"Clan Head… are you sure about this?"
Bom's voice was laced with concern as she stood just a few steps behind the man she called grandfather.
Her arms were crossed, but her brows were furrowed—not in defiance, but in disbelief.
"What do you mean, Bom?" Beon replied without turning, his tone as calm and commanding as ever.
"Well…"
She hesitated, watching as he carefully placed another dungeon core atop the first.
A low hum of unstable mana filled the room, one core pulsing with a cold, dark energy while the other radiated a sharp, heated glow.
The two clashed against each other like opposing storms—but despite their dissonance, Beon's steady hand and precise mana refinement made them settle.
The cores fused into a controlled equilibrium, forcibly stabilized by his overwhelming presence.
"That," Bom said, gesturing toward the cores, "is exactly what I mean."
Beon didn't respond immediately. He merely raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate.
