stjorthotic Chapter 438: Original Scroll
Chapter 438: Original Scroll
The man remained silent for a few seconds.
He merely observed Kyrian.
The white eyes with the small black pupil, those eyes that had awakened a new and unknown path, had already disappeared.
Kyrian had returned to his previous appearance. Violet. With the subtle lightning hidden within the depths of his irises, like a storm on the verge of breaking.
Even so...
The shock within the man had still not faded.
Kyrian had survived. More than that. He had awakened something.
Slowly, with a movement that seemed heavier than it should have been, the man brought a hand to his spatial ring.
A small light flashed.
Then, a scroll appeared upon the table.
Unlike the black scroll containing the notes, the one that held fifty years of studies, mistakes, and discoveries, this one was ancient.
Far older.
The leather wrapped around it had dried with time, hard and brittle, like the skin of an animal that had died centuries ago.
Its edges bore subtle cracks, thin as strands of hair, running across the surface like spiderwebs.
The inscriptions engraved upon its surface had partially faded, some characters still legible, others reduced to mere traces.
Even while closed, it exuded a strange sensation. As if it had passed through ages.
The man observed the scroll for a few seconds.
His eyes, ancient, weary, yet sharp, traveled across its worn surface.
"Three hundred years."
"Three hundred years since I found it."
"Three hundred years since everything began."
Then, he pushed it toward Kyrian.
The wooden table creaked softly.
"This is the original."
Kyrian lowered his gaze. The scroll was different.
Not merely in age, appearance, texture, or weight.
"The scroll you found in the cave?"
The man nodded.
"Yes."
"It was with this that everything began."
His eyes remained fixed upon the scroll, as if revisiting memories.
"I found it more than three hundred years ago. In ruins located deep within the Eastern Territory."
"In a cave hidden behind a waterfall. Upon an altar of black stone."
He let out a brief chuckle, a low, almost nostalgic sound.
"At the time... I was searching for something. I thought I had found nothing more than a medical technique."
"A technique to heal, to relieve pain, to unblock meridians."
"I was wrong."
"Terribly wrong."
Kyrian held the scroll.
The leather was rough beneath his fingers, coarse like thick sand.
Its weight was considerable, not because of its size, but because of what it represented.
’Everything about that man had begun with this scroll.’ Kyrian thought.
’The sapling. The black Qi. The Black Points. The Endless Needles. Everything.’
The man slowly rose to his feet.
His body seemed slightly more exhausted than before, as though each movement cost him something.
His movements remained precise, his hands did not tremble, his feet did not drag.
Yet there was a hidden burden in every gesture. A weariness that was not merely physical.
"I am tired."
Kyrian raised his eyes.
The man gently massaged his temples, his fingers pressing specific points as though trying to ease some pain.
"I used the Endless Needles too many times today."
The man before the Alchemists Association, the Gu being removed, the patient being saved.
The tree, life and death coexisting.
The cultivator near the house, pain, despair, and then breakthrough.
’Three times. Three uses. In a single day.’
He looked down at his own hands, long, slender, precise fingers.
Hands that had saved countless lives. Hands that had taken others. Hands that now... were nearing their end.
"My body can no longer endure the same pace as before."
His eyes returned to Kyrian.
"Read. Read everything. The original scroll. My notes."
"My theories. My failures. My discoveries."
"Tomorrow, we will talk."
Kyrian nodded.
"And you?"
The man turned away.
"I will sleep."
He walked toward one of the doors in the small hallway, his footsteps silent yet steady.
Before entering, he stopped for a few seconds.
His hand rested upon the doorknob, pale fingers, prominent veins.
"There is another room. You may use it."
Kyrian inclined his head slightly.
"Thank you."
The man merely raised a hand in farewell, a brief, weary gesture.
Then, he entered the room. The door closed softly. Click. The sound of the latch echoed through the silence.
Silence enveloped the small house.
The candles continued burning, wax melting slowly, flames dancing.
Outside, the night had deepened.
The herb garden was dark, only the shadows of branches swaying with the wind.
The stars, few in number, obscured by the city’s lights, shone faintly.
Kyrian remained seated. The scrolls spread before him.
The original scroll, ancient, worn, mysterious.
The notes, one hundred years of studies condensed into hundreds of pages.
The studies, theories, hypotheses, and dreams.
Slowly, he opened the ancient scroll. The leather creaked, a dry, ancient sound.
His eyes moved across the first lines. And immediately, he realized.
The technique was strange. Extremely strange. The strangest he had read thus far.
It was not exactly a cultivation technique, it did not describe paths, did not guide Qi, and did not strengthen the core.
But neither was it a battle technique. It did not teach strikes, channel power, or increase strength.
It was something in between. Something that did not fit.
The first pages described the fundamentals.
The black sapling, that silent, motionless plant, neither alive nor dead, was an important part of the technique.
The unknown black Qi, which emanated from it in small quantities, could not be absorbed, refined, or completely understood.
The compatibility process, the test Kyrian had just survived.
’The first step in walking the path of the Endless Needles is to accept the presence of the black Qi.’
’The Qi must not be absorbed. It must not be refined. It must not be guided into the dantian.’
’The dantian is incapable of enduring it.’
’The practitioner must allow the Qi to travel through their meridians and settle naturally.’
’Resistance will result in death. Absorption will result in death. Rejection will result in death.’
Kyrian frowned.
’What an absurd technique.’
He continued reading.
’The Qi must remain within the body only in small quantities.’
’Excessive amounts will destroy the meridians. Insufficient amounts will prevent the development of the technique.’
’The practitioner must find balance.’
The following words drew even more of his attention.
’The black Qi allows one to observe the Black Points. Points that exist in all things.’
’In humans. Animals. Plants. Spiritual beasts.’
’The world possesses Black Points.’
Kyrian narrowed his eyes.
’The entire world?’
He turned the page.
Diagrams filled the surface of the scroll.
Human bodies, viewed from the front, the side, and the back.
Meridians, fine lines running through every centimeter.
Organs, heart, liver, kidneys, lungs, and spleen, drawn with astonishing detail.
Hundreds of tiny dark points. Each one is identified.
Kyrian read a note written in ancient handwriting, the ink had faded with age.
’People with special eyes are more suited to observing the Black Points.’
’Without special eyes, seeing them will become extremely difficult.’
’Possible, but difficult.’
’It will take years, perhaps decades, perhaps centuries.’
’With special eyes, the required time would be reduced by half.’