From the moment I was chosen by the holy relic

In the middle of the night, he held his breath and moved slowly along the corner of the wall, the shadows of the night providing cover. The village was silent, save for the flickering shadows cast by the dim light of the campfire, and the occasional whispers and footsteps of villagers on patrol.

His gaze was fixed on the simple stone house not far away, and his doubts deepened.

"Why does such a small stone house need so many people to guard it?"

The villagers, armed with sticks and hoes, patrolled back and forth with wary expressions, as if guarding something of utmost importance.

Eric frowned, pondering how to sneak in, when suddenly, a rustling sound came from inside the house.

He quickly disappeared into the darkness, and then the village chief came out of the house, followed by several burly villagers.

The village chief looked pleased, a satisfied smile on his lips. He reached out and shook something in his hand. In the firelight, Eric could vaguely see several glass bottles filled with a dark red liquid that gleamed with a cold, eerie light.

"It can be sent out tomorrow," the village chief chuckled softly, a hint of greed flashing in his eyes. "This batch is of very good quality and can fetch a good price."

Eric's heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly realized that something was wrong.

"Are they selling their blood?"

However, the blood of the Clawed Lizard is not so easy to collect. They have thick skin and flesh, and ordinary people cannot subdue a Clawed Lizard at all, let alone these villagers who look like ordinary farmers.

Watching the village chief and the villagers walk away, he clenched his fist and quietly took out a bottle of powder from his pocket.

That was the sedative powder that Eileen used to save him.

He held his breath and waited until the patrolling villagers passed by his hiding place, then suddenly threw the bottle at them!

The powder spread instantly, and the patrolling villagers only had time to widen their eyes before they could even raise their weapons, before they fell one after another into a deep sleep.

Eric lightly leaped over their bodies and slipped into the stone house.

The stench of blood mixed with a foul odor assaulted his senses, causing him to frown. Gripping the torch tightly, he slowly descended the steps, his unease growing stronger.

An iron cage came into his view. Inside, a Crackclaw Lizard was bound by heavy chains, its body covered in horrifying wounds. It slightly raised its head, its scarlet eyes filled with pain and rage.

Eric suddenly realized that the village chief and his men had kidnapped the Cracked Claw Lizard and were going to sell its blood!

The previous attacks were not a monster riot at all, but rather their attempt to rescue their companions!

The vibration of his warning amulet was not a warning of monsters, but a reminder that he should be wary of these villagers!

A fire of anger burned within his chest.

These villagers are not victims; they are the real hunters!

Eric took a deep breath, slowly retreated from the cellar, and carefully closed the wooden door.

"Okay, okay!"

A deep voice came from behind.

Eric turned around abruptly and saw the village chief standing outside, with a group of villagers armed behind him. Their expressions were cold and their eyes were gloomy, completely devoid of the simplicity they had shown during the day. Eric's heart sank, and he gripped his sword hilt tightly, thinking, "This is going to be difficult."

"You discovered it too early." The village chief sighed, his smile still gentle, but a dangerous chill flickered deep in his eyes.

"Why?" he asked coldly.

The village chief shrugged: "This is a very profitable business, young man."

He slowly took a few steps forward, his smile unchanged: "The blood of the Cracked Claw Lizard is a precious alchemical material, and countless nobles and mages are willing to pay high prices for it. Unfortunately, these beasts are too difficult to catch. In all these years, we have only caught one."

The villagers, armed with various weapons, surrounded Eric tightly; in the darkness of night, their shadows resembled deep, ghostly figures.

"You don't really think that everyone in our village is a weak and helpless farmer, do you?" The village chief chuckled, his eyes growing deeper. "In this world, kindness is a disguise, and wise people never rely on hypocritical morality."

"Then let's see if your knives are faster, or my sword is sharper."

Before the villagers could react, he had already pounced out like a cheetah, his longsword slicing through the air, aiming straight for the weakest point in the crowd. He knew the situation was extremely unfavorable for him; if he couldn't seize the initiative, he might very well lose his life.

However, just as he was about to get close, several cold lights suddenly shot out from the night – arrows!

Eric's eyes twitched, and he suddenly dodged to the side. Three arrows whistled past him, one of them even tearing through his cloak and embedding itself in the ground behind him. He regained his footing, but had already missed the best opportunity to launch a surprise attack.

He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the villagers holding bows and arrows in the firelight.

Didn't they miss the target this morning?

Now every arrow was as precise as a seasoned hunter's. In that instant, Eric felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave: his clumsiness that morning had been a facade. They had set a trap from the very beginning.

The villagers approached step by step, their smiles turning sinister in the darkness.

"Damn it," Eric cursed inwardly, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He gripped his longsword tightly, his mind racing. Was his journey through the Thousand Faces Illusion Realm about to end here?

No.

He gritted his teeth, his gaze sharpened, he couldn't give up yet!

Eric turned abruptly and ran towards the stone house. The door was not yet closed. He rushed inside, jumped down, and stepped back into the cellar.

The injured Clawed Lizard was huddled in its cage, emitting low, hoarse hisses, its eyes flashing with anger and pain.

"We've all been used," Eric whispered, drawing his sword and slashing fiercely.

With a deafening clang, the iron lock snapped.

The lizard suddenly raised its head, its four claws straining against the cage, its roar shaking the entire cellar. It knew freedom had arrived!

"Go," Eric said breathlessly, "give them a price."

The Cracked Claw Lizard burst out of the cellar like a whirlwind, roaring thunderously as it leaped out.

What followed was the screams of humans, the clash of weapons, and the cracking of bones.

Eric stood breathlessly in the dimly lit cellar, his back pressed against the cold stone wall. He dared not venture out.

Time seemed to stand still, with only the roars and screams echoing in the night wind.

Until everything returned to silence.

He cautiously leaned out.

The village was silent, and the firelight illuminated a pile of corpses lying on the ground.

But these corpses did not bleed. Their bodies were hollow and pale, like phantoms drained of all life essence.

"I see," Eric murmured, a chill creeping into his heart.

He walked to the foot of a ruined wall and found the village chief still breathing, lying on the ground with a pale face.

As he approached, the village chief smiled slightly: "Not bad, not bad, you're the first to have done this."

Eric gripped his longsword tightly: "You are not ordinary people."

"Of course not," the village chief said slowly. "Illusions can use reality to create lies, use kindness to disguise evil, and use malice to test courage."

He coughed up a mouthful of black blood, which immediately disappeared.

"Remember, don't let what's in front of you blind you. The real enemy is often not where your sword is pointed."

After he finished speaking, his body turned into a white light, as if he had never existed.

Eric opened his mouth to speak, but found that the scenery around him suddenly distorted.

The ground rippled like water, the sky collapsed, and the ruins scattered into countless points of light.

The next moment, he was no longer in that village.

The next trial of the Thousand-Faced Illusion has quietly begun.

Eric felt as if the world had turned upside down, as if he had been pulled from reality by an invisible hand and thrown into another bizarre and fantastical dream.

When he opened his eyes again, a scorching heat wave rushed towards him, like a ferocious beast pouncing on his skin. He instinctively squinted, the burning sunlight seeming to pierce his eyeballs through the slits of his eyelids. He looked down and saw a vast expanse of pale yellow sand beneath his feet. The sand grains gleamed metallically in the sunlight, and as he stepped on them, he sank deep, the heat seeming to seep into his flesh from the soles.

"Desert," he murmured, his voice swallowed by the heatwave.

He looked up. In the distance stretched endless sand dunes, like countless golden tombs, winding silently under the blazing sun. Heat waves swirled in the air, churning and twisting like lake water, as if the entire world were engulfed in an unending fire.

"What a peculiar welcome ceremony," Eric chuckled wryly, reaching for the silver warning amulet on his chest. It remained cold and unmoved, indicating that, at least for the time being, the danger had not yet materialized.

Suddenly, his gaze caught a slight movement in the distance: several small figures slowly moving along the edge of the sand dune. They looked like a caravan carrying goods, few in number, perhaps six or seven. They wore long robes and sun hats, leading several lame sand beasts. A flag fluttered gently in the wind among the group, embroidered with a pale gold triangular emblem.

"Is it an illusion?" Eric frowned, his eyes fixed on the group of figures. His mind was still being torn apart by the experience of the previous illusion: the villagers' hypocrisy, the roar of the Cracked Claw Lizard, and the dying words: "The real enemy is often not where your sword is pointed."

He knew he could no longer easily judge the stance of "human" or "monster." But if this was part of an illusion, he had to proceed with caution; if these were real travelers, he had to seize the opportunity to obtain clues about this desert and about the next trial.

He took a deep breath of the scorching air, letting the blazing sun bake his face, and approached the squad step by step.

"Don't draw your sword yet," he told himself, his left hand unconsciously touching the amulet.

As he approached, the amulet did not vibrate. Eric felt a slight sense of relief; this didn't seem like an illusion. At the same time, the others in the squad also noticed him. They instinctively tightened their grip on the reins, one even placing his hand on the hilt of his scimitar at his waist, but then, seeing that Eric was alone and noticing his steady gait, genuine breathing, and wary yet non-threatening gaze, their alertness subsided.

The leader reined in the sand beast, sat atop it, and looked down at Eric, his eagle-like gaze slowly sweeping across Eric's face.

"Are you traveling alone?" he asked, his voice low, hoarse, and dry, like a rock eroded a thousand times by the desert winds.

Eric hesitated for a moment, then nodded and replied, "Not entirely."

The man raised an eyebrow.

"I had a companion who was separated from me when we entered this illusion. I still haven't found her."

Upon hearing this, the previously silent caravan members exchanged several ambiguous glances. Their steps didn't falter, but a sense of caution subtly spread through the group, like an invisible wind raising the temperature slightly.

Finally, a slightly younger-looking man turned to look at Eric. His face was veiled, but a hint of surprise flashed in his eyes: "You didn't use a teleportation talisman?"

"What?" Eric frowned, a mixture of confusion and wariness in his eyes. "A teleportation amulet? What's that?"

The man paused, as if he couldn't believe this was a real question. After a moment, he shook his head and gave a dry laugh:

"Is this your first time in the illusionary realm?"

Another woman nearby scoffed and said, "That's true. I've never heard of any experienced person venturing into the Thousand Faces Illusionary Realm alone, especially without knowing about teleportation talismans. Unless they're incredibly lucky."

Eric didn't argue. He simply lowered his head, a fleeting hint of regret in his eyes that he couldn't completely conceal. He knew they were right. Before entering the illusion, he prided himself on being well-prepared, having collected numerous documents and listened to snippets of conversation from adventurers, yet no one had ever mentioned this kind of teleportation amulet.

"I was too arrogant," he thought to himself. The shadows under the blazing sun obscured his eyes, but they couldn't hide his frustration and clarity.

"The teleportation amulet is an auxiliary item designed specifically for teams," the elder finally spoke. He was the leader of the team, and his voice was steady. "By carrying the same amulet before entering the realm, the team can be automatically teleported to the same coordinates in the first level of the illusion. Although it is not omnipotent, it can at least prevent the team from getting separated in the first level."

"Everyone knows that," the woman next to her added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I don't know," Eric said calmly but firmly, "but I will remember."

He looked up, met the leader's eyes, and added, "So for now, I can only follow you until I find her."

The leader remained silent for a moment. The hot wind ruffled the gray hair on his forehead, and his eyes seemed to be weighing things, or perhaps trying to see through some emotion deep within Eric's soul.

"What's your name?" he finally asked.

Eric Bright.

"I am Abu Nach." He nodded. "I can take you with me. At least for now."

"Thank you," Eric said softly, quickening his pace and maintaining a relatively close but not intimate distance from the caravan.

The sand beast continued its slow journey, the golden sunlight relentlessly scorching the earth. Occasionally a breeze would blow, but it brought no relief, only hurling grains of sand harshly onto people's faces and necks.