Alchemists were considered treasures in various factions, whose importance spoke for itself; it was crucial that nothing go awry.
The alchemists who, having heard the news, came seeking guidance, generally brought escorts.
Alchemists hardly had any time to study killing spells, nor had much experience in combating others.
Compared to cultivators of the same realm, they were significantly weaker. Coupled with the chaotic external situations, a slight carelessness could lead to fatal risks.
In the inner courtyard of the mansion, there was a pond with an elderly man sitting by it. His hair and beard were all white, his face marked with the channels of age; he wore a white robe, embodying an immortal's aura.
There was no fluctuation of cultivation emanating from the old man, but a single glance was enough to know he was no ordinary person.
Not far from the old man stood a middle-aged man, almost fifty, who approached respectfully with a few elixirs in his hands:
