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What did this mean? It meant that if Nazaire's pill called down yellow lightning, it would already be at the Peak God Grade level. But It had called down gold lightning

Every step up in grade meant a doubling in the strength of lightning white lightning was seven steps above that of yellow lightning This meant that these strikes every single one of them was 128 times the strength of a Peak Immortal God!

Nazaire had actually managed to concoct a nine times refined phantom pill! That was simply unheard of! In fact, in the history of the Immortal Plane, the number of nine time refined peak god grade pills could be counted on one's fingers. As for phantom pill of any level for that matter they had never appeared!

This time, the numbness really did become pain. But it was a specific type of heartache. Many alchemists simply found it too difficult to even fathom the gap between them and Nazaire. Their admiration could only become this sort of dull pain in response.

For a long while, many forgot that Nazaire even had a competitor. Countless billions of pairs of eyes stared longingly at his cauldron which had a lid still tightly sealed.

Nazaire simply sat before it, not moving an inch. He hadn't even reacted when the last tribulation lightning landed.

Though the observers knew that phantom pills wouldn't have the same efficacy as a true pill, one that managed to reach the refined realm would have a small percentage of its medicinal strength. A one times refined phantom pill would have 10% while a nine times refined pill would have 90%.

Of course, in all of history, the greatest phantom pill concocted to now was merely of the top-grade, so all of this was theoretical and had never been proven. But just at the thought of a pill with 90% the efficacy of a peak god grade pill, many eyes went green.

However, what could they do? Even if Nazaire had no combat prowess of his own something that only a fool would assume after today, he would most definitely be recognized as the greatest alchemist of this generation if not of every generation. What could they possibly do to him?

Unfortunately, that alchemist they were all clambering to crown continued to sit silently, not moving even an inch. It wasn't a long while later that they all realized he was looking at something.

When they turned toward the direction, they finally remembered Dyon's existence.

At this moment, he was in a sorry state. No one knew what happened as they had stopped watching him, but his entire body was practically ripped to shreds.

With haggard breaths, he stood over Little Chibi's body, a hand placed on her lid. One could tell from the strain of his arm that he was clamping down with all his might.

But they could only watch on with contemptuous gazes. There was not even a tribulation. Was there a point in continuing to struggle like this?

However, Dyon didn't have eyes for them. His gaze had already met Nazaire's for a long while.

Then, he spoke his next words slowly.

" What I hate the most is to be tested. I hate when those who deem themselves to be better than me believe they have the capability to evaluate my limits."

Nazaire's pupils constricted into pinholes.

"Even the Heavens do not have the right to test me."

Dyon's words left them all dumbfounded. But, it became very obvious, very soon, that he simply had no intention of explaining what he meant.

Was the pill not 99% purified? Was it less than that? Was it more? No, that was impossible. How could it possibly be more if there was a fragrance yet no heavenly tribulation?

No matter how hard they racked their brains, they couldn't think of a plausible explanation. However, as though he couldn't see them, Dyon turned and walked away, Nazaire in tow like an obedient child.

For these Immortal Gods, was it even possible for them to bow their heads as easily as Nazaire and beg for an answer from a mortal?

At first, they believed that Dyon was just trying to get them to lower their heads to him. They even expected that he would slow his steps and eventually not be able to hold back from explaining it all to them. By then, they could just pretend as though they never cared about the answer to begin with.

However, reality was cruel.

Dyon really didn't care about their opinions. Whether or not they asked whether it had nothing to do with him. He already no longer cared about this competition.

To him, victory was never about the adulation of others. He wanted to win not so that everyone would know that he had, but only so that he would know that he had. Nothing more, nothing less. Whether his name was known to all was next to meaningless to him.

Like this, the alchemist could only watch as Dyon left without a care, descending down toward the God Stele and toward a particular boy.

"Just take him." Dyon said casually.

"But" Nazaire stuttered, uncertain if he should refute his master at a time like this. He had already slammed his head to the ground so fervently earlier. And, even then, it was his pair of martial aunts that had to step in to save him.

Even Saru and Lilith had their limits. If he pissed Dyon off again there was no telling if they would be able to save him again.

In the end, for fear of being thrown into the dog house by Dyon again, he could only grit his teeth and swoop down toward his grandson. He didn't believe that Dyon would harm his grandson anyway.

What he didn't know was that Dyon had saved this boy a long time ago, before he even began the challenge with the Venerables. Right now, the boy, or rather young man in the eyes of anyone but Dyon, was only in a deep sleep.

Let alone him, Dyon had saved everyone who had kept a serene expression in the face of death.