Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation Chapter 330: Inside the Gate (4)

The young man desperately deflected the blow, raising his sword at an awkward angle. Steel clashed against steel, a jarring sound that forced his teeth to grind.

The sheer force behind Kyrian’s assault was absolutely overwhelming.

His feet scraped across the stone floor, gouging deep trails as he struggled to hold his ground. His arm quaked from the immense pressure of the block. He attempted a counter, unleashing a slicing wind technique directly at Kyrian’s chest, but his opponent merely twisted his body fluidly.

The blood dagger cleaved the wind technique in two as if it were mere paper.

The wind blades dispersed into nothingness in the air, rendered completely harmless.

At that moment, the middle-aged man finally made his move.

He materialized beside Kyrian like a phantom, utterly silent and without forewarning. His hand contorted into a claw, gleaming with a sharp Qi so potent that it visibly distorted the surrounding air.

The incoming strike was silent, deadly, and aimed squarely at Kyrian’s neck.

It was an attack designed for immediate termination.

Kyrian’s head snapped around at the critical last second.

The claw grazed past his skin by mere centimeters, the cutting wind from its passage chilling his jugular. Only a few strands of his hair were severed, drifting slowly down through the air.

Without a moment’s pause, Kyrian retaliated.

He counterattacked with his elbow in a savage, concise, and direct motion. The impact landed on the man’s chest with sufficient power to pulverize stone.

The middle-aged man was hurled backward, his body colliding with the far wall in a sickening thud. He slid along the ground but recovered his footing rapidly, his eyes now revealing an emotion previously absent: surprise.

He had fully expected Kyrian to perish from that specific strike. His offensive had been silent, swift, and executed with the precision of a seasoned assassin.

Kyrian had been fully focused on engaging the young master, engrossed in their close-quarters combat. This presented what seemed to be the perfect opportunity.

However, Kyrian was no ordinary combatant.

His peripheral vision had continuously tracked the older man’s movements, preventing him from ever truly leaving his awareness. Even while locked in combat with the young man, even as his blood dagger sliced through the air, Kyrian maintained a fraction of his focus and a portion of his sight on the guardian, recognizing him as the more dangerous adversary.

The instant the man committed to his attack, Kyrian perceived it.

And he reacted.

Following this, Kyrian’s expression hardened.

That particular strike had been executed with a speed exceeding his expectations. Had it not been for the superior advantage granted by his eyes, enabling him to perceive the attack an instant before its full materialization, he could have suffered severe injury. Perhaps even death.

The stark reality of their predicament descended upon him like a suffocating shroud. These two individuals harbored an intense hatred for him, stemming from reasons he did not fully comprehend.

Their animosity had reached its absolute zenith.

No dialogue would occur. No negotiation was possible. Surrender was out of the question.

Kyrian resolved that these two would not depart this place alive.

Raising the blood dagger, his crimson eyes blazed intensely in the chamber’s dim illumination. The atmosphere around him grew perceptibly heavier, pregnant with the imminent promise of death.

The young man struggled to his feet against the wall, expelling more blood with each cough. His pristine white robe was now tragically marred with red, a color alien to its original fabric. His countenance flickered between burning fury and stark terror.

The middle-aged man moved to shield the young man, adopting a posture of absolute defense. He had fundamentally misjudged Kyrian. Such a mistake would not be repeated.

"Young Master," he stated, his voice a low growl.

"We must fight as one."

The young man clenched his jaw but gave a solemn nod in agreement.

Kyrian stood observing them, utterly motionless.

The stone chamber, which had once served as a silent sepulchre, had now transformed into a deadly arena.

The ambient air within the chamber underwent a palpable shift.

Kyrian closed his eyes.

Just for a fleeting second. His crimson irises turned dark, and the chamber's dimness seemed to intensify, deepening further.

The two adversaries facing him exchanged bewildered glances.

Why had he closed his eyes? In the midst of a life-or-death battle? Against two foes intent on his demise?

It was either sheer lunacy or a meticulously laid trap.

The youth from the White Tower faltered momentarily, his gaze narrowing with suspicion. However, the middle-aged man displayed no such hesitation. Perceiving what appeared to be an opening, he surged forward.

"Go!" he commanded, and the young man promptly followed suit.

Their figures became indistinct blurs as they propelled themselves forward at extreme velocity through the dimness. The young man’s wind Qi surged ahead, carving a path through the air. The older man’s Qi claw shimmered like a blade poised to sever.

They traversed the chamber in less than a single second.

Yet, it was not swift enough.

Abruptly, a deafening roar reverberated throughout the chamber.

This was unlike any sound produced by a conventional explosion. It was a profound, subterranean thunder, seemingly originating from both the heavens and the earth simultaneously, causing the ancient dust to erupt from the ground as it resonated through the stone walls.

An intense violet luminescence bathed the entire space in its brilliant glow.

The two combatants rushing towards Kyrian were struck by an invisible entity. An unseen force, as rapid as lightning, for indeed it was lightning, impacted them directly head-on.

A colossal impact sent the young man flying backward. His body contorted mid-air, limbs splayed, his sword ripped from his grasp. He collided with the stone wall in a sickening thud that resonated with pain.

The middle-aged man fared only slightly better. His attempted blockage with a Qi claw proved futile as the lightning tore through his defenses as if they were nonexistent. He too was flung against the opposing wall, his form leaving an imprint in the unyielding stone.

Both men coughed up blood.

The young man spluttered, his chest searing. He raised his head, eyes frantically darting around the chamber, desperately seeking Kyrian's whereabouts.

"Wh-what was that?" His voice was a ragged, trembling whisper.

Kyrian was nowhere to be seen. Only an oppressive darkness and swirling dust filled the void.

That's when he saw them.

Situated at the chamber's far end, past the unsealed stone coffin and the platform bearing the ancestor's remains, a pair of eyes regarded him.

They were no longer the crimson eyes from before.

These were eyes of deepest purple, as profound as the abyss. Within them, pupils shaped like lightning pulsed with a slow, steady rhythm, hinting at a patient wait.

The chamber flickered with light and shadow as lightning writhed around Kyrian. Tiny tendrils of electricity danced from his shoulders to his arms, and from his arms to his blood dagger. The persistent growl of thunder, a deep vibration felt within the chest, now enveloped the space.

The blood dagger remained clutched in his hand. However, the liquid within now shimmered with a profound violet luminescence, as though the very essence of the lightning had permeated the weapon itself.