Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation

Chapter 555: Forging a Perfect Blade (2)

‘CLANG!’

Golden sparks scattered through the workshop, a small spectacle of light dancing through the air before fading away.

‘CLANG!’

The old man rotated the blade a few inches, adjusting its position with a precision that only years of experience could grant.

‘CLANG!’

Another strike. More precise. Heavier. The sound echoed through the workshop like distant thunder.

Kyrian remained completely still, a statue of flesh and bone standing in the shadow of the doorway. He did not interrupt, nor did he even announce his arrival. He simply observed, his violet eyes fixed upon the master at work.

Just as he had done during the Comprehension Competition, he absorbed every detail, every movement, and every decision.

His violet eyes carefully followed every aspect of Sun Luguo’s work. The control of the spiritual flame, the way he adjusted the fire’s intensity with a simple gesture.

The blade’s exact temperature is judged not by instruments but by the color and brilliance of the metal. The changing color of the iron, from deep red to brilliant orange, each shade indicating a different state of its internal structure. The force behind every hammer strike, never the same, always adapted to the needs of the moment.

Even Sun Luguo’s breathing seemed to follow a specific rhythm, a cadence that synchronized body and mind, hammer and anvil, blacksmith and metal.

Kyrian noticed that the old man inhaled before every heavy strike and exhaled at the moment of impact, using his own breath to amplify his strength.

Several more minutes passed, the only sounds within the workshop being the steady rhythm of hammer blows and the crackling of the flames.

Finally, the old man plunged the sword into the massive quenching tank, the movement swift and precise.

A dense cloud of steam immediately rose into the air, a white veil that enveloped both the anvil and the blacksmith.

‘SSSSHHHH!’

The sound echoed throughout the workshop like the roar of a slumbering beast, the thermal shock resonating through both the metal and the air.

Only then did Sun Luguo slowly raise his head, his gaze meeting Kyrian’s through the mist that was beginning to dissipate.

A faint smile appeared beneath his beard, softening his otherwise stern features.

“You arrived late today.”

His voice remained rough, worn by years of labor and the heat of the furnace, but there was no sign of displeasure in his tone. It was more of an observation than a criticism.

Kyrian stepped forward a few paces, the heat of the furnace completely enveloping him. The flames danced within his violet eyes as he replied.

“I ended up participating in another competition.”

Sun Luguo let out a brief laugh, the rough sound echoing throughout the workshop.

“Then I suppose you passed.”

Kyrian answered simply, without false modesty.

“I advanced to the second phase.”

The old man burst into laughter, shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t even bother asking anymore. I’m starting to think you don’t know what it means to lose.”

He placed the newly quenched sword on the wooden workbench, the blade still radiating residual heat.

“From the looks of it, you intend to participate in quite a few competitions during this festival.”

“Only the ones that can teach me something.”

The answer made Sun Luguo smile once more, a glimmer of approval shining in his aged eyes. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, sweat still glistening across his skin.

“Will you keep arriving at this hour over the next few days?”

“Most likely. There are still several trials left.”

Sun Luguo shrugged, a casual gesture that contrasted with the seriousness of his words.

“No problem.”

He pointed directly at Kyrian with a calloused finger, his gaze becoming more intense.

“You learn far too quickly. Too quickly, in fact.”

The old man slowly walked toward a wooden table covered with tools, his fingers brushing over the worn handles of hammers and tongs.

“I’ve taught dozens of apprentices. Some talented ones, who picked things up easily. Some average ones, who needed more repetition. Others were completely useless, unable to tell good metal from bad even after months of training. But you…”

Sun Luguo slowly shook his head, a gesture of genuine admiration.

“It’s frightening.”

Kyrian remained silent, allowing the old man to continue.

“Most people took weeks to master what you learn in just a few hours. Sometimes I get the impression that all you need is to watch me do something once… and you’ve already understood everything. It’s as if you can see through the metal, through the process, through the technique itself.”

Kyrian smiled faintly, the movement of his lips almost imperceptible. Much of that truly was thanks to his eyes, their ability to perceive the flow of energy, to see hidden structures, and to understand the essence behind form.

But not solely because of them. His discipline also made the difference, his refusal to settle for “good enough” when perfection was possible. He never wasted knowledge, never ignored details, and never practiced without deeply contemplating what he was doing.

Sun Luguo picked up a medium-sized block of iron and placed it upon the workbench, the heavy metal striking the wood with a dull thud.

“Very well.”

He looked directly at Kyrian, his eyes shining with intensity.

“We’re going to forge another ordinary sword. But not just any sword. I want a perfect sword. Not ‘good.’ Not ‘excellent.’ Perfect.”

Kyrian nodded without hesitation. His gaze immediately shifted toward the block of metal, his mind already beginning to analyze the task. Another stage of learning was about to begin.

Sun Luguo slowly placed the block of iron onto the anvil, the dark metal contrasting against its polished surface. The anvil reflected the orange glow of the furnace, while tiny sparks still drifted through the workshop after the sword he had just finished.

He pointed toward the many swords hanging on the wall, a collection accumulated over decades of work.

“Look at those.”

More than twenty blades were displayed, each resting upon its own wooden rack. At first glance, they all appeared exceptional, straight, well-polished, with gleaming edges that caught the light. But Kyrian had already learned to look beyond the surface.

Sun Luguo removed one of them from the wall and handed it to Kyrian.

“What do you think?”

Kyrian carefully examined the sword in his hands, his violet eyes traveling across every inch of the blade. The weight felt perfectly balanced, the edge was razor-sharp, and the surface was nearly flawless, without any visible imperfections.

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The Luckiest One Beyond the Heavens