Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation

Kyrian understood then. He had found the tomb of some ancient cultivator. Someone who, for unknown reasons, had chosen to be buried there, in the solitude of the mountain, far from prying eyes.

Interested, Kyrian approached the coffin.

He examined it carefully, searching for traps. Many cultivator tombs were protected by deadly mechanisms, poisoned needles, offensive formations, and even imprisoned spirits that attacked intruders.

But that coffin seemed clean. There were no traces of Qi flowing around it, nor warning symbols carved into its surface. It was just a block of stone, silent and inert.

Kyrian thought he was lucky.

On his way back to the Blood Court, he had found this. Perhaps the tomb contained something useful, a forgotten treasure, an ancient scroll, or at least some spiritual stones that could aid him in his future journeys.

He placed his hands on the coffin lid and pushed it aside.

Stone scraped against stone, a rough sound that echoed through the chamber walls. Millennia-old dust rose into the air, making Kyrian cough lightly.

When the lid fell to the ground with a dull thud, Kyrian looked inside.

There were only bones.

A complete skeleton, lying on its back, hands crossed over its chest. The bones were ancient, so ancient they looked ready to crumble into dust at the slightest touch. The robe that had once clothed the body had long since disintegrated, leaving only fragments of dark fabric clinging to the bones.

But on the bones of the right hand, something gleamed.

A spatial ring.

Kyrian picked it up carefully. It was a simple ring, made of a dark metal he did not recognize. There were no symbols or inscriptions. Just a circle of metal, polished by time.

Kyrian closed his eyes and sent his consciousness into the ring.

The internal space was vast, much larger than he expected for such an ancient ring. And it was full.

First, Kyrian saw the spiritual stones. A considerable amount of mid-grade stones, stacked in one corner like a small mountain. Kyrian quickly estimated. There was enough there to sustain his cultivation for quite some time.

Then, the spiritual herbs. Dozens of them, stored in jade boxes to preserve their effectiveness. Kyrian recognized some rare herbs he had only seen mentioned in ancient scrolls. Others were completely unknown to him.

Weapons as well. Swords, spears, axes, and daggers. Some glowed with residual Qi, indicating they had been forged by master craftsmen. Others were simpler but still of higher quality than the sword Kyrian had once possessed.

Jade plaques. Dozens of them, stacked neatly. Kyrian knew what that meant, cultivation techniques and battle techniques. For any other cultivator, those plaques would be the most valuable treasure in the ring.

For Kyrian, however, they were secondary. But it never hurt to have more knowledge.

Kyrian was studying the contents of the ring when a sound pulled him from his concentration.

A noise is coming from outside the chamber. Footsteps. Someone is approaching.

Kyrian raised his head, his crimson eyes glowing in the darkness. He slipped the ring onto another finger and turned toward the entrance.

The voice that echoed through the corridor was furious.

"Damn it! The barrier disappeared earlier than expected!"

The footsteps quickened, turning into a run.

"Some bastard got into the tomb!"

Kyrian remained still, watching the chamber entrance. Whoever was coming did not seem friendly.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the stone chamber for several endless seconds.

Then, two people appeared at the entrance.

The first was a young man who looked to be around twenty years old, with black hair tied in a high bun and wearing an immaculate white robe. On the chest of the robe, embroidered in silver threads, was the symbol of a white tower, three spires rising toward the sky. His face was handsome but twisted by an expression of barely contained fury.

Beside him stood a middle-aged man of ordinary appearance, so ordinary he would be easy to ignore in a crowd. He wore a simple gray robe and carried no visible weapons. But his eyes were sharp, and his posture suggested years of combat experience.

Both exuded spiritual pressure.

Kyrian assessed them quickly. The young man was at the 7° stage of Core Formation. The older man was at the peak of the realm, perhaps even at the threshold of the next level.

The two looked at Kyrian, and their eyes ran over his dark-red robe. The young man’s expression changed. Fury gave way to momentary surprise, which quickly turned into scorn.

He laughed loudly, a sound that echoed through the chamber like the cawing of a crow.

"HAHAHA! I thought I was unlucky when I felt the barrier fall." He said, shaking his head.

"But it turns out I hit the jackpot."

He took a step forward, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"So the thieving little rat is actually trash from the evil blood path." He pointed to the symbol on Kyrian’s robe.

"And not just any trash, one from the Blood Court."

Kyrian frowned. The hatred in the young man’s voice was palpable, almost poisonous. It wasn’t just the disdain of one cultivator for another, it was something personal. Something deep.

"Who are you?" Kyrian asked, his voice calm despite the tension in the air.

The young man smiled, an ugly smile, full of teeth and contempt.

"You don’t need to know, since you’re going to die here." He paused, as if savoring the words.

"But I’ll accept it as your last request."

He lifted his chin.

"We are from the White Tower."

’White Tower?’ Kyrian thought, recalling where he had heard that before.

Kyrian didn’t have time to process the information.

The young man advanced.

His speed was extreme, far greater than Kyrian expected for someone at the 7th stage. The air in the chamber stirred, and wind Qi formed around the sword the young man drew in a fluid motion.

The blade came down toward Kyrian’s throat.

It was fast, precise, and lethal.

Kyrian did not retreat.

He raised his right hand toward the attack. His palm opened, and blood burst from his pores, coagulating instantly in the air before him.

In the blink of an eye, a massive blood spear formed. Kyrian wielded it as if it were an extension of his own body, blocking the sword strike with a metallic crash.

The impact made the air tremble.

And then Kyrian pushed.

The blood spear surged forward with overwhelming force, throwing the young man back as if he were a dry leaf. He flew across the chamber, arms flung wide, until the older man caught him by the shoulder, cushioning the impact.

The middle-aged man had a sour expression on his face.

"Young Master, be careful." His voice was low and calculating.

"He is only at the 1° stage of Core Formation, but look at his eyes." He pointed with his chin toward Kyrian.

"He must possess a special physique of the evil blood path."

"Tch."

The young man straightened, adjusting his white robe with a sharp motion. His face was red with anger, not from the blow itself, but from having been repelled. From having appeared weak in front of his subordinate.

"I noticed." He said, his teeth grinding.

"I don’t need you to tell me."

His eyes locked onto Kyrian again, and the hatred in them seemed to triple.

Kyrian watched everything in silence, his blood spear still pulsing in his hand. He did not know who those two were nor why they hated him so much.

But he knew one thing. They would not let him leave that place alive.