A Waste of Time

Chapter 139: Echoes Beyond

Su An gave Daemon a sidelong glance, sighed helplessly, then lifted her chin and fixed her focus on the mountain path above. She pressed forward step by step, while he simply tagged along beside her — calm as ever, unbothered by the crushing pressure and the barrage of Elemental assaults.

The illusions and devilish whispers that plagued every contestant, sowing doubts and whispering defeat into weary minds, slid past him as if they were nothing. The white glow of the Star at his glabella shielded him completely, rendering him immune.

When a blaze of Fire flared across the steps, Daemon conjured Water with a flick of his left hand, quenching the flames without breaking stride. When Ice blocked his path, Fire burst from his right palm, melting an opening wide enough to pass.

Against Wind blades, he stamped his left leg and raised walls of Earth — mimicking the technique Chu Ren had once used against him. And when serpents of Lightning lashed out, he spun a cyclone of Wind around his body, dispersing the crackling arcs until they fizzled to nothing.

Su An had no such luxury. Each step demanded everything she had, but she endured. Her pace, steady and determined, was still faster than ninety-five percent of the Outer Disciples on this latter half of the trial. Together, the pair overtook most of the stragglers as they climbed toward the summit.

Within twenty minutes they were already at the forefront of the race. A hundred Outer Disciples clung to Su An’s pace, shoulder to shoulder, while ten steps above them marched the true elites — less than twenty young men and women whose Cultivation Bases outstripped hers. That slim distance remained stubborn, a gap she could not close.

Daemon, however, noticed the elites’ eyes on him. Some smirked, taking comfort in seeing him mired with the others. Some sighed with relief. Some sneered openly, their contempt plain as they glanced back.

He ignored them all. He had no interest in their childish provocations. Of course he could surge ahead, surpass them, and reach the summit before anyone else. But why should he?

Ever since he had studied the Iron Root Foundation Method, his focus had turned inward. The leather-bound manual guided him in unlocking the Nine Stars within his body — teaching him to activate pathways, awaken acupoints, and channel power through his physique.

Experimenting with the diagrams was exhilarating. His body felt like an old chest of treasures, long neglected, now finally being opened. Each discovery was a new gem, a new key to his own potential.

The only disappointment lay in the silence regarding the Grey Palace. The manual’s teachings stopped after the White Star at the glabella — the so-called Third Eye — which governed the Soul and mental fortitude.

No wonder Elder Cuifen was so provoked when I stared at her butt,

Daemon thought with a crooked grin. Turns out I can wound bodies or even rattle Souls with just a look.His gaze dropped to the two Stars that remained dormant: one at his right foot, linked to the Element of Light; the other at his Dantian, bound to the Element of Darkness. So far, he had only witnessed Xue Lian and Ping Xueling wield those Elements.

Still, the Iron Root Foundation Method had shown him how to deepen his affinity with each Element aligned to his Stars. It was a shocking truth — that the boy once mocked as a useless husk, a specimen with no Spirit Roots at all, was in fact blessed with a vast array of Elemental compatibilities. Not as a Spirit-Cultivator… but as a Body-Refiner.

Daemon glanced back at his group of followers.

They looked to be at the end of their rope — shoulders hunched, steps heavy, faces drained of color. Yet their progress since crossing the halfway point was nothing to scoff at. For all those with Cultivation Bases at the Third-Stage, this much was already enough to secure their Promotion to the rank of Outer Disciple. Dozens of Applicants and even Outer Disciples had already quit, or were visibly on the verge of collapsing.

Still, not all of his group could hold together. Ten of them were forced by the trial’s harsh momentum to break away, pressing onward instead of sticking with the main cluster. Wei Shun and Kang Lai led that vanguard, only a few dozen steps behind Su An, Daemon, and the hundred or so disciples straining at the forefront. Wei Shun and Kang Lai never stopped bickering, their quarrel dragging on step after step as though it would never end.

Further back trailed Luo Han, Sun Kai, and seven others — among them the only girl in the group, clad in the stark black and white Slave Attire. Even so, the three of them were visibly struggling, unable to keep pace with the six men and women of their small band. Yet their jaws remained clenched, their determination raw, and still they persevered.

Behind them staggered the remainder of Daemon’s followers, led by Fa Mei and Ai Biyu. Their faces told the story clearly: they looked ready to break at any moment. It wasn’t their bodies giving out under the mounting pressure of the path — it was their Cultivation. Their Third-Stage Dantians were nearly drained dry, leaving them running on fumes. What carried them now was nothing but sheer willpower.

From afar, Chief Shen’s eyes gleamed with sharp light.

His Spirit Sense stretched across the entire mountain, sweeping over every contestant braving the trial. Each movement, each stumble, each surge of willpower played out before his mind’s eye. He sipped his tea in measured swallows, nodding repeatedly to himself, taking clear pleasure in the resilience and growth of these Juniors.

By contrast, Grand Elder Mo’s focus never wavered. The vast mountain, the countless disciples, even the fierce competition unfolding on every step — none of it mattered to her. Her gaze was locked on one figure alone.

Daemon.

To the old woman, nothing else was worth even a glance.

Elder Cuifen observed the trial in silence, her hands folded neatly behind her back.

She did not interfere — not unless a contestant’s life truly hung in the balance. Only then would she act, drawing them out of danger with a wave of her sleeve. But such salvation came at a price.

Those rescued were not disqualified outright. Their progress up to that moment was carefully recorded. Whether they earned Promotion or managed to keep their rank would now depend entirely on the performance of others.

If enough contestants surpassed them, their rank would be stripped away or their chance at advancement stolen. But if their recorded progress remained among the stronger results, they would at least endure until the next Sect-Competition.

The Elite Outer Disciples were the first to reach the summit, just as expected. They had seized the lead from the very beginning of the trial and never relinquished it.

Not far behind them came Su An and Daemon — the first among the ordinary Outer Disciples to set foot on the peak. Their achievement stood out, a testament to their endurance and willpower.

Wei Shun and Kang Lai soon followed, part of the large wave of over a hundred Outer Disciples who trailed behind the pair in finally reaching the summit.

Farther down, Luo Han, Sun Kai, and the seven men and women who formed the elite core of Daemon’s Life-Blood followers had stalled. A couple hundred steps still separated them from the summit, yet their Promotion was already all but certain. Their Cultivation Bases at the Fourth-Stage placed them far ahead of the bulk of the Outer Disciples, who struggled to even breach the upper slopes.

As for Fa Mei, Ai Biyu, and the rest of Daemon’s followers — Elder Cuifen had removed them from the trial minutes earlier, plucking them from danger at the limits of their strength. Even so, their Promotions were secured; every one of them had placed within the top two-thousand, a rank high enough to guarantee survival until the next Sect-Competition.

At the summit, Su An sat cross-legged and entered meditation, steadying her breath as her battered body yearned for recovery. Daemon remained standing at her side. His gaze wandered, sweeping across the landscape of Ten-Thousand Beast Mountain bathed in the gentle autumn sun at noon.

The Elites watched him, disbelief flickering in their eyes. Unlike them, his condition was pristine. He was not drenched in sweat, not trembling with fatigue, not in desperate need of rest. He stood unbowed and unshaken, while they caught their breath with pale faces and quivering limbs.

Daemon ignored their stares. To him, it was as though the arduous climb had been nothing more than a leisurely walk. His eyes gleamed with quiet amusement, as if today had been a simple day for sightseeing rather than a brutal trial that had broken countless others.

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