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Book 12: Chapter 158: Nazaire (1)

At this moment, the thousand Venerables who had lost to Dyon sat by their alchemy cauldrons with blank expressions. It seemed they still hadn’t registered exactly what happened.

He hadn’t even taken out a cauldron. He hadn’t even used the provided heavenly herbs. He… hadn’t even used 10% of the allocated time.

Many of them hadn’t even bothered to finish their concoctions. They slumped down to the ground, hardly even registering the explosion that occurred in many of their cauldrons. How could they not be listless and in a state of disbelief? They had lost so resoundingly that they found it difficult to even raise their heads.

The top three Venerables wore expressions so pale it was hard to imagine that they could bleed even if a blade was scraped across their faces.

Yet, the man who had just crushed them seemed not to care even the smallest bit about this accomplishment. He was grinning and laughing with his wives. He seemed to be bragging, but one could tell that it was all done with a light spirit. He was far too calm to truly be considered happy. This event… was no more than a small pebble on his path.

Maybe the most shocking part was that he didn’t even look tired, while those of them who poured their hearts and souls into the pills were practically gasping on the ground with nothing to show for it.

How could the difference really be this large?

“… He entered the Peak Empyrean Grade in less than 200 years from the mortal realms… what kind of talent is this…?”

It was completely unknown who said this first, but it was only now that those in the surroundings paid attention to more than just Dyon’s name. When they noticed his age, and compared it to the age he was when taking the certification exam, they felt completely numb.

“Since you’re so confident, there’s no need to wait, right? Unless you’re trying to stall for time?”

The sudden voice cut through the atmosphere that had formerly only had Dyon, Saru and Lilith’s laughter. It didn’t take a genius to know that the one who had spoken was a person on the Empyrean rankings. And, it was even more obvious that he believed that Dyon’s was faking his calm demeanor.

To be fair, he had to think such a thing just for his own sanity, he had to find a way to trick himself into believing that everything would be okay, that he had a chance, that his hard work of several million years wouldn’t be falling here and now.

“Oh?” Dyon smiled a cold smile. “It seems some are still overestimating themselves. Alright, you can come together again.”

No matter what the man had been thinking prior to this, he felt that the world had come to a grinding halt. Come… together… again?

Was this some sort of joke?

Maybe facing a thousand Venerables at once was still reasonable. At the very least, someone who dared to challenge even the God Stele should be expected to be capable of doing this much. Though it was still incredibly impressive, it wasn’t to the point of causing those who would come next to fall into an endless despair. At the very least, the greatest portion of despair was left for those Venerables who just lost and the Empyreans ranked nearer to the bottom of the Empyrean Stele.

However… Facing a thousand Empyreans at once… Only a true Alchemy God would dare to do such a thing.  

One had to understand that unlike the Venerable and Empyrean Steles which were all filled with peak levels of their grades, there simply weren’t this many Immortal Gods. The God Stele had all sorts of Immortal Gods from the Lower to the Peak.

This alone should prove how difficult it was to cross the barrier into the Alchemy God Realm, let alone to make it onto the Stele itself.

However, Dyon didn’t seem to be joking, nor did he seem to be bluffing.

Once again, his soul strength surged forward like an endless tide.

The Empyrean who spoke instantly paled. Even if he was a fool he would know now that Dyon hadn’t been biding his time. In fact, his patience could have been seen as an act of kindness on his point, allowing more time for them to collect themselves and steel their hearts.

But now, he was like an unsheathed sword, a sharp blade blazing with life. He looked toward the silver leaves the Empyreans held in their hands like a ravenous beast, reading for them to burn and display their target for him to devour.

A thousand cauldrons constructed entirely of small golden arrays blossomed forward, spilling over with an endless tide of soul qi.

Dyon grin grew wild.

His thousand cauldrons explosively grew in size. It wasn’t long before each on of them was over 20 meters in diameter.

The Empyreans watching on felt their knees grow weak. They knew that Dyon simply had no need for such large cauldrons. He was taunting them, grinding the sole of his feet into their faces from on high…

Maybe if they hadn’t provoked him, everything would still be fine. But now that they had… was there even a need to give them face any longer?