As if on cue, multiple cauldrons flared to life at the same time.
A satisfying sizzle echoed through the field as exquisite ingredients were swallowed by the intense heat of the flames, their surfaces softening almost instantly before melting into refined essences. The air itself began to change, filling with the rich, layered scent of alchemy — sharp, warm, and faintly medicinal, carrying the unmistakable weight of something ancient being forged anew.
Not a single word was spoken.
Every cultivator was fully immersed in their own task, eyes fixed on their cauldrons, attention locked onto the precarious process of refining the Fate Pill. In this moment, even the slightest distraction could ruin an entire batch. No one dared let their focus drift.
