Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation Chapter 328: Inside the Gate (2)

Curiosity drawing him in, Kyrian moved closer to the coffin.

Yet the coffin looked pristine. No streams of Qi swirled nearby, and no cautionary runes marked its exterior. It stood as nothing more than a motionless stone block, utterly still and lifeless.

During his return journey to the Blood Court, he had stumbled upon this spot. The tomb might hold valuables—a hidden treasure, an ancient scroll, or perhaps spiritual stones to support his travels ahead.

A harsh grind of stone against stone reverberated off the chamber's walls. Dust accumulated over millennia billowed upward, prompting a light cough from Kyrian.

Inside lay only bones.

Yet something shimmered on the bones of the right hand.

With care, Kyrian lifted it. The item was a plain ring forged from an unfamiliar dark metal. No runes or etchings decorated it. Merely a band of metal, smoothed by the passage of ages.

Its inner storage proved expansive, far beyond what such an old ring should contain. And it brimmed with contents.

Spiritual herbs came next. Scores of them, preserved in jade boxes to maintain their potency. Kyrian identified certain rare varieties known only from ancient texts. Others remained total mysteries to him.

Jade plaques followed. Dozens stacked in orderly fashion. Kyrian recognized their significance: cultivation techniques and battle techniques. To any typical cultivator, these would represent the ring's supreme prize.

A sudden noise yanked Kyrian from his inspection of the ring's holdings.

Lifting his gaze, crimson eyes flared in the shadows. He transferred the ring to a different finger and pivoted toward the entrance.

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

"Some bastard got into the tomb!"

Footsteps thundered through the stone chamber, stretching on for agonizing seconds.

First entered a youth around twenty years old, black hair bound in a high bun, draped in a spotless white robe. Silver embroidery across the chest depicted a white tower, its three spires thrusting skyward. His attractive features warped with scarcely restrained rage.

Spiritual pressure radiated from both.

Spotting Kyrian, their eyes swept over his dark-red robe. The young man's fury morphed into fleeting astonishment, swiftly shifting to contempt.

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

One step brought him closer, eyes alight with vicious intent.

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

"Who are you?" Kyrian asked, his voice steady amid the thickening tension.

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

He lifted his chin.

'White Tower?' Kyrian thought, recollecting the name from before.

The young man charged ahead.

The blade slashed down at Kyrian’s throat.

Kyrian held his position.

In an instant, a gigantic blood spear materialized. Kyrian swung it like a natural limb, clashing against the sword with a resounding metallic ring.

Then Kyrian shoved forward.

A grim scowl twisted the middle-aged man’s features.

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

"Tch."

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

His gaze fixed back on Kyrian, the loathing within it surging threefold.

One certainty burned in his mind: they would never permit him to depart alive.