How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game-Chapter 456: Lightning Degree 3

Beon exhaled slowly and rubbed his temple.

"Seriously… kids these days take everything way too literally. Even that son of mine is starting to act more like you."

He gave the Duke a sideways glance. "Then again, you two were practically raised side by side. Maybe it just comes with age…"

"If this is what comes with age," the Duke replied with a quiet grin, "then I'd say you're digressing, old man."

"Tch. That nobly sharp tongue of yours." Beon clicked his tongue and waved his hand lazily, as if shooing away the insult. "You talk like a gentleman, but your words bite like a back-alley thug."

The tension melted into the background, replaced by an air of dry familiarity.

The mood in the room lightened—not with warmth exactly, but with the kind of grudging comfort that came from two old warriors trading jabs instead of blades.

"With the assessment you have of him now," the Duke asked, his voice even but curious, "what are you planning to do?"

Beon let out a scoff and leaned back against the plush cushions of the sofa, arms folding across his chest with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Well, obviously," he said with casual arrogance, "I'm going to take that kid up on his so-called challenge. Maybe knock a few lessons into that thick skull of his while I'm at it."

"Hoh," the Duke hummed, raising an eyebrow. "You're not even a little concerned? The boy practically threatened you to your face, you know. Granted," he added with a faint smile, "he had no idea you were even there."

Beon chuckled darkly, a low, rumbling sound that held both amusement and disdain.

Purple sparks flickered momentarily at his fingertips, as if responding to the surge of emotion beneath his skin.

"The child knows nothing of true power," he said, eyes narrowing as his tone grew colder. "He doesn't even understand the threshold between the strong… and those who have transcended strength entirely. He's still playing on the surface while men like us walk in deeper waters. My dear Seo's been saying a lot of sweet things about him as well—talking about his strength, his talent, his charm. And yes, I've heard all the praise he's been getting at the academy."

He waved a hand dismissively, his voice sharpening.

"But at the end of the day, a kid is still a kid. Gifted or not, he's far from refined. Raw strength isn't mastery. And if he thinks bold words are enough to match me… well, he'll learn soon enough and also do you really think I'd lose?"

The Duke remained silent for a moment, studying Beon's expression. Then he offered a faint, almost imperceptible nod.

"No," he replied softly, "I don't think you'd lose."

It wasn't just agreement. It was fact. Spoken not out of politeness or loyalty, but from firsthand knowledge of the terrifying power Beon held.

And yet, behind the Duke's calm demeanor, there was something else—something like quiet admiration, or perhaps curiosity.

Because even if Riley's bravado was misplaced, there was something in his tone… something not easily dismissed.

The Duke understood limits.

He knew the line that separated the strong from the apex predators of the world.

And Beon—despite his eccentricities, his rudeness, and his overprotective streak—was undeniably one of the few who had stood at the summit and stayed there.

Still…

The fact that Riley, with all his flaws, had provoked such a response from Beon?

Now that was interesting.

"Just don't beat him up too hard…"

Beon scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You already threatened to wipe out my entire bloodline if I made your daughter cry. Obviously, I'm not stupid enough to go that far."

He leaned forward slightly, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes.

"That said… I never promised not to make it hurt."

The Duke let out a soft breath—half-sigh, half-laugh.

While the idea of someone openly laying a hand on his family didn't exactly sit well with him, he wasn't blinded by pride.

After all, Riley had more or less walked into this situation by himself.

If anything, a well-placed lesson might do the boy some good. Pain was, after all, a teacher that rarely spoke gently but was seldom forgotten.

Better to face a mountain now than run into a wall later.

And Riley… well, his son-in-law was ascending too fast for his own good.

If Beon's hand could slow that momentum just enough to make him think—truly think—then perhaps this encounter would serve more than just ego.

"I can see your obvious disdain for him," the Duke said calmly. "But the fact that you're even entertaining this whole matter... it's not just because of your granddaughter, is it?"

Beon's smirk wavered, and he glanced sideways.

"What are you trying to say?"

"You see it in him too, don't you?"

Beon raised a brow. "See what?"

"That same spark you once saw in me and Beol, back when we were just brats swinging wooden swords in your backyard."

A long silence hung in the air.

"Tsk," Beon clicked his tongue. "Nothing ever really slips past those damn perceptive eyes of yours, does it?"

The Duke chuckled lightly. "People do tend to say that a lot."

"I wasn't complimenting you," Beon muttered, though his tone lacked real irritation. After a pause, he let out a low sigh and leaned back. "But yes. Even though he's thick-skinned, dense, and a flirtatious idiot with more gall than sense..."

His voice softened, just barely.

"The moment I laid eyes on him… I couldn't see any clear limits to where he might go."

"Oh?" The Duke's eyes gleamed slightly. "So, he's earned the same assessment as me and my brother back then?"

Beon frowned at that, shaking his head.

"Not quite. Not yet, anyway. But maybe… maybe something similar. Potential's a dangerous thing to measure. The future isn't some neatly drawn road. It branches, it crumbles, it rebuilds itself with every step."

He met the Duke's gaze then, more serious than before.

"I trained both you and Beol in the same way. Poured everything I had into teaching you the sword. But only you climbed all the way to the peak I envisioned. That son of mine Beol had strength… but you had something else. Something untamed, unrelenting. Riley's future feels the same—unwritten. It could lead him anywhere."

The Duke nodded slowly, his face unreadable.

"Then I suppose it's worth watching closely, isn't it?"

Beon smirked again, this time with something almost like excitement.

"Oh, I plan to do more than just watch."

The Duke felt a small twinge of sympathy for Riley—brief but genuine.

He knew firsthand how absurdly relentless the old man sitting before him could become when he took something seriously.

And unfortunately for Riley, it seemed Beon was now fully interested.

Still, the Duke simply shook his head with a sigh.

"I'm glad he at least managed to pique your interest…"

"Hoho," Beon chuckled darkly, the grin spreading across his weathered face. "That damn brat's going to learn a lot more than he bargained for."

The Duke raised a brow. "It almost sounds like you're planning to teach him."

Beon shrugged, though the glint in his eyes gave away more than his words.

"He might be hateful, but I've never been the type to ignore a diamond in the rough. I'll test him. Push him until he cracks. Whether or not he passes my Lightning Degree… well, that's still undecided."

"And what if you lose?" the Duke asked casually, a subtle smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.

Beon snorted. "That'll never happen."

"Trust me, you might be surprised. Teaching him may end up being far simpler than you expect."

Beon narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're not aware?"

"Aware of what?"

The Duke leaned forward slightly, his voice low and deliberate.

"That he uses the same swordsmanship as you. They say… he's mastered it."

Beon blinked. The grin on his face faltered, replaced by something more curious—then incredulous.

"Hoh? The same technique only those of my bloodline are supposed to wield? Don't tell me my little princess decided to pass down the Hidden Blade to him behind my back?"

The Duke raised a hand in mock surrender.

"From what Riley told me, she only taught him the basics—form, stance, maybe a few sequences. But the rest? He learned just from watching her. Training with her now and then."

Beon was quiet for a moment.

His eyes lost some of their fire—not from disappointment, but from deepening intrigue.

"Interesting…" he murmured under his breath.

His opinion of Riley, while still marred by stubborn dislike, had clearly shifted.

The Hidden Blade wasn't just any technique.

It was a sword style designed for those who could perceive the finest lines between speed and space—an art form hidden behind raw motion.

Only a rare few had ever grasped it, even within his own family.

The idea that an outsider—no, a brat like Riley—had managed to imitate, adapt, and perhaps even master it?

It annoyed him.

More than that—it bothered him.

He leaned back, arms crossed tightly, his jaw set.

"Tsk… why the hell did I even think of that…"

Because deep down, as much as he hated to admit it, Beon was starting to believe that maybe—just maybe—that ridiculous boy might truly be worthy of someone like Seo.

"I guess," the Duke muttered with a faint smile, "just knowing that he's learned a swordsmanship even I couldn't fully master… that alone says something about his worth, doesn't it?"

"He hasn't proven anything yet, so shut it!" Beon barked, his frustration bubbling to the surface like boiling water. His voice echoed through the chamber, sharp with agitation.

Even if what Luther said was true—even if Riley had somehow learned the fundamentals of the Hidden Blade—there was no way that brat had mastered it.

Not truly. At best, it was an imitation—nothing more than a pale reflection of the real thing.

And even then, it was likely learned through mimicry, not understanding.

Much like the way Luther himself had developed the Heavenly Sword technique—granted, far superior in raw destructive power compared to the Hidden Blade—but the foundational essence between the two styles still shared a thread.

A thread that only a few in the world could follow.

"Anyway," Beon growled, waving a dismissive hand, "enough talk about that damn brat. I didn't come here just to discuss some kid."

The Duke smirked quietly to himself.

Seeing the old man this agitated was a rare sight—and amusing, to say the least.

He could tease him further, but decided to let it go.

No need to make Riley's life any harder tomorrow than it already would be.

"So, You had other business with me?"

Beon grunted. "Of course I do. You think I'd come all the way out here just to argue about some random kid?"

"Knowing you?" Luther replied with a sly smile, "That's entirely plausible."

"Tch… You—ugh, forget it." Beon let out a tired sigh and rubbed his temple. "Anyway, I came to ask for a favor. Or something like it, if you want to call it that."

"Oh?"

"I need a place to stay. Just for a few days—until I'm done with what I came here to do, the Inn's here lack the necessities to hold my presence for long..."

"We?"

Beon nodded.

"Yeah. My eldest grand-daughter is with me—Bom. She wanted to come along. I originally planned for her to greet you with me, but you know how she is. Said she'd catch up later after looking around the city. Doesn't get many chances to leave the Eastern Empire, you know." fгeewebnovёl.com

"I see... Bom, huh? It's been quite a while since I last saw her." The Duke's expression softened with a touch of nostalgia. "Alright. I'll arrange a few rooms for you to stay in during your visit."

Beon gave a nod of gratitude but paused when Luther continued.

"Of course," the Duke added with a knowing look, "we can consider that favor fully paid if you agree to just one thing."

Beon narrowed his eyes. "Which is?"

"Even if Riley loses… you'll still train him."

There was a long beat of silence.

Then slowly, Beon's expression stretched into a smile—equal parts amused and exasperated.

"Heh… fine then. I suppose I'll be bothering your household for a while." He folded his arms and leaned back, clearly not bothered by the request. "Truth be told, I was already planning to teach that little punk a thing or two anyway."

Luther nodded, satisfied.

"Good. Then let's just hope he survives tomorrow long enough to learn."