Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation Chapter 332: Lightning in the Night

With the swiftness of lightning, Kyrian burst forth from the stone gate.

His feet had barely skimmed the surface of the rocky platform before his crimson eyes were already scanning the vast expanse, searching for the fleeing figure of the young man.

Darkness had completely enveloped the mountain range, the moon yet to ascend the sky. Only the stars were scattered across the inky heavens, resembling distant, flickering embers.

However, Kyrian possessed sight that transcended the need for mere light.

His eyes, now imbued with the power of activated lightning Qi, penetrated the gloom as if it were broad daylight. Every shadow was etched with sharp clarity, every contour precisely defined. Against this backdrop, he could clearly discern the young man in the white robe, racing down the rugged incline in a desperate flight.

He ran as though pursued by the very specter of death.

And indeed, he was.

Kyrian’s gaze fixed upon the young man’s intended escape route: a flying mount perched on a boulder far below, its wings already unfurled, poised for departure. It was a magnificent silver-feathered eagle, of sufficient size to carry two individuals, its eyes gleaming like twin torches in the darkness.

The pursued was approximately three hundred meters away from his mount, accelerating in a straight, desperate line.

Kyrian made no pause for thought.

The crackling lightning that wreathed his form intensified. A thunderous roar reverberated through the mountains, akin to the beating of war drums. He launched himself forward.

Such was his velocity that the very air around him shrieked in protest. With each stride, the stony ground beneath his feet fractured, small craters erupting from the sheer force of his unleashed momentum. In a mere span of three seconds, he had covered half the distance.

The young man distinctly heard the rumble of thunder.

A glance backward revealed his eyes widening in sheer terror.

Kyrian was hurtling directly towards him, his crimson eyes blazing like celestial judgments in the oppressive night. The lightning enveloping his body illuminated the slope in violent, intermittent flashes, transiently transforming the darkness into a storm-ravaged day.

"NO!" the young man cried out.

He knew, with chilling certainty, that he would not reach his mount in time.

With a swift, practiced motion, the young man’s hand darted to the ring on his finger. An immediate golden luminescence enveloped his person, signifying the activation of a protective artifact. A semi-transparent barrier materialized around him, pulsating with arcane symbols that remained unfathomable to Kyrian.

At that precise instant, Kyrian unleashed his attack.

He eschewed his blood dagger; it was unnecessary. His index finger extended, aimed directly at the young man, and the gathered lightning energy coalesced at its very tip.

A solitary point of violet light, brilliant to the point of causing pain upon observation.

The bolt discharged.

It was no mere bolt of lightning; it was a lance of pure violet energy, moving with such impossible speed that it seemed to traverse space even before its release.

The projectile struck the young man’s golden barrier.

The impact resonated with a deafening boom. The barrier quivered violently, fissures spiderwebbing across its surface in luminous patterns. The young man was violently flung aside, tumbling across the rocky terrain, yet the barrier miraculously held.

The lightning, however, persisted in its trajectory.

It flowed *through* the barrier, not shattering it, but passing as if through water, continuing its unwavering path.

Directly towards the waiting flying beast.

The silver-feathered eagle had no time for a cry. The bolt struck its chest with unerring accuracy, piercing its form from side to side. Charred feathers erupted into the air. Scorched flesh rained down. The creature plummeted to the ground with a heavy thud, its eyes wide open, its lifeblood irrevocably extinguished.

Gazing upon his deceased mount, the young man felt the last vestiges of his hope extinguish.

He rose slowly, his movements unsteady. The golden barrier, though riddled with cracks, still flickered around him, its glow now weak, akin to a dying ember.

Kyrian advanced, his steps measured and deliberate.

There was no trace of haste in his posture, no hint of urgency. Only a glacial, calculated composure. Each footfall upon the rocky slope echoed like the tolling of a funeral bell.

The young man instinctively recoiled, his back pressing against the unyielding rock face. He had reached an inescapable dead end.

"Wait!" he implored, his voice imbued with a profound tremor.

"Wait! You don't have to do this!"

Kyrian continued his unhurried approach.

"Keep whatever you stole from the tomb! Take it all! I promise, I won't speak a word to anyone!"

Kyrian halted his advance.

Not from any sway the young man's pleas might have held. Rather, he desired to witness the full extent of the coward's desperation.

The young man perceived this pause as an opportunity. His voice gained an edge, escalating in frantic intensity.

"You have no idea who I am! My master is the Grand Elder of the White Tower! A cultivator at the Spiritual Fusion Realm! Should you kill me, he will discover it! He will hunt you to the very ends of existence!"

Kyrian inclined his head subtly.

"If you kill me," the young man’s voice grew sharper, more unhinged, "he will find you, and his retribution will not be swift. He will subject you to days, even weeks, of excruciating torture. He will flay your skin, shatter your bones, and force you to beg for the oblivion of death before finally granting it."

"Not even the Blood Court will offer you sanctuary! You are doomed! You will perish like a stray dog!"

His voice rose in a desperate shout, an attempt to mask his terror. He wanted to convince Kyrian, and perhaps himself, that he still held some sway in this dire situation.

"You have no idea what you are meddling with! Release me now, and I can overlook this entire incident! I'll even permit you to retain your ill-gotten gains! But lay a hand on me..."

He drew a ragged breath, pausing for dramatic effect.

"SHOULD YOU DARE TO LAY A HAND ON ME, YOU WILL PERISH!"

Kyrian remained still for an extended period, his silence heavy.

The only sound was the mountain wind, sharp and biting, whistling between them. It carried the acrid scent of the incinerated beast.

Then, Kyrian's lips curved into a smile.

It was a smile utterly devoid of warmth, lacking any trace of understanding or pardon. It was a frigid smile, so chilling that the young man felt his very lifeblood turn to ice.

It was a smile born of utter disdain.

Earlier, this same young man had sought to extinguish Kyrian's life without provocation. Merely for trespassing into a tomb Kyrian hadn't even known was occupied. For donning a crimson robe. For simply drawing breath.

He had charged forward, radiating killing intent, dispensing with any need for dialogue. To him, Kyrian was merely 'trash of the blood path,' an obstacle to be annihilated.

And now, staring down the barrel of his own demise, the very same individual pleaded and bellowed, his arrogance dissolving into raw fear, his earlier contempt replaced by abject desperation.