Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation

Chapter 624: Alchemy Competition Final

Kyrian arrived at the enormous arena where the final of the alchemy competition would take place when the sun had already risen completely over the Sky Caravan, its golden light bathing the floating city in a warmth that promised a long and intense day.

The golden light of dawn had disappeared, replaced by the intense brightness of mid-morning, which poured over the rooftops, towers, and spiritual formations like a mantle of light.

The sky above the floating city was clear, a deep blue that seemed to have no end, and the sunlight reflected off the countless structures of the Caravan, making rooftops, towers, and spiritual formations shine like precious jewels.

But on that day, one structure attracted far more attention than all the others, the Alchemy Arena, whose dome gleamed beneath the sun like a giant pearl.

Even before reaching the doors, Kyrian could hear the noise, a distant roar that grew in intensity with every step. It was different from the previous days, much more intense, more vibrant, as if the very energy of the Festival were concentrated in that place.

Tens of thousands of people had filled the stands surrounding the enormous circular space, their voices overlapping one another in a constant wave of sound that spread throughout the area like a tide.

Some spectators discussed the competitors, analyzing their chances with the seriousness of strategists. Others placed bets, small groups forming around improvised tables where cultivators could wager spiritual resources on the participants.

Merchants offered services of all kinds, from recovery pills to good-luck talismans. Groups of young people passionately discussed who had the greatest chance of winning, their voices rising in animated debates.

Even some cultivators who clearly had no connection to alchemy were present, attracted by the promise of an extraordinary spectacle.

For many of them, the final was not merely a competition, it was entertainment, an opportunity to witness exceptional talents in action.

For others, it was a chance to observe alchemists who could become important figures in the future, whose names would be remembered for generations.

And for the members of the great families and forces present in the Caravan, it was an opportunity to identify potential talents, and to recruit those who demonstrated extraordinary abilities.

Kyrian passed through the enormous doors of the arena without showing any change in his expression, his violet eyes naturally scanning the place as his steps carried him toward the center.

The arena had been completely transformed since the previous stages, the twenty-five tables used in the final were arranged in an enormous circle in the center of the space, each one separated from the others by a considerable distance.

Small formations had been installed between them, creating invisible barriers that shimmered with a soft light.

These formations served several purposes, preventing explosions from a cauldron from hitting nearby participants, blocking external interference, and, most importantly, preventing the competitors from using their spiritual senses to directly observe the processes of the others.

Each alchemist was isolated on his own island of concentration.

Above the arena, an enormous transparent barrier covered the entire space, so large that it almost seemed like a second sky. Kyrian briefly raised his gaze, his eyes analyzing the structure with the attention he devoted to any unfamiliar formation.

The formations were impressive, even without examining them deeply, he could tell that they had been constructed by someone with extremely advanced knowledge of spiritual matrices, a master who had devoted decades to the study of containment formations.

‘As expected of the Alchemists Association.’ Kyrian thought, recognizing the quality of the work.

An Association servant approached shortly afterward, his light-blue robe marking his position. He was a young man with a polite appearance, his eyes fixed on the ground as he spoke.

“Sir Kyrian?”

Kyrian turned his gaze toward him, his face impassive.

“Yes.”

“Please follow me.”

The man gave a small bow and began walking, his steps quick and efficient. Kyrian followed him in silence, crossing a corridor reserved for the finalists until they reached the center of the arena.

There, the tables seemed even larger than in the previous stages, each station a complete workstation. Each one had enough space to organize dozens of herbs, containers, tools, and auxiliary equipment, everything arranged with the precision of someone who understood an alchemist’s needs.

At the center of Kyrian’s table was a black cauldron, its smooth, dark surface like a moonless night.

He stopped before it, his eyes scanning the object. The cauldron was approximately half the height of his torso and possessed a completely smooth surface, interrupted only by a few ancient lines engraved into the metal, runes that glowed with an almost imperceptible light.

There were no excessive decorations, no jewels, and no flashy inscriptions. It was simple, but its simplicity concealed quality.

Kyrian extended his hand, his fingers touching the cold surface of the metal. In the next instant, a small amount of Qi traveled through his arm and entered the cauldron, he was not trying to refine it, merely testing its quality.

The energy traveled through the interior of the vessel, encountered the formations embedded within its structure, and returned to his body, bringing with it information about the Qi conduction.

Kyrian immediately noticed.

‘It has good Qi conduction.’

Its resistance was also excellent, the internal formations well distributed, capable of withstanding spiritual temperatures far higher than those used in the previous tests.

It was not a high-level cauldron, but it was certainly more than enough to refine a rank 6 pill.

Kyrian withdrew his hand.

‘Adequate.’

Then he sat down, his posture relaxed but alert, and only after that did he notice how many competitors were already present. Twenty-three, all occupying their positions, their tables already prepared, their cauldrons ready. Only two tables remained empty, awaiting their occupants.

Kyrian observed the participants around him, his eyes scanning each face with silent evaluation. Most appeared to be advanced in age, some had hair completely white as snow, others had beards so long that they reached their chests, and many carried the marks of years of work on their hands.