Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation

Chapter 440: Colossal Eye

Kyrian fell asleep slowly.

His body relaxed upon the simple bed in the small room, the thin mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight, adapting to the curves of his shoulders and hips. The wooden frame creaked once, then fell silent.

His breathing became deep and steady.

Outside, the Sky Caravan remained alive.

Even during the early hours of the morning, when most ordinary cities were submerged in silence and darkness, some streets remained illuminated by spiritual lanterns. Small flames floated within crystal globes, attached to iron posts or suspended by ropes between buildings.

Night merchants negotiated discreetly, their voices low, their transactions swift, their goods different from those sold during the day.

Guards patrolled the suspended corridors of the wandering city, their armor gleaming faintly beneath the lantern light, their swords swaying gently with each step.

In the distance, the occasional roars of spiritual beasts echoed through the immense wooden and metal structures that supported the gigantic city upon Azhura’k’s back.

But within that small room…

There was only silence.

Then…

The darkness came.

Kyrian opened his eyes. Or believed he had opened them.

There was no room. No bed. No ceiling. Around him, there existed only an absolute void. No ground. No sky. No direction.

A darkness so profound that it seemed to swallow even the very concept of space.

Kyrian remained motionless.

His senses, those that were always alert, always vigilant, reached nothing.

There was no Qi. No wind. No sound.

It was as though the entire universe had vanished.

Then… he felt it. The sensation emerged slowly. The same sensation as before.

The unmistakable impression of being watched. Not the casual gaze of a stranger on the street. Not the assessing stare of an opponent before battle.

It was something deeper.

As though something, something powerful, was examining his very existence.

Kyrian raised his head. Very slowly. Then, he saw it.

A single eye. Colossal. Motionless. Larger than mountains. Larger than cities.

Larger than any creature Kyrian could imagine.

That eye filled the infinite void before him. There was no malice. No kindness. No curiosity.

Only observation. Cold. Silent. Eternal.

‘Azhura’k…’

The name emerged automatically within his mind.

Not as a memory, Kyrian had never heard that name before seeing it in the previous dream.

But as a revelation. As if the eye itself were saying.

‘This is my name.’

Kyrian held that monstrous gaze. He did not retreat. He did not tremble. He did not look away. He simply… observed.

This time… something changed. The eye blinked.

The eyelid, black as the void, heavy as a mountain, descended slowly.

And in that brief instant… Kyrian saw them. Countless Black Points. Thousands. Millions.

Scattered across the entirety of that gigantic eye. Some shone intensely, like stars in a dark night.

Others resembled dark cracks, as if something were breaking from within.

Some moved slowly, drifting across the surface of the eye like clouds across the sky.

Others disappeared, only to emerge again elsewhere.

It was like gazing upon a night sky filled with black stars.

A vision both fascinating and terrifying.

Then…

Kyrian awakened abruptly.

His eyes opened, not within the dream, but in the real world.

His heart pounded rapidly, so fast that he could feel the blood pulsing at his temples.

Drops of sweat trickled down his forehead, slowly running along his cheeks before dripping onto the pillow.

The pale light of dawn entered through the open window, not the golden light of sunrise, but a cold, pale blue that heralded the coming of day.

The chilly wind brushed against his skin, carrying with it the scent of medicinal herbs from the garden, the smell of wood dampened by dew.

Kyrian slowly sat up in bed. The wood creaked beneath his weight.

It took several seconds for his breathing to return to normal.

‘Again.’

‘That strange dream.’

Once again. Azhura’k. But this time… it had been different.

The Black Points.

Kyrian remained silent. He did not understand the meaning of that vision.

He did not comprehend why he continued dreaming about the creature that apparently carried the entire Sky Caravan.

‘And now…’

‘Those points.’

Was it merely coincidence? Or was there some connection?

Kyrian massaged his temples, his fingers pressing gently against the skin above the bone. Sleep had completely vanished.

He rose from the bed.

“I won’t be able to sleep again.”

His eyes settled upon the scrolls resting on the small table. The Endless Needles.

Perhaps studying would be more productive.

Kyrian sat down once more.

Carefully retrieving the scrolls from his spatial ring, he arranged them upon the table in a specific order.

The black sprout, inside its wooden box, silent, motionless, neither alive nor dead.

The man’s notes, a hundred years of research, were organized into dozens of scrolls.

The original scroll, ancient, worn, mysterious.

The candles were relit.

Then… the hours passed.

Kyrian reread everything. Every detail. Every observation. Every failure was recorded by the man.

His thoughts repeatedly returned to the same point.

The black Qi.

His fingers tapped lightly against the table, a thoughtful rhythm.

“The technique is extraordinary. But the price is far too high.”

He clearly remembered the Black Points near the man’s heart. The cracks. The damage.

Those points were unlike the others, they did not shine, they did not pulse, they did not live.

They were static. Like scars. Like wounds that had never healed.

The technique was killing him. Slowly. Inevitably.

Kyrian closed his eyes. He thought of his own eyes.

When the black Qi had entered his body, during that indescribable pain, that sensation of death, it had been his eyes that reacted.

It had been his eyes that absorbed that energy. It had been his eyes that prevented his death.

‘Could my eyes withstand this Qi?’

It was possible. But… not yet.

He continued studying.

The notes became increasingly detailed. Hypotheses, some brilliant, others mistaken, all of them recorded.

Experiments on plants, on animals, on himself.

Mistakes, documented with brutal honesty, without self-pity. Decades condensed into ink and parchment.

Five hours passed quickly.

When Kyrian finally closed the last scroll…

The sun was beginning to rise.

Golden light slowly flooded the small room, entering through the window, spreading across the wooden floor, illuminating the shadows in the corners.

The herb garden outside was covered in dew, each leaf shining as though it had been polished.

Kyrian let out a sigh.

‘The technique is worth learning. But not now.’

He would not abandon it. But neither would he cultivate it immediately. He would wait.

He would find a solution. He would discover a way to use it without destroying his own body. If such a thing were possible.

And… if he found that solution… perhaps he could help the man.

‘He handed all of this to me freely.’

‘Without asking for anything in return. Without demanding promises.’

‘It is the very least I can do.’