A Waste of Time

Chapter 100: Sable Archive

Daemon reacted the instant Han Ruyue raised her Ruler, instincts screaming at him. Yet the moment he moved, his expression twisted in shock—his body felt sluggish, as if the very world had dropped its weight upon his shoulders. His chest tightened with a primal fear he hadn’t known in years.

Rush!

The word tore through his mind, and he forced the Movement Skill of Asura’s Buff to life. Power burst through his limbs, giving him the desperate speed needed to slip aside just as the cutting force descended.

The ground split with a shrill, soundless ripple, and though he avoided the lethal arc, his Tower-Shield wasn’t so lucky.

The audience flinched as the massive slab of Refined-Steel was carved apart with deceptive ease. A thick chunk simply vanished, cleaved clean away, but instead of falling or being hurled aside, the missing piece dissolved into nothing. All that remained was the ragged edge of the Shield, gleaming with a smoothness so unnatural it unsettled even the most hardened mercenaries in the crowd.

Daemon stared, wide-eyed, his breath caught. His heart pounded furiously as he clutched the damaged Shield before him. For the first time that day, he felt the creeping chill of pressure sliding into his confidence, eating away at the certainty he carried.

How in the hell am I supposed to deal with this sorcery-like bullshit?! His thoughts roared inwardly, but his eyes never left Han Ruyue.

Too late—she was gone again.

A curse burned in his chest as the girl’s figure vanished like smoke in the wind. The air shifted at his back, and he swung reflexively, butt of his Spear lashing out to block. Steel met wood with a sharp crack as her Ruler tried to pierce through, sparks flashing as his Sword simultaneously slashed backward toward her thigh. His counter was timed perfectly—he thought he had her caught.

But Han Ruyue’s form flickered once more, dissolving into a ghostly blur before reappearing directly in front of him. Her eyes glinted with cold precision as she angled the Ruler down to exploit the gap he had opened.

Yet Daemon wasn’t finished. His Blade twisted, chopping toward her forearm, his movements unyielding even under suppression. Sparks burst between them again as their Weapons clashed in a blur too fast for most eyes to follow.

The villagers, merchants, caravan guards, and mercenaries gaping from the sidelines were left stunned—each exchange happened faster than the blink of an eye. The crowd swayed in awe, gasping whenever a strike barely missed its mark.

But among them, the ones most shaken were the pair of siblings, the Sect Disciples, and Elder Ping. Their cultivated senses caught every shift, every detail hidden in the blur of motion. They saw Daemon’s ability to endure, even while crushed beneath Han Ruyue’s terrifying suppression. They saw the way his speed was shackled, how her ghost-like Ruler probed every flaw in his guard, each strike delivered at angles wicked enough to drain the blood from an onlooker’s face.

For them, this fight wasn’t simply dazzling—it was terrifying.

Daemon was being pushed to the breaking point. Each clash stole more of his strength, each exchange with Han Ruyue narrowed his options until the walls closed in around him. His instincts screamed at him to unleash Asura’s Second-Form, to let his body swell into a three-meter giant and tear through her ghost-like suppression with brute force.

But he didn’t move.

His jaw clenched, his six arms tightening around his Weapons as sweat rolled down his cheek. He knew better. Every battle so far had already forced him to peel back more layers of his secrets than he’d intended, and this one was no exception. But Asura’s Second-Form… that card wasn’t meant for her. That trump was reserved for someone else entirely—the beauty in the black dress who stood silently at the edge of the crowd, watching his every move with unfathomable eyes.

Damn it, he cursed inwardly. These guys are tougher than I thought. I underestimated them from the start. I talked big… and now it’s time to pay the price.

His pride urged him to keep standing on his current power alone, to refuse giving up even a shred of advantage before the moment demanded it. That stubbornness kept him rooted—but it also delivered his punishment.

Han Ruyue’s eyes glinted coldly as her fingers brushed the single black pearl hanging from her left earlobe. The delicate earring hardly seemed threatening, yet as she channeled her Space Qi into the Spiritual Treasure, the pearl pulsed with a faint glow. Unlike Weapons or Armor, this treasure bore no offensive edge, no protective shell—it existed for one purpose only: control.

Daemon felt it instantly.

The world around him twisted and collapsed, his entire body sinking into an invisible prison. The very fabric of space folded inward, locking him in place. His muscles strained, but the more he resisted, the heavier it grew. An unbearable weight bore down on his shoulders, pressing him into stillness as though mountains had stacked themselves atop his frame.

His teeth ground together as his heart hammered against his ribs. He tried to move a foot, an arm, even a finger—but it was as though the universe itself had decided to deny him.

No matter how much I push… I can’t even twitch. This isn’t just suppression—it’s domination.

Desperation flickered in his eyes. For the first time since the duel began, his body felt powerless, shackled like an insect pinned under glass. The onlookers gasped as the boy froze unnaturally mid-motion, his massive Shield and Spear arrested in the air.

“Fuck,” Daemon hissed through his teeth, his eyes darting to the girl who stood so calmly opposite him. I’m stuck.

Han Ruyue’s face remained the same pale mask of calm, but her eyes betrayed her amusement. A faint gleam flickered in their depths, like the quiet smile of someone who knew she’d already won.

“Have anything witty to say now?” Her voice was steady, but there was a softness at its edge, a ripple of satisfaction as she crossed her arms over her chest. The wooden Ruler hung idly at her side, no longer needed for the moment. “I did my part of the deal—and had you as my prisoner.”

The crowd murmured at her declaration. Villagers leaned in, whispering, their nerves twisting tighter at the casual authority in her tone. Merchants and mercenaries exchanged uneasy looks, their gazes flickering between the immobilized boy and the girl who now stood at his side with quiet dominance.

Han Ruyue didn’t spare the audience a second glance. Instead, she shifted slightly, stepping closer to Daemon until her presence loomed beside him. From there her attention slid toward the pair of figures standing off to the side—his two servants.

Her eyes narrowed, curious. Why aren’t they saying anything? Why aren’t they moving?

The silence from his attendants was louder than the whispers of the crowd.

Of course, those two were far from calm. Their hearts pounded, their nerves twisted into knots, and every muscle screamed to rush forward. But their feet remained firmly planted. They dared not step into this fight—not when they knew this boy too well. Their young master, for all his reckless arrogance, always carried something hidden. A trick tucked away. A secret buried too deep for anyone else to guess.

At the very least, they were sure of one thing: there was still one card he hadn’t played.

And if there was one… who was to say there weren’t more?

Their hesitation wasn’t just loyalty—it was survival.

Beyond that, another truth shackled their impulses. Even if Daemon was seized here, even if Han Ruyue or the forces of the Ten-Thousand Beast Mountain managed to bind him, he wasn’t a prisoner they could truly keep. Behind this boy stood a Great-Sect, and beyond that Sect stood a Master whose strength was whispered like a shadow of dread. One thought of him was enough to drain the color from reckless hearts.

And Daemon himself… he wasn’t helpless. Not fully. He had ways to break silence whenever he chose. So far he had deliberately blocked the link, suppressing the transmission of information from his main body—but he could release that barrier at any moment. He could call upon the third clone, or even his true self, to deliver the news of his capture. And when that happened, his Master’s response would not be late.

That knowledge alone was enough to still the servants’ trembling hands, to press their words back into their throats. Their silence wasn’t betrayal—it was faith in their young master’s hidden depths, and fear of the storm his own Master would bring if provoked.

Han Ruyue’s eyes lingered on them a moment longer, searching for weakness, for the faintest tremor of defiance. But they stood rooted, pale-faced, silent as stone.

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