Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation

Chapter 414: Alchemists Association (2)

"You’re mistaken."

The old man frowned.

"How?"

"These pills do not have ninety-five percent purity."

Kyrian pointed at the bottle.

"Look again."

Kyrian’s firm tone and the certainty in his voice caused a trace of displeasure to appear on the old man’s face. His eyes narrowed.

’Who is this young man to tell me how to do my job?’

Even so, he picked up one of the pills. This time, examining it more carefully.

Several seconds passed. His expression froze. His eyes widened.

"What?"

He brought the pill even closer to his eyes, so close that it nearly touched his nose. Then he abruptly stood up.

"This..."

His voice came out louder than he intended.

"This is a perfect pill!"

Several nearby people immediately turned to look.

"A Rank 3 Blood Recovery Pill."

"Perfect purity!"

The old man seemed genuinely shocked. Quickly, he removed the other pills from the bottle.

One. Two. Three. Four. Until there were ten. Then he froze. In disbelief.

"All... All of them are perfect."

His voice echoed throughout the second floor. Now, practically every nearby cultivator was watching. Some with wide eyes. Others with expressions of disbelief. Others with barely concealed greed in their eyes.

The old man took a deep breath. Trying to regain his composure.

"Ten perfect Rank 3 pills."

That alone was rare. Extremely rare.

He opened the second bottle. The aroma that emerged was even more intense.

"Rank 4 Qi Gathering Pills."

He removed one. Examined it. And immediately his eyes widened again.

"Perfect."

His voice faltered.

"Perfect quality."

Surprise turned into shock.

A single perfect pill was already rare. Ten was already absurd. But now...

"Perfect Rank 4 pills."

The old man removed the rest. One after another. All perfect. Without exception. The entire second floor had practically come to a halt.

Negotiations ceased. Everyone watched. Some discreetly moved closer, trying to see better, trying to listen.

Others stared directly at Kyrian, evaluating him, measuring him, judging him.

The old man could feel his hands trembling.

"Perfect Rank 3. Perfect Rank 4."

"What else?"

He opened the third bottle. The aroma that emerged was even more intense. More refined. More powerful.

"Rank 5 Qi Explosion Pills."

The old man swallowed hard. He took one out.

He examined it carefully, inspecting every detail, every imperfection, every flaw. Long seconds passed.

Then he let out a sigh.

"Ninety-seven percent." His voice was hoarse.

"Ninety-seven percent purity."

He seemed relieved. As though he had finally found something normal.

But only for an instant. Because he quickly realized that this was also absurd.

"Rank 5 pills with ninety-seven percent purity."

They were extremely rare. Rarer than most people imagined. Rarer than many average-quality Rank 6 pills.

Around them...

The cultivators were already whispering among themselves.

"Who is that young man?"

"Are those pills his?"

"Which alchemist refined these?"

"Perfect purity?"

Some people had already started approaching.

"I’ll buy them!"

"I’ll pay twenty percent above market price!"

"I’ll pay thirty!"

"Forty!"

"Sell them to me!"

The offers immediately began pouring in, nearly turning the place into an impromptu auction.

Voices overlapped. Prices climbed. The crowd pressed inward. Fortunately, several association guards quickly approached.

Men and women in dark armor, swords hanging at their waists. They controlled the crowd. Preventing anyone from getting too close to Kyrian.

The old man wasted no time. He picked up a small communication stone hidden beneath the counter.

A smooth black stone engraved with golden runes across its surface. He quickly transmitted a message. Explaining everything.

The pills. The ranks. The purities. The quantities. Then he put the stone away.

He took a deep breath. Then stepped out from behind the counter. His attitude was now completely different. Far more respectful.

"Young Master."

He bowed slightly, not a deep bow, but a clear gesture of respect.

"Please, follow me."

"My superior will personally handle this negotiation."

Kyrian merely nodded. It was exactly what he had expected.

The two headed toward the stairs. Climbing once more. Up to the third floor. The atmosphere there was much quieter. Exclusive.

There were very few people, perhaps twenty or thirty in total. All of them appeared important.

Some wore luxurious robes, pure silk, golden embroidery, and spiritual jewelry.

Others were clearly alchemists, their robes stained with herbs, their fingers marked by reagents, dark circles beneath their eyes from sleepless nights.

The entire atmosphere was more refined. More exclusive. None of those present appeared to be below the Core Formation Realm.

The old man led Kyrian through an elegant corridor. The walls were decorated with ancient paintings depicting legendary alchemists, men and women dressed in magnificent robes, surrounded by furnaces and bottles, their faces filled with wisdom.

Rare incense burned discreetly in small bronze burners.

Spreading a pleasant aroma, gentle, floral, and slightly sweet. Finally...

They stopped in front of a pair of golden wooden doors. The old man opened them.

"Please."

Kyrian stepped inside.

It was a private room. Spacious. Luxurious. But not excessive.

A jade table occupied the center, a single piece carved from an enormous block of green jade streaked with white and gold veins.

Comfortable armchairs upholstered in red velvet, with dark wooden armrests, surrounded the room.

A massive floor-to-ceiling window allowed a view of part of the city.

The streets below. The people. The beasts. The towers. The old man bowed again.

"My superior is already on the way."

"I only ask for a few minutes of patience."

Kyrian nodded. The man withdrew. Closing the door behind him. Silence returned.

Kyrian sat down calmly. Without hurry. Without concern.

The armchair was comfortable, soft yet firm, perfect for relaxing without becoming too relaxed.

A few minutes later...

A young servant entered. Carrying a polished silver tray, gleaming brightly.

On it rested a small white stone teapot, delicate, with flowers carved into its sides.

Delicate porcelain cups, hand-painted with scenes of mountains and rivers. And several small golden cookies, round and dusted with sugar and cinnamon.

The aroma of the tea was pleasant. Gentle and relaxing.

As for the cookies, they seemed extremely fresh, and Kyrian could smell the butter and vanilla.

The young woman served everything. Bowed respectfully. And left.

Kyrian looked at the cookies. He picked one up. Took a bite. The taste was surprisingly good. Soft on the inside. Crispy on the outside. Sweet in just the right amount.

He picked up another. Then another. Then one more. Before he realized it, the tray was practically empty.

Only two cookies remained.

’The taste... It’s truly much better than I expected.’ Kyrian thought.

’Probably made with ingredients I’m unfamiliar with.’

He took a sip of the tea. Warm. Gentle. Comforting.

"Good."

And he remained watching the city through the window. Waiting.

"Azhura’k."

The name echoed through his mind once more. The gigantic eye. The voice. The suffering.

’I’ll deal with that later.’

’First, the money.’

’Then, the techniques.’

’Then...’

’Azhura’k.’

It didn’t take long. A few minutes later... Three soft knocks echoed against the door. Then a calm voice came from the other side.

"May I come in?"

Kyrian shifted his gaze away from the window. And replied.

"Come in."

The doorknob slowly turned. And the door began to open.