“This… what do you mean by that?”
Old Master Winslow froze for a brief moment, clearly caught off guard. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face as he turned to look at Dylan Brooks, his brows knitting together in suspicion and curiosity.
“Mr. Brooks… you… you understand artifacts like this as well?”
The word artifact lingered in the air.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Dylan Brooks’ lips.
Understand?
The techniques he had learned atop the Empyrean Summit, the knowledge passed down among the Empyreans, the countless hours spent studying esoteric disciplines, relics, and objects imbued with strange forces… if he were to speak of it all, even a full day and night would barely suffice.
To say he merely “understood” such things would be an understatement bordering on absurdity.
