Seeing his smirk, they shuddered. They could only watch as Dyon ignored themselves, strolling in after the bronze armored guards as though he owned the place. Even the stone faced guards couldn't help their expression flickering.

They had ignored this little mortal because they couldn't be bothered to raise a hand against him, yet he dared disregard them like this?

Maybe in the outer city, mortals were forced to wear collars and leashes. However, in this inner city, mortals running errands for their masters were commonplace, after all, since when did the rich and powerful follow the rules? So, they hadn't put Dyon in their eyes.

However, the issue was that Dyon didn't respectfully wait for them to disappear. Instead, he strode into the guild building as though they had been there only to open the doors for him. In fact, even when they stopped in shock, he swept a glance in their direction before walking past and into the quiet lobby with just a single receptionist.

It was only then that they realized Dyon wasn't wearing a collar. Not having the leash was fine, but the collar was the bear minimum. Only this way could the owner be identified and take responsibility for any mistakes.

Dyon made his way toward the circular desk that manned the lobby, his expression indifferent. However, the female receptionist, seemingly sensing the presence of a mortal, continued to file her nails. She was actually quite decent to look at, it was just too bad her nose was practically angled above her gaze.

How one managed to look down on people while sitting in a chair was beyond even Dyon.

Unfortunately for her, Dyon didn't have much patience for her antics.

His palm slammed into the table, the reverberating impact sending a violent boom that was louder than even the old woman's shriek had been. In fact, even that same hook-nosed old woman, still hanging from the arms of the guards, snapped out of her maddened state to look at Dyon as though he was crazy.

The violent winds blew the receptionist's hair back, her hand pausing on its file as she looked up in shock to see a shallow handprint in the desk before her.

The sound of swords being pulled from sheaths sounded behind Dyon, but he hardly reacted as he stared toward the receptionist.

Dyon's expressionless gaze met that of the receptionist's. If it wasn't for the fact his palm still lay on the table, one would think he had not a thing to do with the sudden loud boom.

As if others weren't shocked enough, though, a second sudden boom followed. In fact, it was several times louder than Dyon's own palm strike. Still, even then, it was completely eclipsed by the roar of anger that came barely a split moment later.

The stunned receptionist panicked. She knew that none of this was her fault seemingly having forgotten her rude attitude of just moments ago yet she was fully aware that she would be blamed, nonetheless.

"Who did it?! I'll rip you limb from limb!"

Dyon's lips quirked as though to say "not bad". Of course, this had nothing to do with the voice's alchemy skill. To Dyon, screwing up a batch of pills and even causing a cauldron explosion just because of a little noise was just proof that you weren't very skilled. Had Dyon used a swarm of qi, he would have been more forgiving in his conclusion considering how precise the control of energy was needed for immortal pills. But, he obviously hadn't.

The reason for his "not bad" evaluation was because of the strength of the hidden alchemist's roar. He seemed to be of the Peak Immortal Essence Realm just like the hook-nosed old lady. But the difference was that he was clearly full of vitality and much more powerful.

Moments later, a furious black-faced and wild-haired man flashed into the lobby, his aura causing the tiles beneath his feet to shake and quiver. It was clear that he didn't feel the same need to control himself in his anger that the hook-nosed old lady had.

"V-Venerable Piers." The receptionist stuttered, her haughty expression turning an unhealthy white.

It was obvious to anyone with a keen eye that this Venerable Piers was quite a handsome middle-aged man under normal conditions. It was just too bad these weren't normal conditions. Not only had his face twisted savagely in a rage, but it was covered in dirt and soot.

There was nothing comical about his appearance. The truth was that cauldron explosions were incredibly dangerous, especially when they were unexpected. He hadn't chosen to come down here in a rage, forgetting to first clean his face. The truth was that he had truly suffered terrible burns that would definitely not heal easily.

Depending on the batch of pills you were working on, and the quality of your alchemy furnace, an explosion could very well kill you. Certain combinations of herbs at the high temperatures of a resulting explosion could be incredibly toxic and corrosive. In addition, if it was a high-quality cauldron that exploded, it would be comparatively better at protecting you, but this was only to a certain point.

Past this point, if a high-quality cauldron wasn't able to withstand most of the blast and broke down, then the results would be even more devastating.

All of this was likely the reason the alchemy guild required a strict level of quiet, but Dyon found this more amusing than anything.

In such a big city You didn't have a single person capable of laying a silencing array? Even one of the star grade would do, it didn't have to be of the immortal grades.

What this essentially told Dyon was that these people called themselves array alchemists, yet they didn't have the faintest understanding of how the two concepts were meant to play off and build off one another.

Dyon preferred to call himself an alchemist, this much was true. But the reality was that his knowledge and skill in formation theory was no less robust and profound. He just didn't enjoy its use as much. He only used it as a means toward concocting the best pills imaginable.

It was obvious that Venerable Piers was trying to figure out just what happened here.