Michael's blood was very powerful, as even though he was trying to hide his extraordinariness, still it could not conceal its mysterious, sacred power.
It seemed to burn with a holy brilliance that threatened to pierce through bone and flesh, burning within him like a bright sun. A subtle resonance accompanied each heartbeat, as if a higher-order existence were stirring beneath the surface of his mortal body.
The aura it released was unmistakable. Refined, pure, and overwhelming—a bloodline of a transcendent angel.
Even among the Sacred Light Empire, such blood should be a rarity, perhaps even unique. It wasn't simply strength; it was heritage, a divine inheritance that allowed him to stand apart from ordinary prodigies.
The hall still buzzed with whispers from the other geniuses, but to Apollo, the noise faded. He was already dissecting the truth of what stood before him—the empire's future, wrapped in angelic bloodlines.
