Taking a deep breath, Thundrous swiftly formed hand seals, channeling his inner mana into his fingertips. With a low growl, he swept his hands before his eyes and commanded, *"Heavenly Eye—open!"*
Instantly, his pupils transformed—twin black voids each harboring a tiny golden iris, eerie and unnatural.
By now, crafting low-level magic scrolls no longer required the aid of his Heavenly Eye. But for intermediate and advanced scrolls? Absolutely. The process demanded precision bordering on obsession, and his Heavenly Eye was the sole reason for his success.
Picking up his inscription brush, Thundrous uncorked a vial of griffon blood. The blue liquid swirled within, its elemental energy pulsing through the room. Dipping the brush inside, he guided the blood with his mana, absorbing every last drop.
The brush—a masterwork of alchemy—held the blood effortlessly. Not a single droplet spilled, the liquid clinging to its tip as if bound by unseen force.
After carefully studying the advanced scroll diagram, Thundrous poised the brush above the parchment and closed his eyes.
He stood frozen, a statue lost in thought. In his mind, he rehearsed every stroke—where to pour more mana, where to lighten his touch.
Finally, his eyes snapped open.
His hand moved.
Mana flowed, guiding the griffon blood through the brush, ensuring perfect elemental distribution.
Thundrous was lost in the rhythm now, his focus unbreakable.
Ten breaths later, the once-blank parchment was alive with intricate, interwoven patterns—a chaotic dance of arcane symbols that somehow formed a cohesive whole.
This was the art of scrollcraft. A scribe's pride.
Twenty minutes passed without pause. Every second, griffon blood merged with parchment. Every second, the blank spaces filled.
To an outsider, it would've looked like madness—a child's scribbles. But Thundrous saw the truth. His Heavenly Eye revealed the flawless magic circuits forming beneath the ink, a labyrinth of power waiting to be unleashed.
As the final stroke landed, Thundrous dismissed his Heavenly Eye and collapsed into his chair, drenched in sweat. Maintaining the Eye drained him. *I need to get stronger.*
Then—something unexpected.
A soft glow rippled across the finished scroll. It traveled to the center and solidified into a six-pointed star.
*What?*
Thundrous stared. This had never happened before. The scroll was perfect—no mistakes, half the griffon blood spent.
So why the star?
Setting his brush aside, he flipped through the *Advanced Scroll Codex*, certain the answer lay within.
And there, on the very last page, a single line awaited him:
*"The Hexagram—an ancient sigil of the gods. Should it manifest upon a scroll, divine favor has been granted. Its power shall exceed all expectations."*
Gods? Thundrous scoffed. Back on Dragon-Tiger Mountain, mortals knew better than to rely on myths.
But if the star meant greater power, he'd take it—divine intervention or not.
*How much stronger, though?*
He itched to test it… but couldn't bring himself to waste such a treasure.
This scroll—*Thunderblade's Roar*, a sixth-tier lightning spell—had cost him thirty minutes and half a vial of griffon blood. On the market? Worth *tens of thousands* of gold. Nobles would kill for this kind of protection.
Eyeing the remaining blood, Thundrous rested briefly, then crafted another scroll: *Stormfall's Wrath*, a wide-area lightning barrage.
This time—no star.
*Hmph. Guess I was just… extra focused earlier.*
Two scrolls. One vial gone.
His heart ached like he'd lost a limb.
**Will the hexagram's power be worth the cost?**