Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation Chapter 346: City of Red Smoke (4)

Before the first rays of dawn, Kyrian awakened, a long-established routine.

The predawn light, filtering through the balcony of the Golden Ash Pavilion, cast a ruddy hue across his chambers, a warm reflection of the perpetual smoke plume rising from the distant volcano.

Even at this early hour, a palpable heat began to radiate from the stone flooring. However, the innate, chilling energy emanating from his eyes maintained a comfortable coolness in his immediate surroundings.

He rose and donned the ice-blue robe acquired the previous day. Its fabric, both soft and remarkably resilient, was perfectly suited for the continuation of his extensive journey.

A simple leather cord was used to secure his hair.

Descending to the lobby, Kyrian stepped out onto the still-tranquil thoroughfares of the City of Red Smoke.

The morning atmosphere offered a welcome respite from the day's oppressive heat, though the ground, composed of volcanic stone, was already starting to radiate warmth, a constant omen of the inferno to come.

Kyrian ambled at an unhurried pace towards the bustling commercial district, where eateries were just beginning to unfurl their shutters and open their doors.

The mingled aromas of roasting meats, bread freshly baked in stone hearths, and broths seasoned with exotic volcanic herbs coalesced into an aromatic tapestry, enveloping the nascent throng of pedestrians.

He paused at a humble food stall, presided over by a middle-aged couple whose countenances bore the indelible marks of time and relentless heat. The man expertly turned skewers of meat over a bed of incandescent coals, while his wife ladled out bowls of a dark, fortifying broth.

"What is the most favored morning fare?" Kyrian inquired.

The woman offered a smile, wiping her hands upon a food-speckled apron.

"The fire-beast wing skewers accompanied by ash bread and red-leaf tea, young master. It’s the customary choice for most before beginning their day."

"Two of each, if you please."

Kyrian partook of his meal while standing near the stall. The meat, succulent and imbued with a robust, spicy smokiness, served to invigorate his senses. The bread, its crust crisped by the ash integrated into the dough, offered an earthy counterpoint to the tea's subtle sweetness. While perhaps not as refined as his previous day's repast, it possessed an authentic, unvarnished flavor, a true taste of the city—direct, honest, and devoid of pretense.

Sated, he resumed his journey.

The street market sprawled across several blocks, a chaotic yet vibrant maze of stalls and makeshift awnings that seemed to materialize overnight. Cultivators mingled within this dynamic environment, bartering, scrutinizing merchandise, and haggling over prices with an intensity suggesting each coin held paramount importance.

Kyrian weaved through the throng with an air of calm detachment, his striking snowflake eyes meticulously surveying each stall, a level of scrutiny that largely went unnoticed.

A significant number of vendors offered wares catering to cultivators. Standard swords crafted from flawed spiritual iron, armor fashioned from rudimentary beast hides, poorly tanned pelts, Qi crystals of inferior grade, and desiccated herbs were commonplace.

Kyrian could readily discern the stark disparity between the items presented and their actual worth. The majority were of negligible value: swords bearing structural weaknesses in their spiritual steel, destined to fracture upon the first significant impact; armor with insufficient Qi reinforcement, barely capable of repelling a meager blow; and cracked spirit stones that visibly exuded their vital energy.

Despite this, the vendors loudly proclaimed exorbitant prices with theatrical flourish, as if peddling relics of antiquity.

"This blade was born from the inferno of the lesser volcano! A mere eight hundred low-grade spirit stones!"

Kyrian moved past without acknowledgment. The substandard quality was apparent even from a distance; his honed perception, amplified by his unique eyes, detected every minute flaw in the Qi flow traversing the displayed articles.

At another vendor’s booth, a merchant purported to sell "pure fire spirit stones sourced from the volcano's core," which, upon closer inspection, were merely ordinary rocks daubed with crimson pigment.

Kyrian suppressed a sigh. Such transparent deception thrived because the majority of prospective buyers lacked the discernment to differentiate the genuine from the counterfeit.

It was at a less conspicuous stall, tended by an elder with a grizzled beard and hands marked by a slight tremor, that Kyrian discovered items of genuine interest.

This old man dealt in dried herbs, roots, and blossoms gathered from the volcanic foothills. His inventory lacked visual appeal, featuring many withered leaves and fractured roots, causing most passersby to disregard his humble establishment.

However, for Kyrian, whose extensive alchemical knowledge had been rigorously cultivated through diligent study over recent months, some of these unassuming plants represented materials of exceptional quality. Indeed, their quality was outstanding.

His gaze settled upon a small bundle of Silent Fire Leaves. This particular herb was reclusive, notoriously difficult to procure, yet remarkably effective in stabilizing rank 3 and 4 pills possessing fire attributes.

Adjacent to these were Spiritual Ash Roots, invaluable for crafting advanced restorative elixirs, and Volcanic Flower Petals, known to enhance the explosive potency of offensive pills when incorporated in precise ratios.

The proprietor, evidently not an alchemist himself, possessed no inkling of the true value held within his wares.

"What is the price for these?" Kyrian inquired, gesturing towards a diverse assortment of herbs he had mentally cataloged.

The old man stroked his silver beard, his eyes appraising Kyrian with a measure of caution.

"Young man, ten low-grade stones for a handful. These herbs were gathered close to the volcano; they're quite fresh!" The vendor extended his hand, displaying palms calloused from years of labor.

Kyrian procured all the items he deemed essential, approximately thirty distinct varieties of herbs and roots suitable for refining pills ranging from rank 1 to rank 4. His expenditure amounted to slightly over a hundred low-grade spirit stones.

The old man departed with a satisfied smile, convinced he had struck a favorable bargain. Kyrian meticulously placed all the herbs into his spatial ring.

These herbal ingredients would prove immensely valuable during the extensive expedition to the Central Territory.

...

He devoted the remainder of the day to a more in-depth exploration of the city.

Wandering through various districts, each possessing a unique ambiance and function, he first visited the blacksmith district. Here, the incessant clamor of hammers striking anvils resonated through the narrow thoroughfares, akin to an unending metallic cadence.

Next, he ventured into the alchemist district, where shops exuded the pungent aroma of scorched herbs, and wisps of colored smoke curled lazily from windows. Within these establishments, alchemists of varying cultivation levels diligently toiled over their bubbling cauldrons.

The more affluent residential sector, characterized by stone dwellings adorned with hanging gardens, offered superior vantage points overlooking the volcano and its populace.

At one of the city's most captivating locations, Kyrian paused before a colossal chasm rent in the earth. The fissure was bordered by intricately carved stone railings and overseen by vigilant guards stationed at its entrance.

From its depths, a perpetual torrent of incandescent, viscous lava ascended slowly from the subterranean realm. This molten flow was meticulously channeled through engineered conduits before being directed into containment vats constructed from somber black stone.

The ambient heat emanating from this phenomenon was staggering, far exceeding that found elsewhere in the city. Kyrian could feel his ice barrier exerting increased effort to maintain his comfort.

Numerous cultivators were observed seated around the vicinity, immersed in meditation in the lotus position. The fire Qi in this area was exceptionally dense, almost palpable, manifesting as visible distortions in the air, much like the shimmering heat rising from a desert landscape.

Others engaged in purchasing small vials or containment orbs brimming with purified lava, tendering substantial sums to the guards who regulated access to the source.

Kyrian observed the scene for an extended period, his ice eyes meticulously cataloging every detail. He did not fully grasp the potential applications of this lava, speculating it might be employed for forging unique armaments, refining exotic materials, or perhaps serving as an energy source for sophisticated fire formations.

A subset of cultivators appeared to be directly absorbing the Qi from the lava's source, their bodies slick with perspiration yet their countenances radiating profound contentment.