Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation

Chapter 346: City of Red Smoke (4)

Kyrian woke up before dawn, as was his habit.

The faint light entering through the balcony of the Golden Ash Pavilion painted the room in reddish tones, a reflection of the constant smoke from the distant volcano.

The heat was already beginning to rise from the stone floor, even at that early hour, but the cold energy of his eyes kept the area around him pleasantly cool.

He got up and put on the ice-blue robe he had bought the day before. The fabric was soft and durable, perfect for the journey that still lay ahead.

He tied his hair back with a simple leather cord.

He went down to the lobby and stepped out into the still-quiet streets of the City of Red Smoke.

The morning air was slightly more bearable than during the rest of the day, but the heat was already beginning to rise from the volcanic stone ground as a constant reminder of what was to come.

Kyrian walked unhurriedly toward one of the busiest streets in the commercial district, where food stalls were beginning to open their doors and windows.

The smell of grilled meats, bread baked in stone ovens, and soups seasoned with volcanic herbs filled the air, creating an aromatic haze that enveloped the early passersby.

He stopped at a simple stall run by a middle-aged couple whose faces were marked by time and heat. The man turned skewers of meat over glowing embers with skillful hands, while the woman served steaming bowls of a dark, rich broth.

”What is the most popular dish in the morning?” Kyrian asked.

The woman smiled, wiping her hands on a grease-stained apron.

”Skewers of fire-beast wings with ash bread and red-leaf tea, young master. It’s what everyone orders before starting the day.”

”Bring two of each.”

Kyrian ate standing beside the stall. The meat was juicy, with a strong, spicy smoked flavor that awakened the senses. The bread had a crispy crust from the ash mixed into the dough, an earthy taste that contrasted with the sweetness of the tea. It wasn’t as refined as the previous day’s meal, but it carried an authentic flavor of the city, direct, honest, and unpretentious.

Satisfied, he continued walking.

The street market stretched for several blocks, a labyrinth of colorful stalls and improvised tents that had sprung up overnight. Cultivators moved among them, bargaining, touching the goods, and arguing prices as if every coin were a matter of life and death.

Kyrian wandered calmly, his snowflake eyes scanning each stall with an attention most people did not notice.

Many stalls sold items for cultivators. Common swords are made with imperfect spiritual iron, light armor of beast leather, poorly cured pelts, low-quality Qi crystals, and withered herbs.

Kyrian could clearly see the difference between what was being sold and what was truly valuable. Most of the items were of low value, swords with flaws in the spiritual steel that would break in the first serious clash, armor with weak Qi reinforcement that could barely deflect a weak strike, and cracked crystals that leaked energy.

Even so, the vendors shouted inflated prices with enthusiasm, as if they were offering ancient treasures.

”This sword was forged in the flames of the lesser volcano! Only eight hundred low-grade spirit stones!”

Kyrian passed without reacting. He could feel the poor quality just by looking, his perception sharpened by his eyes capturing every imperfection in the Qi flow of the displayed objects.

At another stall, a man sold ”pure fire spirit stones from the heart of the volcano,” which were, in fact, just ordinary stones dyed with red powder.

Kyrian almost shook his head. Such obvious frauds worked because most buyers did not have enough knowledge to distinguish real from fake.

It was at a more discreet stall, managed by an old man with a gray beard and trembling hands, that Kyrian found something useful.

The man sold dried herbs, roots, and flowers harvested from the slopes of the volcanoes. His goods were not visually appealing, many had withered leaves or broken roots, and for that reason most passersby ignored his stall.

But for Kyrian, who possessed vast knowledge in alchemy accumulated during his studies over the past months, some of those seemingly ordinary plants were high-quality materials. Excellent quality, even.

His eyes stopped on a handful of Silent Fire Leaves. The herb was rare, difficult to find, and extremely useful for stabilizing rank 3 and 4 pills with fire properties.

Beside them were Spiritual Ash Root, excellent for advanced recovery pills, and Volcanic Flower Petals, which increased the explosive power of offensive pills when used in the correct proportion.

The old man was not an alchemist. He had no idea of the true value of what he held in his hands.

”How much for these?” Kyrian asked, pointing to a varied batch of herbs he had mentally selected.

The old man stroked his gray beard, his eyes evaluating Kyrian cautiously.

”Ten low-grade stones per handful, young man. These are herbs gathered near the volcano, very fresh!” He extended his hand, showing palms hardened by work.

Kyrian bought everything he considered useful. Nearly thirty different types of herbs and roots that could be used to refine pills from rank 1 to rank 4. He paid just over a hundred low-grade spirit stones.

The old man smiled in satisfaction, believing he had made a good deal. Kyrian carefully stored everything in his spatial ring.

Those herbs would be very useful during the long journey to the Central Territory.

...

He spent the rest of the day exploring the city more thoroughly.

He walked through different districts, each with its own atmosphere and purpose. The blacksmith district, where the sound of hammers striking anvils never ceased, echoed through the narrow streets like a constant metallic symphony.

The alchemist district, with shops filled with the smell of burning herbs and colored smoke drifting out of the windows, where alchemists of various levels worked over their cauldrons.

And the higher residential sector, where stone houses with hanging gardens offered a better view of the volcano and its inhabitants, seemed more affluent.

At one of the most interesting points in the city, Kyrian stopped before a large fissure in the ground. The crack was surrounded by carved stone railings and armed guards who watched over the entrance.

From it, a constant stream of bright, thick lava rose slowly from the underground, flowing through controlled channels before being directed into containment tanks made of black stone.

The heat there was intense, far greater than in the rest of the city. Kyrian felt his ice barrier working harder to keep him comfortable.

Many cultivators sat around the area, meditating in the lotus position. The fire Qi there was extremely dense, almost tangible, forming visible ripples in the air like heat over a desert.

Others bought small flasks or containment orbs filled with purified lava, paying good prices to the guards who controlled access.

Kyrian observed for a while, his ice eyes recording every detail. He did not fully understand the uses of that lava, perhaps for forging special weapons, refining rare materials, or even as fuel for advanced fire formations.

Some cultivators seemed to be absorbing the Qi directly from the source, sweating profusely but with expressions of deep satisfaction on their faces.