Blanche still seemed hesitant, her gaze flicking between the spectral projection of the scissors and the elderly woman before her. Noticing this, the old mage chuckled softly and gave the illusion a gentle push—it glided through the air and stopped just inches before Blanche's chest.
In the next instant, the illusion solidified.
With a quiet shimmer, the pair of elegantly crafted daggers materialized in Blanche's hands. The twin blades were slim and curved, intricately adorned with filigree patterns along the flat of the blade—delicate, but clearly forged for lethality.
Before Blanche could even react, the blades pulsed.
They moved on their own, as if possessed by a will of their own, and nestled perfectly into her grip, fitting her palms like long-lost extensions of her body. A cold sensation surged up her arms—then came the unmistakable warmth of mana activation.
Her mana had instinctively flowed into the weapons, forming a perfect conduit.
