the mind realm, his body slowly knitting itself back together. In the real world, he would have never remained so idle for so long, but the peculiar flow of time in Aesmirius’s domain bent perception and patience alike. Hours, days, or even weeks could pass in a moment, and the weariness of his body, though real in sensation, had a muted sting here. Liam had grown accustomed to this unnatural rhythm, and it suited him—forced reflection without disruption.

Now, every wound had sealed, every tear in muscle and sinew restored. With a faint shift, he rolled onto his back, crimson eyes lifting to the cosmic sky above. The swirling expanse of gold, white, and faint violet light reflected subtly within his gaze. His expression remained stoic, unchanging, yet there was an undercurrent of focus simmering behind the calm exterior.

’Now that I’m done with those blood idiots, my only opponent left is myself,’ he thought, the mental voice steady and clinical. ’Though this will be our second confrontation, I have no choice but to win. If Aesmirius still had tricks to show me, I wouldn’t care much—but he’s shown what he needed to. Staying here, waiting, is pointless.’

"As much as I adore the silence and distance from unnecessary conversations and meddling people, I’m still human. I can’t remain in this isolation forever," he murmured, a hint of nostalgia flaring in his eyes. "I want to return to..." He paused, realization spreading across his expression, a smirk curling his lips. "I guess my old man’s habits are slowly trying to take root in me."

With deliberate slowness, he rose to a seated position. His gaze extended toward the distant white pyramid of Aether, the apex where Aesmirius watched over all that transpired. Liam’s eyes lingered on the peak as if he could perceive Aesmirius’s omnipresent gaze even across the expanse. A sigh left him, low and controlled, before he straightened fully and began moving toward the jagged mountains in the distance.

"A light stroll should be helpful," he muttered, voice quiet against the winds that whispered through the endless plains. As he walked, his torn pants knit themselves together, ethereal boots formed over his feet, and an off-white, long-sleeved shirt draped across his torso, all of it glowing faintly under the mind realm’s celestial light. He ignored the transformation—it was nothing unusual here. The realm molded his form to facilitate focus, not to distract.

His mind, meanwhile, churned with probabilities and possibilities, turning each step into calculated thought.

’A perfect mirror of what I could be at my current mystic level,’ he murmured.

’When I first came here, I was High-Tier Five-Star. Three years have passed since then—I’m not at the same level anymore. I feel... like a Mid-Tier Six-Star now. The first fight was against my High-Tier Five-Star self at peak, a version capable of predicting every single move I would make. This time... I’ll face myself at the peak of Mid-Tier Six-Star potential.’

He understood the logic: Aesmirius had designed the illusions to match the full extent of his current capabilities. Growth mattered, and the reflection he would face would not be the same as the one that had defeated him years ago.

"Troublesome, but not overwhelming," Liam noted dryly.

The first encounter with his own self had been less a battle of skill than a test of understanding. Every move he considered, every strategy he imagined, was preemptively countered by the mirrored mind. No attack had worked, no feint had succeeded, because the opponent was him—a perfect reflection, anticipating his thoughts and intentions.

’Perhaps I should change everything. Alter my style completely. Break patterns. Unpredictable movements...’ He pondered, yet even as the thought formed, he recognized its flaw. The illusion knew every inclination, every subtle nuance in his plan. Even the thought of improvisation might already exist within the mirror version, preempted before execution.

Yet doubt remained. Maybe overthinking was the problem—maybe he was simply allowing his mind to be ensnared in its own loops of probability. Perhaps not all contingencies had been considered.

As Liam continued his careful stroll across the landscape, his mind spun through every angle. The more he calculated, the more he realized the futility of complete prediction. Every tactic, every potential maneuver, he already knew could be anticipated. His reflection could predict his lines of reasoning as naturally as it predicted his physical motions.

A grimace tugged at his lips, teeth clicking in quiet irritation. "For a fight that isn’t against a beast, a demon, or some freak of nature, I’m worked up more than any fight yet," he muttered under his breath.

Unlike the countless abominations, demons, and otherworldly creatures he had faced in this realm, he was about to confront something wholly different: himself. There would be no flaw in instinct, no weakness in reaction, no lapse in pattern. Reason, logic, reflex—all would be matched, mirrored, challenged.

Nothing he had used before would function here.

It gnawed at him.

He stopped abruptly, planting his boots firmly into the ground. "Reason," he said aloud, voice sharp in the silence. "That’s it."

For a long moment, he remained still, a hand pressed to his mouth as his gaze fixed on the earth beneath him. His eyes were empty, focused, calculating the subtle rhythms of his own heart, his own breath, the movement of the land around him. Slowly, his head lowered further, a small, knowing smile creeping onto his lips—a revelation forming.

"Fine," he murmured, voice almost amused. "Screw all this overthinking. Best to fight now and get it over with."

He exhaled, voice cutting cold through the air. "Show yourself."

At once, shadows crawling across the ground began to coalesce. Tendrils writhed and twisted, twisting upon themselves, all converging into a single focal point. Slowly, methodically, the mass of black shadow rose, solidifying upward with fluidity that defied ordinary physics. Each tendril thickened, hardening into substance until a humanoid form emerged from the dark vortex, identical in height, build, and posture to Liam himself.

As the last wisps of shadow coalesced into form, the darkness dissipated completely, revealing a perfect replica of Liam Hunter. Pale skin, crimson eyes that matched his own, and the same off-white shirt and boots that now clung to his real self. Standing just a few paces away, it mirrored him exactly, yet there was a mocking, uncanny precision to the illusion.

Liam’s eyes locked onto the replica, irritation flaring faintly in the crimson glow. The same smug smirk, the same gleam of teasing amusement in the eyes—far more vexing than any demon he had ever faced.

The silence stretched, taut, before the illusion broke it.

"Long time no see, Liam," it said, teasing, almost sardonic in tone.

"Indeed. I’ve missed you, beyond measure," Liam replied, dry and detached, his voice devoid of warmth.

The mirror laughed softly, expression darkening as its amusement twisted into something more venomous. "Missed me?" it said. "Really, Hunter, you expect me to believe such rubbish?"

Before the words fully left the illusion’s mouth, Liam was already moving. His body became a streak of controlled violence, rising above the replica with precision only he could achieve. His right hand clutched his dagger, shadow and flame licking the blade in anticipation. Arms descending with ruthless intent, Liam’s attack was both merciless and deliberate.

"Of course not."