Chapter 491: Alchemy Competition (2)
Chapter 491: Alchemy Competition (2)
The morning slowly advanced over the Sky Caravan, painting the sky in shades of gold and deep blue.
The rays of sunlight stretched like luminous fingers across the floating city, illuminating every detail of the imposing structures that made up that extraordinary place.
The Celestial Descent Festival was at its peak, and the vibrant energy emanating from every street was almost tangible, a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and pride.
Outside the city’s immense walls, a vast plain had been transformed into a gigantic complex for the festival’s competitions.
The landscape, which on ordinary days was a peaceful green expanse, now buzzed with human activity. Temporary structures made of spiritual wood rose in every direction, each one dedicated to a different art or discipline.
The combat arenas occupied a significant portion of the area. Great platforms of floating stone were suspended above the ground, protected by spiritual formations that prevented the energy of attacks from escaping and injuring the spectators.
Around them, makeshift grandstands housed thousands of people eager to witness thrilling duels.
In another area, craftsmen, formation masters, and blacksmiths demonstrated their skills.
The sound of hammers striking metal, the glow of formations being activated, the heat of blazing furnaces, everything blended together into a symphony of creation.
But farther to the north... lay the area reserved for the alchemy competition.
The place was impressive in its organization. Hundreds of stone tables were arranged in perfectly aligned rows, creating a geometric pattern that stretched across the entire plain.
Each table was identical, crafted from dark gray stone that absorbed heat and maintained a stable temperature, ideal for alchemical work.
On top of each one rested a standard cauldron provided by the Alchemists Association. The cauldrons were made of spiritual bronze, engraved with inscriptions that facilitated the flow of Qi during the refining process.
Various tools, tongs, spatulas, glass vials, and filters were arranged in meticulous order.
High above, thousands of spectators waited with eager curiosity. The rows of seats rose like waves around the competition grounds, offering a perfect view of every table.
Entire families had gathered to watch, children excitedly pointing at the competitors while adults discussed the odds of each participant.
Although alchemy was far less flashy than a battle between cultivators, there were no explosions of Qi, no spectacular techniques, and no blood or injuries, it still attracted tremendous interest.
After all, a great alchemist possessed a status that few professions could ever attain. The pills they created could cure diseases, strengthen cultivators, and prolong lives. In a world where power was everything, alchemists were the architects of power.
Kyrian calmly walked toward the entrance designated for participants. The line was long, but it moved quickly, the organizers having planned everything with military efficiency.
After presenting his registration badge, the same one he had received days earlier, he was handed a small numbered medallion by an official.
"Table three hundred and twenty-seven."
He merely nodded, storing the medallion inside his spatial ring. There was no need to ask where the table was; signboards had been placed at regular intervals, and the numbering followed a logical order.
He entered the enormous area reserved for the competitors. The space was vast, much larger than it had appeared from the grandstands. The tables stretched in every direction, creating a sea of stone and metal.
As he walked among the tables, his eyes naturally swept across the entire crowd. Kyrian always observed his surroundings, a habit cultivated over many years.
There were approximately one thousand alchemists gathered there. Young. Old. Men. Women. Cultivators from various regions of the Caravan, wearing robes of every color and style. Some appeared confident, almost arrogant, while others maintained expressions of concentration or nervousness.
At first glance, it seemed like a great many people. One thousand individuals was a considerable number, and the collective energy they radiated created an atmosphere of anticipation.
But... Kyrian quickly realized another reality.
’Only a thousand...’
The Sky Caravan was home to millions of inhabitants. Even considering only those of suitable age to compete, those with enough training to even think about participating, one thousand people was still an incredibly small number.
’Alchemical talent truly is rare.’
He had always known that alchemists were highly valued. In every city he had visited, in every interaction he had experienced, the profession was treated with almost reverential respect.
But only at that moment, seeing the proportion of participants compared to the total population, did he truly understand just how uncommon they were.
Not everyone possessed the talent to control flames, a gift that required a natural affinity with fire and years of training.
Not everyone could maintain refined spiritual perception, the ability to sense the subtle fluctuations of Qi within herbs and liquids. Not everyone had the patience to study thousands of herbs for decades, memorizing their properties, interactions, and reactions.
Even fewer could combine all of those qualities. A complete alchemist was rare, a master who united talent, knowledge, and technique in perfect harmony.
That was precisely why alchemists held such an exalted position. They were not merely craftsmen; they were guardians of ancient knowledge, bearers of a power that few could ever hope to master.
Kyrian found his table. The stone felt cool to the touch, its surface smooth and spotless.
The tools were arranged flawlessly, and the ingredients, already separated for the examination, rested inside small jade containers.
He calmly placed his hands behind his back and remained waiting. There was no haste in his movements, nor any anxiety in his posture.
...
Meanwhile...
On the elevated platform built for the evaluators, a figure observed the entire crowd with experienced eyes.
An old man with completely white hair stood motionless, his hands clasped behind his back.
He wore long golden robes embroidered with the emblem of the Alchemists Association over his chest, a stylized flame encircling a cauldron. Though aged, his eyes still shone with a sharp intelligence that the years had failed to diminish.
Beside him stood dozens of other evaluators.
All of them were experienced alchemists, all recognized masters in their respective fields.
Some were younger, their hair still dark, yet they wore the same expression of stern judgment. Others, like the old man, bore the marks of decades of dedication.