Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation

Chapter 442: Hall of a Thousand Exchanges

The Sky Caravan had already fully awakened.

The sky above still carried the soft hues of dawn, a pale blue blending with the golden light of the rising sun, creating a gradient of colors stretching across the entire horizon. The clouds, thin and elongated, resembled brushstrokes from a divine painter.

But the streets were already teeming with life.

Merchants shouted their offers, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of prices and promises.

“Fresh spiritual fruits! Straight from the southern forests!”

“Weapons forged by masters from the eastern region! Guaranteed quality!”

“Recovery pills! Last units available!”

Cultivators walked hurriedly, some carrying weapons, others carrying scrolls, others simply carrying the weight of their own ambitions.

Carts creaked under the weight of merchandise, wooden axles groaned with every jolt, and the beasts of burden panted beneath the heat.

And the aroma of freshly prepared food mixed with the characteristic scent of spiritual herbs, a complex fragrance that Kyrian was already beginning to recognize.

Kyrian walked calmly along the main avenue.

His farewell with the man of the Endless Needles still remained fresh in his mind.

The needles, carefully stored within his spatial ring, inside their black leather case, protected by a thin layer of foam.

The black sapling, silent, motionless, neither alive nor dead.

The scrolls, the original, the notes, the fifty years of research.

If he found a way to use that technique without destroying his own body… he would return.

But that belonged to the future.

Now, there was something more urgent.

Creating his own cultivation technique. And for that… he needed resources. A great many resources.

Kyrian stepped aside to avoid a cart loaded with spiritual ores, the metal gleaming beneath the sunlight, emitting a bluish glow that drew the attention of passersby.

He headed toward the commercial district.

The buildings in that region were different from those in the other areas of the Sky Caravan.

More refined. More organized.

The streets were wide, wide enough for three carts to pass side by side, and paved with dark stones carefully fitted together, forming geometric patterns that repeated with every block.

Three- and four-story shops displayed luxurious signs at their entrances, some carved from wood, others made of polished metal, and others of pure jade.

Armed guards stood near the doors, their armor gleaming, their swords ready, their eyes vigilant.

Customers dressed in elaborate robes entered and exited carrying boxes, scrolls, and storage pouches.

Kyrian stopped in front of a four-story building. The golden sign above the entrance read:

“Hall of a Thousand Exchanges.”

It was one of the largest commercial establishments in the Sky Caravan, a place where anything could be bought or sold, from the most common materials to the rarest treasures.

Without hesitation, Kyrian entered.

The interior was spacious.

Shelves displayed spiritual weapons, some shining with Qi of their own, others more discreet, all expensive.

Rare herbs, organized inside jade containers, each one bearing a label describing its origin and properties.

Various treasures, amulets, talismans, portable formations, and everything a cultivator might need.

Employees moved from one side to the other, assisting customers, carrying merchandise, and maintaining order.

Behind a dark wooden counter, so dark it appeared black from certain angles, a middle-aged woman smiled politely.

“Young master, do you wish to buy or sell?”

“Sell.”

The woman nodded, her eyes quickly scanning Kyrian, assessing his appearance, his clothing, and his posture.

“Please, follow me.”

She led Kyrian to a more private room at the back of the building, away from the constant bustle of the main hall.

The room was small but elegant.

The walls were covered in dark wood, with carved panels depicting scenes of ancient commerce.

A jade table occupied the center, pale green and translucent, with white veins running across its surface.

Comfortable armchairs upholstered in brown leather surrounded the table.

Inside, an elderly man was analyzing a spiritual sword using his spiritual sense.

He was a thin man with white hair and attentive eyes.

His hands, slender and bony, ran across the blade with a precision that only experience could provide.

Upon noticing the arrival of the two, he raised his gaze.

“What do you wish to sell?”

Kyrian raised his hand.

A formation plate appeared atop the table, green jade engraved with silver runes upon its surface.

Then another, blue jade with golden runes.

And another, black jade with white runes.

The old man’s eyebrows slowly rose.

“Formations. Ready-made formation plates.”

One after another. More than fifty plates.

The old man spent nearly an hour examining each one.

His astonishment gradually increased, his eyes widened, and his hands trembled slightly.

The inscriptions were refined. Precise. They displayed no apparent errors. Not even the minor mistakes that most formation masters made.

Finally, he placed the last plate upon the table.

“Were all of these made by you?”

Kyrian nodded.

The old man remained silent for several seconds, his eyes fixed upon the young man before him.

“Impressive.”

He performed several quick calculations, his fingers moving as though counting something invisible.

“I can offer one hundred and eighty thousand mid-grade spiritual stones for the entire set.”

Kyrian reflected briefly. One hundred and eighty thousand. It was a fair price.

“I accept.”

The transaction was completed quickly.

The spiritual stones, thousands of them, were transferred into his spatial ring in a constant flow of light.

The old man carefully stored the plates, one by one. Shortly afterward…

Kyrian raised his hand once again. The old man blinked.

Weapons. Swords, long and short, straight and curved. Sabers, some with gleaming blades, others more subdued. Axes, single-bladed and double-bladed. Daggers, small, discreet, deadly. Spears, some with metal tips, others with bone tips.

Treasures acquired during the last battle he had fought against the four leaders of the Spiritual Awakening Realm.

Some were damaged, bearing cracks along their blades, dents in their guards, and signs of use.

Others were practically intact, as though they had barely been used.

The only weapon that remained stored away was the spiritual spear belonging to the old man from the Spiritual Awakening Realm.

Kyrian had decided to keep it. It was powerful. Useful. And perhaps necessary in the future.

The elderly merchant massaged his temples, his fingers pressing against the skin over his bones, as though processing what he was seeing.

“Did you empty a small arsenal?”

Kyrian remained silent.

After a lengthy evaluation, examining each weapon, assessing its condition, its value, and its usefulness…

“One hundred and twenty thousand spiritual stones.”

Kyrian nodded once more.

By the time he left the Hall of a Thousand Exchanges… he possessed more wealth than he had ever had in his entire life.

But he knew.

That money would disappear quickly.

Cultivation techniques, especially those of higher levels, were absurdly expensive.

His next destination was the Pavilion of the Ten Thousand Scriptures.