A Waste of Time

Chapter 132: Nebulous Truce

Daemon sat alone near the vegetable garden, a simple clay cup of tea cradled in his hands. He drank slowly, then closed his eyes.

To the watching slaves, he looked every bit the image of a boy meditating. Still and serene.

But Daemon wasn’t meditating. His awareness stretched outward, scanning every movement, every breath, every shift in the world around him.

Even before he had allowed the Rhodolite Gem to reshape his physique, he could sense others with his eyes closed—through smell, through the faintest shifts in sound, through the animal-sharp instincts he had honed in countless battles within the Asura World. Those instincts had only grown keener, sharpened further by Ippo and Kai’s constant struggles within the System. Asura and Tharok roamed endlessly under Kai’s and Ippo's command, clashing with enemies, harvesting materials for Grunt and Runa, gathering experience and strength.

Kai often mocked Ippo for how proud he looked, basking in the Orcs’ zealous admiration for Tharok. The warriors begged to march at Tharok’s side, yet never dared make the same request of Asura. Toward the towering form of Daemon's Hero, they showed only awe and respectful fear.

Now, here in the garden, Daemon opened himself to the newest sense that had awakened after his physique ascended to Tier-1.

From the center of his glabella, a second vision unfolded. The world bloomed in a projection of life and vitality. Within fifty meters, he could feel every living thing with pinpoint clarity. Even the tiny beetles crawling beneath the soil, their movements etched into the edges of his perception. Beyond that range the image blurred, distortions rippling at the edges, and tracing deeper than a few meters into the earth caused the sense to slip away entirely.

I can finally tell the difference between Cultivators and mortals, Daemon thought as his eyes opened again.

He rose, brushed the dirt from his robe, and turned toward the path leading away from the garden. Dawnlight spread faintly across the Outer Circle, and he walked with steady steps toward the meeting place where Luo Han, Fa Mei, and Sun Kai said they'd be waiting for him at sunrise.

Daemon walked the dirt road slowly, each step carrying him up the hill. The damp air of dawn brushed his cheek with a cool touch, birdsong scattered through the trees. At the crest, he paused.

On the far side of the hill, fog pooled low across the training grounds Ah Niu had mentioned—a place where slaves could refine their techniques, harden their bodies, and pretend they had a fighting chance.

Through the mist, Daemon’s sharp eyes picked out three familiar figures. Luo Han. Fa Mei. Sun Kai. Each stood before a small assembly of followers—at least a few dozen slaves apiece. But beyond their clusters, two larger forces loomed like shadows, lined against them on either side.

“Two armies already…” Daemon muttered, scanning left, then right. “And neither seems eager to cooperate. Not a good sign, considering none of them are true contenders in this Sect-Competition.” He shook his head, then stepped downhill toward his self-proclaimed followers, who were puffed up with pride at their recruitment.

His approach drew instant attention.

“Who goes there?”

“Someone sneaking in the shadows?”

“A spy?”

“Hah—it’s just a brat!”

“Scram, kid. This isn’t a place for you.”

“Boy, who sent you?”

“I’ll eat you, little one!”

Daemon rolled his eyes at the last voice, belonging to a tall woman with long hair, a narrow waist, and breasts she seemed all too proud of flaunting. Her smirk dripped with mockery, but the words left a sour taste, striking his ear as filth. For an instant, he was tempted to deal with her himself—just as Ippo had once spanked little Mei raw—but lowering himself to that was beneath him.

Instead, he stopped, lifted his hand, and pointed lazily toward Fa Mei.

“Spank that woman,” Daemon said flatly. “Ten times on each cheek. Loud. Painful.”

Then he walked past as though nothing had happened.

The field froze.

“W-what… what did he just say?”

“Spank Big Sister Biyu?”

“Kekeke… do it, girl! Or should I step in for you?”

“Shut it, fool. This isn’t the time to provoke the Feeders’ Comb.”

“Hmph. We of the Mines’ Comb fear no one—we back down from no challenge!”

“I want to see if that little girl actually dares…”

“I’m more curious about the boy. To order one of the Kitchen Comb’s leaders like that—arrogant bastard.”

“I’d watch your tongue. You’re just Helpers’ trash.”

“What was that, Servants' scum? You want a fight?”

Insults flew like arrows, tempers fraying before the Sect-Competition even began.

Fa Mei, however, drew a slow breath. Her gaze hardened. She stepped forward toward Ai Biyu, the tall beauty who had provoked this mess.

Murmurs rippled. Some were amused, others wary, but most were frowning—puzzled at the boy who walked among them with no visible Cultivation to sense.

Ai Biyu herself scowled deepest. She knew Fa Mei’s strength. Both of them sat at the Peak of the Second-Stage Qi Gathering. A fight between them would end in a messy draw at best—or leave her with a hollow, ugly win. Worse, if she called her subordinates, they’d be forced into an all-out clash with Fa Mei’s group. Win or lose, her numbers would bleed. And before the Competition, that was a cost she could not afford.

“Do you really want to do this?” Ai Biyu asked, raising a hand to hold her restless followers back. “Why listen to the boy at all?”

Fa Mei’s answer was sharp and unhesitating. “Either bend in apology or break in pain. When my young master orders me to spank you, then spank you I will.” Her cropped hair swung as she turned, her glare sweeping across Biyu’s group. “Apologize to him now. Ask for his forgiveness. Or escalate, if you think bullying me alone will work.”

Her chin lifted slightly, voice carrying to every ear. “But know this—if you try, you’ll only give my young master the excuse to crush all of you. He wouldn’t lower himself for a petty insult… but he won’t ignore a group attack.”

The air thickened. The reminder wasn’t lost on anyone—Daemon’s expression had shifted earlier when Ai Biyu had taunted him. He hadn’t cared when others told him to leave, but that insult had darkened his face.

Now, Fa Mei had tied her warning to that moment, and all eyes returned to the boy walking calmly through the ranks, untouchable, unreadable.

“Luo Han. Sun Kai. Is this the attitude of your Kitchens’ Comb?”

Ai Biyu’s voice cut across the grounds, cold and sharp. Her frosty expression dared the two men to rein in Fa Mei, to salvage her pride before her entire group became the laughingstock of the Outer Circle.

But her demand struck stone. Luo Han and Sun Kai turned their heads, looked at her briefly, then shifted their gaze to the boy standing in front of them. Both men bowed deeply, fists cupped with solemn respect.

Daemon ignored them. He walked past in silence, eyes roaming instead across the faces of the recruits they had managed to gather.

Ai Biyu’s lips trembled in fury. She felt as though she had been gutted—ignored by those she acknowledged, dismissed by the one she had insulted. Not even deemed worthy of punishment by the boy’s own hand. Her pride screamed. Who the fuck is this kid?

Normally she would have fought without hesitation. Fought Fa Mei, fought the boy, fought anyone who dared humiliate her. But circumstances bound her wrists. Her participation in the Sect-Competition carried a hidden agenda, and losing herself to anger now would jeopardize everything.

And yet… who among the proud could restrain themselves when insulted in public? Certainly not Ai Biyu.

“Beat her up!” she barked, hair flaring as she drew a deep breath, her chest thrust forward in provocation.

“Heh.” Fa Mei smirked, settling into her stance with steady confidence. “You’re in for a world of trouble now.”

The jeers came fast.

“Yeah, it’s just one Sub-Realm between us.”

“Let’s see how you fight so many at once.”

“I bet even your followers abandon you—”

“Who the fuck are you calling traitors?” one of Fa Mei’s people roared, throwing the first punch.

Chaos ignited.

“You dare insult Sister Mei?!”

“Say that to my fist, Feeders’ vulture!”

“At least we feed humans, you beast fodder!”

“Better than your Kitchen slop, turtle!”

The clash thundered across the training ground. The Feeders’ Comb outnumbered the Kitchens’ by far, but Luo Han and Sun Kai stepped into the fray. Both stood at the Third-Stage of Qi Gathering—strength bought dearly with drops of Life-Blood from the Merit Hall, debts chaining their future but cultivation surging higher because of it. Against their combined force, Ai Biyu found herself faltering.

She had always relied on numbers, surrounding herself with followers like a queen bee guarded by her swarm. But here, quality was cutting down quantity with ruthless efficiency.

Other Combs quickly retreated to the edges, leaving the two factions to tear at each other. Their eyes, however, searched for the boy.

“Where did he go?”

“Is the brat hiding?”

“Afraid, maybe?”

“No! There—look!”

“I don’t see anyone, flower-eyes.”

“Fuck off, loggerhead. He was right there—saved that blonde girl before she got gutted!”

“He carried that fat fellow like a sack of grain—tossed him out of danger!”

“Blocked old Zhan’s gorilla fist with his bare hand!”

And indeed, Daemon was everywhere. His new sense bathed the battlefield in clarity. He could feel every strike before it landed, every heartbeat racing with panic. He moved like a shadow among them, plucking the vulnerable out of harm’s way—effortlessly, as though walking in his own garden.

By the time Ai Biyu realized her predicament, she was already in the grip of Luo Han, Fa Mei, and Sun Kai. Her followers lay scattered, groaning in the dirt, their pride wounded more than their flesh.

Pa… Pa… Pa…

The sound cracked like thunder.

Fa Mei, her face hard with resolve, spanked Ai Biyu again and again, her hand growing red as the punishment continued. By the tenth strike each cheek burned crimson. Ai Biyu, humiliated, groaned through gritted teeth, tears streaking her face as laughter and gasps rippled through the onlookers.

Daemon finally spoke. His voice was calm, steady, merciless.

“You’ll follow these three from now on. I like your reckless streak—it reminds me of a maid I once had. Innocent. Adorable. You… not so much.” His gaze swept the grounds, black eyes narrowing. “The rest of you—your leaders and your followers—you’re mine now. Anyone unwilling to join me can leave. But if you stay, you stay under my service.”

The silence cracked into uproar.

“Eh? Who does he think he is?”

“Snort. Arrogant brat—”

“Silence!” Luo Han thundered, stepping forward. His scars stretched as his muscles tensed. “Show respect. This is Young Master Daemon. Offend him, and you’ll regret it long before the Competition begins.”

Gasps tore through the ranks.

“What—he’s that boy?”

“The one who fought Elder Ping?”

“No wonder he danced through the battlefield like nothing!”

“Are we really… following him?”

Arguments sparked instantly between Comb leaders, insults flying—Helpers at Servants, Builders at Gardens, old rivalries flaring.

But Daemon said nothing. He simply stood at the center, hands laced behind his head, his presence heavy enough to still their breath.

Ai Biyu slunk back into her group, rubbing her raw skin, too humiliated to meet anyone’s eyes.

Behind Daemon, Luo Han, Fa Mei, and Sun Kai stood tall, pride swelling in their chests as they gazed at their recruits. This was the stuff of legends, the kind of tale that spread through generations of slaves—the day the Demon Boy stood at their head.

Excitement surged through their minds: With him leading, how could we lose? With him guarding our backs, how could we fall?

But Daemon’s eyes were on the horizon. Dawn was breaking, sunlight piercing the mist.

“My offer stands until sunrise,” he said softly, though the weight of his voice silenced the grounds. “After that, the only ones left here will be my followers. The rest—expect to be lying flat in defeat, or gone from the Competition entirely.”

Every gaze snapped east. The sun’s rim was cresting the horizon. Panic tightened in their throats. None dared waste this chance.

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