Meeting face to face with the brazen brat before him, Beon Gyeoul found himself entertaining only one true thought—
This boy is overflowing with talent.
Raw, untamed, and dangerous.
Beon could feel it—the clarity of Riley's mana, refined beyond what should be possible for someone so young.
The density of it, the calmness in his stance, and the unwavering resolve in his eyes.
It was unmistakable. His conviction wasn't shallow.
His body had been trained, his foundation laid with care, and his core… forged through something deeper than luxury or lineage.
He is much too young… and much too dangerous for it.
There was nothing bad Beon could truly point out.
Not physically, nor internally.
Riley's bearing had the polish of someone who'd faced death more than once and came back with sharpened fangs.
And that, more than anything, was what irritated Beon.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
But discomfort.
Because the brat—no, the young man—was still too innocent.
