Guantlet

It took Dyon no more than a split second to understand these truths and realize that this old man was most definitely hiding a sharp knife within that frail figure of his.

However, what did this have to do with Dyon?

Even though he had burned away almost all of his soul strength and couldn't be considered to have even a percent of a percent of it left, his soul stamina would still put many Lower Immortal Gods to shame.

He could already concoct Empyrean Grade pills with a mortal soul. And now that he had an Empyrean Grade soul… Was there even any suspense to this?

Dyon smirked, looking off into the distance toward seemingly empty space.

"Go on. Allow the Venerable Stele to randomly select your pills." He said without care. "It can't be that you want me to touch it a thousand times for you all, right?"

Without another word, Dyon shot into the air.