After a bit more running he arrived at the clearing he saw and immediately activated stealth, he could sense that there were many times more beings here than at the mountain base.
From what he could see there were many makeshift buildings and tents, but the ones that truly stood out to him were the three of them in the center. They were much bigger and better constructed than the rest.
The one closest to the south east had the carts parked and the boxes of flowers moved inside. There were also other boxes of various sizes being moved into it but he couldn't tell what was in them.
The next building was open styled and it had a giant cauldron in the center, with the ingredients from the first building that were properly prepared and portioned out being periodically put in.
The liquid from the cauldron was scoped out and moved to the last building, where after a flash of light, boxes were moved out and packed neatly onto carts that were being moved by chima into the desert.
All throughout the pseudo settlement there were countless goblins and hobgoblins doing various tasks to keep it running.
"I don't know what is in those boxes but I can assume that it is valuable if it used the mana roses as an ingredient. They were throwing a lot of things into that cauldron that look expensive."
He was planning on attacking the goblins the moment he found out where they were, but after careful consideration he decided against it.
"Better to let them continue to make whatever it is and reap what they sowed. You wouldn't kill a farmer to steal his crops before he plants any."
Glancing at the man standing in the middle he continued. "And I don't know what is going on with him, but I can tell that he is really strong."
Compared to the short hobgoblins and even shorter goblins, this man was exceptionally tall. Even after his height increased he was still not close to him.
His hair was as white as the hobgoblins and was flowing onto his shoulders, his face chiseled and his body was practically perfect, not too lean, not too bulky. All over his face were strange red markings that he couldn't read but somehow added to his overall charm.
Like the hobgoblins and goblins, his ears were dropped downward, but they were much shorter than the others.
On his forehead there were two skin-colored tiny horns, and unlike the goblins and hobgoblins, he looked a healthy shade of cream.
He was dressed in a simple, black robe with red stitches, but similarly to the goblins and hobgoblins he was barefoot.
"I am starting to get tired of these handsome monsters. It's not good for my mental health."
But a strange looking but albeit handsome man wasn't going to be enough to make him hesitate to try to achieve his goal. It was his eyes.
"The only people that I've seen with eyes like that are those who specialize in soul power, and regardless of how strong or fast he might be, the fact that he could manipulate his own soul so much is dangerous enough."
He knew this because the change in eye color is a side effect of using soul power, not a by-product of having a strong soul. Otherwise his eyes should be pitch black as his soul power was so high.
Only one of his instructors specialized in soul power enough for their entire eye turned such a dark color, and from that experience he knew that mystics were not to be trifled with.
Not because they are the strongest, or the fastest, not even the smartest, but if there was one thing that they had on their side, it was predictability.
If someone picks up a sword you can expect them to swing it, if they have a bow they will shoot, and if they make a fireball you could expect them to throw it. But that didn't apply to mystics.
The very essence of their abilities relied heavily on their personality, wishes, imagination and training to produce the desired result.
His instructor for example, specialized in forming contracts with beasts and summoning them from the new world
Every class he had with her was just him being mauled by various terrifying beasts while he was only allowed to use a whip. A weapon that he was not familiar with and was forced to fight for his life with it.
But even then she might mix it up and attack herself. Those strange blueish black tentacles haunted his dreams.
There was no telling what the strange looking man in the center of the clearing managing things could do, when dealing with mystics the best he could do was try to be as cautious as possible.
With that in mind he retreated back into the forest before he got detected and moved in the direction of the desert, since attacking the hoard was not a wise decision he might as well see what the potions do.
If it turned out that it was some sort of miracle water that can raise the dead or make them strong enough to flatten a mountain then he would like to know that before barging into the place it is being produced.
This was the first time that he entered the desert since he entered the new world, and as he was much more perceptive now he could tell just how creepy the place was.
If there was one thing that he would describe it as, it would be dead. One might think that that would be par for the course, but even a desert was brimming with life.
From insects, to snakes, to birds and rodents, even cactus, all of this brought life to their habitat. But none of such things were here.
He couldn't feel the vitality that would be expected of such a large place, it stretched far into the distance and he couldn't detect any form of life.
"I don't like being here, it's very uncomfortable. Unfortunately all the mana in this place is all in the center and the chima are moving in that direction so I have only one way to move."
With no other choice he had to rough the strange sensation that it brought him and went deeper into the desert. At first it wasn't hot, but the closer he got into the center the hotter it got. And with him running at hundreds of miles a second the temperature was climbing fast.
At first he was having troubles running on the sand, but after using mana to make a small platform just above the sand for him to step on, it became a non-issue. This may seem difficult, but compared to what he does for practice it was as easy as breathing.
It got so hot that he started to sweat buckets, but with the ability to produce endless water and the unexpected progress in his body refining he wasn't complaining.
When he first read the manual, he thought that only the impact from a blow or a fall could aid in his refining, but when he considered it a bit more it made sense.
When making a sword, you don't just hammer cold steel until it takes shape, it has to be heated to make it malleable. As the Golden body refining technique refined the body like a weapon, it was only natural for it to respond well to heat.