But his eyes were nothing like those of an elderly man. The deep brown pupils beneath slightly relaxed eyelids flickered with a sharpness belonging to the young.
Not a deliberate sharpness, but the kind of unyielding focus that comes from years of intense mental labor.
When he shifted his gaze from the flask to Duke, Duke felt as if he was being analyzed, not merely observed.
Those eyes seemed like a precise alchemy analyzer, scanning the fluctuations of his spiritual power and magic state layer by layer.
"Are you Duke, the one who researched the Automatic Meditation Potion?"
Wilkinson turned around, still holding the silver-white dropper, with a glowing blue liquid suspended at its tip, about to drip but not yet dripping.
He simply placed the dropper back on the stand, wiped his hands with a cloth, and sized Duke up from head to toe, with unabashed scrutiny in those deep brown eyes.
It wasn't scrutiny of strength but of a junior he had heard of but never met.
