A Waste of Time

Chapter 101: Coral Reverie

Had Daemon known what kind of thoughts were currently running through Yan Ru and Yan Jia’s heads, he would have been torn between laughter and despair. To them, he was untouchable—the treasured disciple of some unfathomable Master, backed by the immeasurable might of a Great-Sect. A boy whose capture was only temporary, whose eventual rescue was guaranteed by the invisible hand of a higher power.

If only they knew.

The so-called Master with god-like abilities? The all-powerful Sect behind his back? Every last piece of it was one big, fat lie.

In truth, he had nothing. No Master hovering beyond the horizon, no Sect waiting to sweep down like divine retribution. The moment these Cultivators succeeded in binding him for real, he was on his own—and in deep, bone-chilling trouble.

A flicker of unease passed through him, though his outward expression remained carefully controlled. What happens then? he thought grimly. Will crying honest tears be enough? If I fall into their hands and the judgment of that Sect comes down on me… would they even pause to consider my age? Would genuine repentance mean anything to them?

The image of himself kneeling in chains flashed in his mind—pleading oaths of straight repentance, voice breaking, begging faceless elders for pity. A sour taste rose in his throat at the thought. Would they laugh at me? Or… would one of them show mercy, seeing nothing more than a reckless boy far from home?

For a moment, the usual iron-willed confidence that cloaked him faltered. The possibility of mercy was a fragile hope, a candle flame trembling in the wind. And Daemon knew better than to trust kindness in this world. Mercy was rare, and pity was dangerous.

Around him, the audience continued to buzz with tension, completely unaware of the truth hiding behind his calm mask. The villagers and mercenaries saw only a cornered beast. The Sect Disciples watched with sharp eyes, convinced he was trapped and had no more secrets to unveil, at least none that could help him out of this conundrum. And Yan Ru and Yan Jia—his loyal servants—remained silent, hearts steadied by their faith in a phantom Master who did not exist.

If only they could see inside his mind now.

Right when every eye was locked on Daemon, expecting his next move or collapse, the tension of the battlefield was suddenly ripped apart—attention shifted elsewhere in unison.

Scree!

The cry shook the air like a blade through silence.

Kirin, which had remained eerily still for some time with its black feathers cloaked in arcs of silver Lightning, finally moved. Its eyelids lifted, revealing eyes that glowed with a storm’s brilliance. Its head tilted upward, beak pointed toward the churning thunderclouds that had swallowed the once-clear autumn sky. What had been a sunny, crisp day now lay drowned under bleak gloom, as if the heavens themselves bent in recognition of the creature’s awakening.

Then its enormous wings unfurled. Fifteen meters tall, the beast’s body expanded as those vast wings spread to reveal a wingspan so immense it cast a shadow across the dueling ground. Villagers and merchants shrank back instinctively, their spines prickling, while even hardened caravan guards found their hands tightening around weapon hilts they knew would be useless.

The screech resonated again, this time rumbling with the echo of thunder from above. With a slow, terrifying grace, Kirin inhaled, silver Lightning funneling into its slightly curved beak like rivers returning to the sea. The air trembled. And then—

Its huge body erupted.

A chaotic grid of red Lightning surged outward, arcs weaving and cracking like chains of wrath cast from the heavens. The earth split under the blast, trees bent backward from the shock, and the sky itself seemed to ripple with the force. Screams broke through the crowd as disciples and mercenaries alike scrambled to retreat. Even the Sect’s young geniuses, usually so composed, darted away in a hurry, unwilling to test their defenses against the wild, destructive tide.

Yet in the chaos, many of them noticed it. That Lightning—it wasn’t purely foreign. The fiery red arcs sparking across the beast’s body shared an uncanny resemblance to the boy’s defensive aura, the same violent energy Daemon unleashed whenever he called upon his Lightning to shield himself.

“It really… succeeded,” someone whispered, and the words spread like fire.

“It really succeeded in evolving into a Magic-Beast!” Zhan Lei’s voice rose above the tumult. His tone dripped with envy and longing. As a Lightning Cultivator, the sight cut deeply into his pride. To possess a Soul-Snatcher Eagle even before its evolution was a rare fortune; to ride it as a mount would have been a dream worthy of the Foundation-Establishment Realm itself. But this mortal boy—this outsider—had not only tamed such a beast against staggering odds, but now stood at the center of its evolution into a true Magic-Beast.

Zhan Lei’s fists clenched until his knuckles whitened. He could only sigh and shake his head, the bitterness plain on his face. Even if he longed for such a beast-companion, even if he yearned to soar across the skies with Lightning wings beneath him, reality offered no chance. Not yet. The Sect would never entrust him with such an opportunity, not until he proved himself worthy of their greatest resources. Until that day, he could only look on with envy, dreaming of the future—dreaming of when he, too, might be granted the chance to stand with a Magic-Beast at his side, as Elder Ping did with her little Song.

But for now, all he could do was watch as Kirin’s power tore the battlefield apart.

Of all the people forced to retreat before Kirin’s eruption, Han Ruyue was the most annoyed. Her cold face remained unchanged, but deep within her chest, irritation churned. The creature’s thunderous awakening had stolen her moment—interrupting the delicate rhythm of her exchange with that boy.

She had been waiting, eager for the chance to hear what Daemon might reveal about the Element of Space. His words carried a strange weight, and she had wanted to peel away the layers of mockery and evasions to grasp what he truly knew. Yet now, that moment had been torn from her grasp, swallowed by the deafening screeches of wings and the suffocating net of red Lightning cascading from above.

Clicking her tongue softly, Han Ruyue darted backward with the others, her figure blurring as she retreated from the storm. For all her pride, she could not deny the truth—her own Cultivation had not yet reached the stage where she could face such destructive power head-on. The violent arcs flooding from Kirin’s body crackled with the dominance of a newly ascended Magic Beast, a force that stood on equal footing with Elder Ping herself, who resided in the Foundation-Establishment Realm. To withstand such power recklessly would have been suicide.

Still, her mind remained sharp, calculating even while forced into retreat. Fortunately, she thought, Void Seal should prove capable of withstanding this waterfall of red Lightning. She recalled the Technique’s description clearly: even those in a higher Major Realm could not break free of its bindings, unless the gap in Cultivation exceeded three Sub-Realms.

Her grip tightened faintly around her Ruler, eyes narrowing at the chaos before her. She was at the Peak-Perfection of the Qi-Gathering Realm, a step away from advancement, while Kirin had only just completed its evolution into becoming a Magic Beast. The scales were heavy, but not insurmountable. Her Technique was her anchor, and she clung to that certainty with the calm, unyielding confidence she always carried.

For now, though, she swallowed her irritation and waited. The storm of red Lightning would pass, and when it did, she would reclaim her moment—forcing Daemon to speak, no matter how many tricks he had left hidden.

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