Those are not traits that ordinary people can possess, whenever he gazes at someone, they all feel a fear of being locked on by a predator.
"Grandfather, what are you doing?"
Andre’s voice was deep, yet carried an undeniable power.
His gaze swept across the hall, quickly understanding the situation at hand.
August turned around, his face still brimming with excitement:
"Andre! Good news! That Wizard friend of yours has arrived! I’m arranging the reception. The royal suite in the East Wing, Ice Flame Wine, and the most beautiful women in the city..."
His voice became more and more excited, gesturing incessantly like a child eager for a feast.
However, Andre’s expression remained unchanged.
He maintained a near-cold calmness, though the golden gleam in his eyes seemed sharper.
"Don’t meddle."
With these words, August’s endless enthusiasm was instantly stuck in his throat.
"It’s all just meaningless superficial attempts."
Andre stepped forward slowly, his pupils’ light as sharp as a tangible spike:
"Grandfather, have you been away from the School for too long and forgotten the essence of an Official Wizard?"
August was somewhat bewildered by the sudden question, the smile on his face froze at the corners of his mouth, a trace of confusion flickered in his eyes.
"Have you forgotten?" Andre’s voice turned colder, with a hint of barely detectable derision:
"There is an essential difference between an Official Wizard and mortals, a leap in the level of life."
Each of his words was like a heavy hammer pounding on everyone’s heart:
"Mortal women simply cannot withstand the Radiation Field of an Official Wizard, even a brief intimacy is difficult to achieve.
Do you remember in the School, how those apprentices would avoid the Official Wizards when they passed by, feeling breathless even from a distance?"
August’s expression changed slightly, the excitement in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by an epiphany of fear.
Yes, he remembered.
Those high and mighty Official Wizards were always aloof and distant, an ordinary apprentice could not even approach their laboratories.
Otherwise, they would feel an invisible pressure as if their breathing was restricted, at best feeling dizzy, at worst fainting on the spot.
This was the natural repulsion caused by the difference in the level of life, a chasm no human means could bridge.
"Moreover, Ron is not the same frivolous person he once was."
Andre continued, his voice even more stern:
"According to the information from the Black Mist School, he became a Primordial Wizard through special means, a process that altered his spiritual structure and essence of soul. The so-called beauties you sent are nothing but dust in his eyes."
To anyone with a certain knowledge of Mysticism, the term "Primordial Wizard" was enough to freeze their blood.
That was a path filled with unknown dangers, an abyss where countless geniuses perished, the successful few were all extraordinary individuals.
Even someone like August, an Advanced Apprentice, had only read snippets about such higher-ranking wizards in ancient texts.
Never did he imagine he would meet a Wizard promoted through such a special method in his lifetime.
"Andre, are you saying..."
August’s voice became tremulous, a trace of disbelief showing in his eyes: "He really..."
"Yes, Grandfather." Andre nodded, with a hint of barely perceptible pride in his tone:
"Ron is an extremely rare Primordial Wizard."
August felt a dizzy spell, having to brace himself against a table to remain standing.
Primordial Wizard, a being far more rare and powerful than ordinary Official Wizards.
It is said they can directly connect with some great entities, gaining unimaginable power.
"Then..." the old prince took a deep breath, striving to keep his voice steady:
"How should we receive such an esteemed guest? Why has he come to the Kingdom?"
Andre’s gaze grew even deeper, as if seeing through every thought of the old man:
"Ron is here for the final legacy of the ’Crown Breathing Technique’."
"What?"
August’s face changed dramatically, his voice suddenly rising, filled with shock and disbelief:
"The ’Crown Breathing Technique’? How is that possible! This is the foundation of our Farouk Royal Family!"
His expression became agitated, eyes flashing with a complex mix of fear and rage:
"The core secret technique passed down through generations, how can it be easily given to an outsider? Even if it’s your friend, still..."
"Outsider?"
Andre’s voice suddenly became incredibly cold, his golden slit pupils contracting into thin lines, like sharp blades piercing into the old man’s soul:
"You seem to have forgotten who helped me awaken the Red Blood Flying Dragon bloodline? Who saved me, giving me a chance to escape Cynthia’s clutches? Who gave me the capital to compete with my brothers?"
His voice grew lower, yet colder, like the cold wind of deep winter, biting and sharp:
"Without Ron, would you still be sitting here giving orders? Or would you have been confined with my brothers long ago?"
August’s face turned pale, a trace of dread flashed in those weather-beaten eyes.
Never had he seen this strong side of his gentle and courteous grandson.
That kind of coldness and resolve reminded him of that iron-blooded Farouk II back in the day—Andre’s great-grandfather, a tyrant who defended the Kingdom with iron and blood.