Chapter 285: Old Books

Kyrian walked through the stone corridor with slow and deliberate steps, as if each movement were a way of absorbing once again the air of the Verdant Sword Sect.

The cutting wind of the Great Cutting Leaf Formation blew against his body, but it no longer bothered him. On the contrary, it was like an old acquaintance welcoming him back. He felt the sharp Qi present in each breeze, brushing against his skin like familiar blades, and it brought a strange sense of belonging.

As he walked, images of the past surfaced in his mind without him being able to stop them. The first time he had arrived there, still as a youth from the entrance test, alongside Yanyu and the little Luz.

The Leaf Sword Pavilion that he had destroyed by accident when absorbing the ancestral sword intent. The duel against Mo Tianhai, where he not only won but also helped the other understand his own intent.

The fight against the blood figures in the inheritance tower. And, of course, the simpler moments. Yanyu preparing meals in the courtyard, the fox devouring spiritual stones with arrogance, the silent conversations that did not need many words.

He could not deny it. He missed them a little. Mu Yanyu, with her stubborn determination and her smile that always appeared even in difficult moments.

The small white fox with golden stripes was bold and greedy, but who had somehow become part of that routine.

But life in cultivation did not allow easy attachment. He knew it would take some time before they could meet again. Perhaps months. Perhaps several years.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, as he did with everything he could not resolve at the moment.

The courtyard of the core disciples appeared before him, simple and familiar. The ancient trees still swayed gently, the stones of the path were clean, and the small training space at the back seemed untouched.

It truly was exactly as when he had left. No sign of abandonment, but also no change. As if the place had been waiting for him.

Kyrian pushed the main door and entered. The small hall was empty, silent. He walked to his room. The simple bed, the low table, the window facing the giant trees. Nothing had changed.

He closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed. For a moment, he simply breathed. Then, he raised his hand. A soft glow appeared in his spatial ring, and the eight ancient books that Mei Ran had given him appeared on the table.

Kyrian picked up the first. The cover was dark, the material old and resistant, with engraved symbols that seemed to dance under the dim light. He opened it and flipped through the pages. The language was completely unknown, full of curved strokes and complex runes that resembled nothing he had ever seen.

But the last book that Mei Ran had given him was different. It was a partial translation, with meticulous notes comparing symbols and explaining grammatical structures.

He began to read, comparing line by line. His special eyes recorded every detail with absolute precision. It did not take long for the pattern to begin forming in his mind.

The language was ancient but systematic. He noticed repetitions, recurring structures, and, little by little, the meaning began to emerge.

“Ancient formations…” Kyrian murmured, a slight smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

The books were formation manuals. Not the simple formations used by minor sects, but ancient, complex formations, capable of creating barriers that lasted for centuries.

Each volume dealt with a different aspect. Defensive formations, offensive ones, illusion, imprisonment, spiritual nourishment.

Kyrian let out a low laugh, almost to himself. It was as if fate was giving him a sign.

He was already immersed in alchemy. Now, formations appeared in his path. Two paths that required absolute control, precision, and deep understanding of Qi. Two paths that could grant him even more independence.

He closed the book he was reading and opened the next, comparing it again with the translation. His focus was absolute. Hours passed without him noticing. The daylight shifted to dusk, and the room was filled with a soft golden light that entered through the window.

Kyrian did not stop. He read, compared, and memorized. Each symbol engraved itself in his mind like an indelible mark. He could already understand entire sentences without needing to consult the translation all the time. The knowledge flowed into him with an almost frightening ease.

When night finally fell, he had read all eight books completely, cross-referencing information and mentally noting correlations. He closed the last volume and leaned back in the chair, looking at the ceiling.

Formations were not just drawings on the ground. They were living structures. They required not only Qi but also intent, understanding of the natural flow of the world, and balance between elements.

A poorly made formation could explode and drain the life of whoever activated it.

Kyrian felt a slight shiver of excitement. It was a new path. A path that would perfectly complement his alchemy.

He imagined the possibilities. Barriers that could protect his own cultivation space, formations that would amplify the efficiency of pill refinement.

He stood up, stretched his arms, and walked to the window. The night was clear, with stars shining above the mountains of the sect.

The cutting wind still blew, carrying the distant sound of swords training in the lower courtyards.

Kyrian decided. He would start the next day. He would not abandon alchemy but would divide his time.

In the morning, he would refine pills. In the afternoon and at night, he would dive into formation books. And when the limit of his eyes disappeared again, he would return to cultivating with spiritual stones.

He smiled slightly, a rare and satisfied smile.

“A new path…”

The sword pupil in his eyes trembled slightly, as if approving the decision.

Kyrian turned off the lights of the room and lay down on the bed.

For the first time in a long time, he did not fall asleep immediately. He stayed looking at the ceiling while remembering recent events and also his own goals.

Sleep came slowly, but when it came, it was deep.

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