A Waste of Time

Chapter 152: Belittled

Mo Qiuya’s heart burned with rage, yet her face remained calm. Not a twitch betrayed her fury. Shen Duan had expected more from her — a tantrum, a cutting remark, at least a flash of defiance. Ever since he had known her, back when he was an Instructor and she was merely a girl fresh into the Mountain's Inner Circle thanks to her rare affinity towards the Space Element, she had always pushed back. Always confronted him. But not today. Today the Grand Elder smothered the fire of her anger and stared blankly into the mirrors, her silence heavier than any words.

Inside the Lake Domain, Daemon’s opponent flailed under the torment of the Spirit-Thorn Scepter. Suffocation pressed against his chest, panic clouded his judgment. In desperation, he turned to the one hope he knew. He forced Ice Qi into the globe of water sealing his head, freezing it solid, hoping to shatter it next to allow air into this ridiculous prison.

But terror struck him deeper than any lack of breath when he realized what he had done. The water obeyed Daemon alone. His Ice wrapped his skull, his throat, even his mouth — sealing everything from the shoulders up in a coffin of frost that would not answer to his will.

Daemon smirked, lining up the Cane for another swing. “Heh... and here I thought you were a smart fella. But why are you quitting so soon? I only hit you five times so far.” The Cane whistled through the air. Wham. “My bad. Now it’s six.”

Through the clear ice, Daemon peered at the young man’s face — wide eyes, raw terror, honest pleas buried in frozen silence. The muffled groans rising from his diaphragm were guttural, begging for mercy he could not voice.

“Are you saying you’ve had enough?” Daemon tilted his head, swaying the Scepter lazily like a child with a toy.

“Mphhhggg... Enghhh...” The Inner Disciple thrashed, hands clawing, upper body jerking. He cast frantic glances toward the Instructor on the leaf, pleading for salvation. But the grey-robed man never moved, his gaze fixed elsewhere as though Daemon’s cruelty simply did not exist.

The boy only grinned wider. “Good... good, good, good.” He extended his hand, fingers curling. “Your Space-Pouch. Your Spiritual Treasure. Don’t give me that look — I’m letting you keep your clothes. Be grateful this is happening in the Mountain and not outside. Ask around for an Outer Disciple called Qi Ying if you don’t believe me.”

Daemon pressed his palms together in a mocking gesture of prayer. “Rest her poor soul... but when my servant stripped him bare before a crowd of mortals as well as his Clan, with his father and brothers watching, I left him with two arms nearly crippled. Consider yourself lucky.”

The boy’s smirk sharpened. “Of course, we could always keep playing. Seeing if this Cane is tougher than your backside isn’t a bad way to pass the time. Don’t misunderstand — no funny ideas. Though if you were a woman, I’d admit, this would be a lot more fun. Girls have that bounce. More cushion. More... excitement.”

His victim trembled, unable to show the fear that roared inside.

Daemon shrugged. “Well... enough from me.” In the blink of an eye, he was behind the young man again, the Scepter rising like judgment itself. “Unwilling to part with your pouch and treasure? Then unlucky for you... here comes strike number seven. Rainbow’s Flash!”

“Unghhh... Gnfhhh...” The desperate Disciple reacted at last, thrusting his arms behind him. In one hand, his Space-Pouch. In the other, his dagger.

Daemon plucked them free with a flourish, his smile dazzling. “Ah, young master, so generous. Next time you need my service, send a messenger and I’ll be there in no time.” He tapped the frozen man on the forehead. The ice shattered into shards, leaving his opponent coughing, choking, dizzy — a few jagged fragments swallowed into his system.

Outside the Array, Elders, Instructors, and Disciples alike stared at the water mirror above the first branch. Not a sound passed their lips, but the same thought carved itself into every heart:

This boy is a menace. And may the heavens pity whoever falls into his hands on the wrong day.

Daemon watched as his opponent’s body dissolved into a pillar of light and was yanked from the Array. His eyes, however, were already fixed on the prize clenched in his hand: the extorted Space-Pouch.

Unlike when he had inspected Yan Jia’s Storage Tool — nothing more than a scrap of fabric to him, yet a marvel to ordinary Cultivators — this time his Mind-Eye pierced beyond the surface. When he loosened the string and peered inward, he could actually see the pocket of Space on the other side, its contents scattered in neat chaos.

He wasn’t expecting much. The man he’d beaten was only a humble Inner Disciple, his Cultivation no higher than Shen Li’s had been. Daemon smirked. I guess my Life-Blood really is that awesome. Everyone’s advancing their Cultivation on this Mountain thanks to me... me collecting some interest shouldn’t be called bullying the weak.

With that thought, he slid the Dagger neatly into the pouch.

Glancing around, he recognized a few faces on the surrounding bamboo rafts. More than half the original two hundred fifty-six Disciples had already finished their matches and were sitting cross-legged in meditation, preparing for the third-round. The solitary victors’ rafts drifted inward in a slow orbit around the hovering Big Leaf where the Instructor still stood.

One raft caught his attention. Su An’s. She gave him a weary smile, then sat to recover after finally knocking her opponent out.

Daemon flipped through his newly claimed loot with casual disdain. Spirit Stones yet all of them were Ice or Water Stones, quite an amount of Gold bars... and, oddly, a wide variety of women’s clothes. He ignored them and checked the Pill bottles instead, hoping for something useful for Su An. Nothing of real worth. But then he spotted a small wooden box, its label written in simple cursive characters: Fire-Spirit Root.

Perfect.

“Here you go, Su An.” He plucked it out and tossed it across as their rafts drifted closer. “Eat this and get better. Fight hard and beat whoever stands in your way in next round.”

The girl caught it instinctively, trusting him without question. But the moment her eyes read the label, her entire face flushed crimson. She stuffed the box into her pouch in a blur, but not quickly enough.

Giggles rippled across the Lake Domain. A few disciples even snickered aloud, their voices carrying over the water. Su An’s glare darted toward Daemon, silently accusing him of her humiliation. He only tilted his head innocently, the shadow of a frown on his forehead.

She could do nothing. Rebuking him was impossible, and snapping at the others would only draw unwanted enmity. Most of the Inner Disciples belonged to powerful factions; she could not afford to earn their hostility here.

So she endured, cheeks burning, while Daemon sat and looked around, confused yet unconcerned — as though the storm of laughter was nothing more than a breeze skimming across the Lake.

What is going on here?

Daemon frowned, scanning the faces around him. The Inner Disciples’ reactions made no sense. The men were giving him those knowing smiles — the kind reserved for a “fellow man of culture.” Meanwhile, the girls shook their heads, their expressions caught somewhere between disappointment and helplessness.

All he had done was try to help Su An when she looked like she needed it. Why were they looking at him as if he had just committed some scandalous act?

She’s a Fire Cultivator, Just like Yan Jia. he reasoned. That box had the word “Fire” written right on the label. So what’s the problem? Why does everyone act like I had some secret scheme tucked behind my generosity?

The kid’s brows knitted tighter. For the first time, he felt a flicker of regret for not prying deeper into his defeated opponent’s pouch. If he had forced the man to explain every item one by one, maybe he wouldn’t be left in the dark like this.

Would’ve cost him coughing a few liters of blood, but so what? Not like I would’ve cared.

Daemon shook his head, still utterly confused, while the laughter and whispers carried across the Lake.

The bamboo rafts shifted once more, their numbers shrinking as the Array advanced. From one hundred twenty-eight, they halved to sixty-four. Contestants dwindled from two hundred fifty-six to one hundred twenty-eight. The surviving rafts grew larger, forcing victors to share their platforms.

Daemon glanced at the girl now standing opposite him. A familiar face.

Xue Lian.

The sight tugged a memory — the battle where his servant Yan Jia had sacrificed her Martial Spirit. That sacrifice had scarred her deeply, leaving her unbalanced, unfocused, and hollow, as though the very drive to keep moving forward had been torn away.

For Xue Lian, that fight had been a brutal awakening. She had always thought herself untouchable, a genius towering above her peers. But Yan Jia, with fewer resources, weaker accumulation, and even Cultivation a Sub-Realm beneath her own, had forced her into humility. With decisive resolve, Yan Jia had chosen to wound Xue Lian’s Martial Spirit at the cost of her own. It was a choice Xue Lian often doubted she would have been capable of making herself.

That moment had planted a seed inside her. A lesson: she was not the only genius in this world.

Now, standing face-to-face with Daemon upon the raft, that seed sprouted into a fire. The boy’s presence lit her fighting spirit like oil on flame.

Thanks to his Life-Blood, her cultivation had surged. She now stood firmly in the Ninth-Stage of the Qi Gathering Realm, brushing close to Peak-Perfection. This battle — this raft — was her chance. To measure herself against the boy who had once faced Elder Ping, exhausted from six straight battles, and still struck her swarm of Bats so hard it would take a year to recover.

It was an opportunity she could not ignore.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” Daemon murmured, twirling the Spirit-Thorn Scepter in his hand.

At that moment, Xue Lian’s resolve wavered. Her fighting spirit surged, but along with it came something colder, darker — fear. Pure and instinctive. It spread from her chest, an unshakable whisper from her intuition.

This boy was no longer the same child she had once dismissed before learning that thinking their group could contain him alone without the help from an Outer Elder was her biggest mistake.

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