Zhang Han Lu's words lingered like a blade pressed lightly to the throat—promise and threat braided together. He regarded Orion in silence, obsidian eyes weighing, measuring, as though deciding whether the boy merited further investment.
Then he sighed.
It was faint. Almost bored.
"Words are cheap," Zhang said at last, fingers tapping once against the arm of his chair. "You mortals learn best through spectacle."
He rose smoothly to his feet. "Observe."
—SNAP.
The sound detonated like thunder.
Reality tore.
Orion felt it before he understood it—a violent wrench in his gut, as if the world had dropped away beneath him. The chandeliers vanished. The endless table dissolved into vapor. A howling wind slammed into his face, hot and foul, reeking of iron, sweat, and blood.
He staggered forward and fell to his hands and knees.
Mud. Thick. Churned. Sticky.
His palms sank into it with a wet squelch.
All around him—
CHAOS.
A battlefield sprawled to the horizon beneath a bruised, smoke-choked sky. Two colossal armies collided in a deafening roar: ranks of soldiers in ancient lamellar armor, shields locked, banners snapping violently in the gale. Spears punched forward. Swords rang against steel with bone-jarring force.
CLANG—CRACK—SCREAM.
Arrows screamed overhead in blackened swarms, thudding into shields, punching into flesh. Men fell. Horses thundered past, hooves churning earth into slurry, riders hacking with curved blades slicked red. Blood sprayed in hot arcs, soaking grass already trampled into ruin.
The ground trembled.
Orion's mind went blank.
An arrow hissed past his ear—so close he felt the whisper of its fletching brush his hair.
He ducked with a strangled shout, throwing himself flat as another volley darkened the sky.
"What the—?!"
He scrambled up onto his elbows, heart hammering violently. "Why—why did you put me in danger?!"
His voice vanished into the roar.
Zhang Han Lu stood beside him.
Untouched.
Not a fleck of mud stained his midnight robes. Wind curled around him without daring to disturb the fall of his sleeves. Arrows passed through the space around his body as though through smoke, embedding harmlessly in the ground beyond.
Zhang lifted one hand.
A translucent dome shimmered into existence with a low hum.
TING—TING—CRASH.
Arrows struck it and shattered into motes of light. A charging cavalryman veered violently at the last second, his mount rearing as if colliding with an invisible wall.
"Calm yourself," Zhang said.
His voice cut through the battlefield with unnatural clarity.
"This is illustration, not execution."
Orion forced himself upright, breath ragged. The air tasted of ash and copper. The ground vibrated beneath the impact of thousands of boots. It felt real—too real. The suction of mud still clung to his skin. His stomach churned.
"All you see," Zhang continued calmly, "is imagination given form. My imagination, to be precise."
He glanced at Orion. "It cannot harm you—unless panic fractures your focus and invites it in."
Orion stared.
A phalanx of spearmen slammed into a faltering enemy line, shields locking with brutal precision.
"But it's—" he gasped. "It's an entire war."
Zhang's lips curved.
"Precisely."
He gestured, slow and deliberate.
"Environmental manipulation at scale. With sufficient will, one may overlay any scene upon reality—summon storms, raise mountains, or craft arenas such as this."
To demonstrate, he flicked his wrist.
—THUD.
Time stuttered.
Then stopped.
The charging spearmen froze mid-stride, faces twisted in snarls. Arrows hung motionless in the air like constellations of death. A horse hovered with forelegs raised, rider's sword suspended inches from its arc.
Silence crashed down.
Only Orion's panting remained.
Zhang rotated two fingers.
The frozen tableau shifted.
The halted enemy line turned—as one—and redirected toward their former allies. Suspended arrows reversed course, bending backward through the air. Time snapped back into motion.
SCREAMS. CONFUSION. SLAUGHTER.
Soldiers collided beneath their own banners. Command structures collapsed in moments.
Orion could only watch.
Zhang conducted the carnage like a maestro.
A lazy wave split the earth open, a yawning chasm swallowing an entire squadron whole. A casual sweep summoned a roaring wall of flame that erased a battalion—leaving the grass beneath Zhang's feet untouched.
Effortless.
Godlike.
Terrifying.
Orion's terror sharpened into something electric—adrenaline braided with awe. This was everything his novels had promised, pushed beyond restraint. One will rewriting reality. A war undone with gestures.
Zhang glanced sidelong at him.
"Impressed?"
A beat.
"Good. Fear it as well."
His eyes hardened.
"Lose control in such constructs, and illusion becomes predator. Panic feeds it. Doubt corrodes your shield. Many have died here—convinced of their own deaths until belief made it true."
—SNAP.
Sharper this time.
The battlefield unraveled.
The roar died mid-scream. Mud hardened into polished wood beneath Orion's knees. Smoke dissolved into chandelier-lit gloom. Mist crept back to the edges of perception.
They were seated once more at the endless table.
Orion collapsed into the nearest chair, chest heaving. His clothes were pristine—no blood, no grime—but his skin crawled with phantom sensations: the whistle of arrows, the thunder of hooves, the weight of impending death.
"That was…"
The words failed him.
Zhang Han Lu resumed his seat, composure immaculate.
"A taste," he said, folding his hands. "And a warning."
Orion met his gaze across the vast distance of the table. The fragile spark of wonder from his first conjured light still burned within him—but now it flickered beneath the shadow of something vast.
Hungry.
For the first time, the thought struck him clearly:
Survival here might mean becoming something like Zhang Han Lu.
Or worse.