Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation

Kyrian remained in his dormitory for the rest of the day. The agitation in the fortress was a distant hum beyond his metal door.

He had no desire to interact, to be observed, or to take part in silent political maneuvers that were surely already unfolding.

Unable to cultivate due to the limit of his eyes and unable to dive into the empty book in his mind to understand it, boredom settled in.

He sat on his wooden bed and, for an absurd amount of time, counted the black bricks on the wall of his room. One hundred and twenty-four. All identical, with red veins pulsing like dormant arteries.

He didn’t worry. He simply waited. The tournament was the next step. Everything else was just noise.

Night soon came, deeper and quieter than usual. As if everyone in the fortress were conserving energy for the day ahead.

Kyrian slept, a light, efficient sleep, no fleeting dreams, just falling asleep and waking up.

This time, he rose before daylight. As he was used to doing before. The absolute darkness of the room was broken only by the faint crimson glow of the veins in the wall.

He stood up, put on the crimson tunic of the main branch, adjusted it, and left.

The corridor was no longer empty, but those who occupied it moved with a silent purpose.

The air was charged with a palpable expectation.

Kyrian followed the flow.

The inner courtyard of the Blood Core was transformed. The area looked twice as large.

Also, rows of simple stone seats had been arranged in a semicircle, facing the central altar.

Many were already occupied by older cultivators, support members of the branches, and guests. The murmur was low but constant.

At the center, in front of the pulsing core, stood the ten young people who would be the main participants.

They were already prepared, forming a tense group. They wore red tunics of slightly different shades and cuts, each with a smaller symbol of their branch on the chest. They exchanged measured looks, quick evaluations.

Beside the core, Dong Zhen stood motionless, like a statue of obsidian. Around him, five other figures, four men and one woman.

Their clothing was more elaborate, their branch symbols larger and more intricate. The pressure emanating from them was subtle, contained, but undeniable.

It was a dense, heavy force, reminiscent of Feng Yuan. They all had to be in the Spiritual Awakening realm.

When Kyrian entered the courtyard and moved to the empty space beside the ten other disciples, every eye turned toward him.

The attention of the branch leaders, in particular, fell on him with physical weight. He felt their spiritual senses scanning him without any intention of hiding it, trying to measure his strength, his level, and his essence.

The scan was quick, but the result was instantaneous and shocking.

One of the leaders, a thin man with deeply sunken eyes and gray hair tied in a tight topknot.

The leader of the Shadow Branch, as everyone there, except for Kyrian, recognized him.

He visibly flinched. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a crack in his controlled composure. The words left his lips before he could restrain them, a cutting whisper that, in the expectant silence of the courtyard, echoed with crystal clarity.

"That... a... that is a... mortal with an Innate Talent?!"

The silence that followed was absolute and heavy.

The eyes of all the other leaders locked onto Kyrian with renewed intensity, now mixed with pure shock.

The younger participants looked confused, many not understanding the term but catching the stunned reaction of their superiors. The murmurs in the stands ceased entirely.

Dong Zhen, however, did not seem disturbed. His face remained impassive. Before the silence could turn into an uproar of questions, he spoke, his voice calm yet carried by Qi, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"The time has come. I believe all participants and spectators are gathered. The Five-Year Tournament of the Branches of the Blood Court will begin now."

His declaration was like a bucket of cold water thrown over the spark of rising curiosity. The focus was forcibly pulled back to the event.

But the seed had been planted.

The expression "Innate Talent" lingered in the air, a ghost of colossal meaning that most did not understand but that everyone sensed was important.

Kyrian saw the eyes stuck on him. He saw the confusion, the surprise, the envy, and the calculations.

Among the participants, Yan Ling, from the Resource-Gathering Branch, did not look away from him for even a second. Her eyes, usually calculating, now glowed with recognition and intense fascination.

She knew what those words meant. She had read about it in the oldest and most obscure tomes. A mortal born with a gift that defied the laws of cultivation. Something rarer and potentially more dangerous than a Celestial Physique.

Kyrian ignored everything. Attention was something he was already accustomed to because of his eyes, his actions, and his appearance. And now, because of a label. It didn’t matter. He was here for a reason.

"I will call the names of the selected participants," Dong Zhen continued, leaving no room for further interruptions. His voice listed ten names, one after another, followed by their branches. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

Li Fen, Shadow Branch. Bai Zhu, Military Force Branch. Yan Ling, Resource Branch. Kai, External Missions Branch. Mei Li, Diplomacy Branch. And then five more names.

Each one straightened when their name was called.

Then, a pause. Dong Zhen looked directly at Kyrian.

"And, representing the main branch, Kyrian."

Kyrian’s name sounded strange in the air, causing more curious glances and whispers. A name that did not belong to the common traditions everyone knew.

"Before the fights," Dong Zhen announced.

"There is the preliminary test. The Blood Core test. All eleven named participants must withstand the pressure of the core for a full minute. It is a test of compatibility with the path that defines our Court. Anyone who fails will be eliminated from the main tournament."

He paused dramatically, his gaze sweeping through the young participants.

"If one of the eleven fails, and a spectator disciple who was not originally selected endures the minute, that disciple will take the place of the one who failed. However, this is rare."

Without further ceremony, Dong Zhen raised his hand and lightly touched the protective formation around the pulsing core.

A deep, low sound reverberated through the courtyard. Then, a wave of crimson energy exploded from the core. It was not an attack but a crushing pressure, a density of blood-intention that filled the air like a thick, heavy fog.

The very air turned red, a primitive blood domain that tested the understanding and resilience of each of those selected by Dong Zhen.

Immediately, among the spectator disciples in the stands and around the courtyard, muffled screams and the sounds of collapsing bodies echoed.

Dozens fainted or fell to their knees, unable to endure the overwhelming weight of pure blood Qi. It was a force that demanded talent or an absurdly acquired comprehension.

Kyrian stood motionless, unperturbed. The pressure was intense, yes. He felt the weight trying to crush his spirit, the blood-intention trying to dominate his own blood.

But inside him, the eyes pulsed softly. The blood-intention that existed in his eyes, still basic but real, rose like an impenetrable shield.

The pressure of the core found a similar understanding within him and, instead of crushing him, flowed around him, testing but not breaking.

He looked to the sides. Among the other ten, reactions varied.

Bai Zhu, of the military branch, stood firm, his face twisted in concentrated effort, but his feet planted solidly by sheer physical strength. He clearly had a strong foundation in the blood path.

Li Fen, from the Shadows, seemed almost relaxed, his figure slightly blurred in the red mist, as if he had become part of it.

Yan Ling was a bit pale but steady, her lips pressed in a thin line. She endured more through willpower and theoretical knowledge than through deep comprehension.

Kai endured with a hardened expression, unmoving like a stone.

However, not all were so firm. One of the youths, dressed in lighter colors from the diplomacy branch, was trembling visibly. His face was drenched in sweat, his eyes wide with panic.

Blood comprehension was not the strength of his branch.

At forty-five seconds, he failed.

A groan escaped his lips, and his legs gave out. He collapsed onto the polished stone ground, unconscious, before the full minute passed.

Dong Zhen lowered his hand. The pressure from the core dissipated instantly, the crimson mist fading from the air.

Silence returned, now punctuated by the groans of those who had fallen around the courtyard.

Dong Zhen looked at the fallen youth among the eleven, then at the ten who remained standing. His voice finally echoed.

"The disciple of the Diplomacy Branch has failed the test. The other ten proceed to the combat phase of the tournament."

His gaze passed over each of them, resting on Kyrian last, before announcing what would come next.