The Old Saintess smirked.
Her calm, unreadable eyes now held something else entirely.
Something ancient. Something unfathomable.
"For the so-called number one genius of this continent, you sure are full of ignorance," she mused, voice laced with mockery.
"As expected from the young generations."
Max's jaw clenched.
But he said nothing.
He knew—
He was nothing before this woman.
She leaned back into her chair, her expression shifting into something almost bored.
Then she continued—
"The very top experts of this world, the true peak of the 'Acaris', can live up to 'ten thousand years.'"
A pause.
"And you, boy, are looking at one such individual."
Max stood frozen.
'Ten thousand years.'
The number alone sent a wave of realization crashing down on him.
He had always known—whispers of hidden monsters, of ancient beings that defied time.
Like the blob but they were spirits. Their race was blessed by the nature themselves. They were simply eternal.
