A Waste of Time

Chapter 154: Warring Domains

Daemon watched as Xue Lian’s body dissolved into a beam of light, whisked out of the Lake Domain and cast into the Assembly Arena with the rest of the disqualified Inner Disciples. From there, she would watch, powerless, as the remaining participants pressed into the fourth round of the Eight Trigram Tree Array.

The boy lowered himself onto his bamboo raft, unconcerned with which way it drifted as it circled the Instructor’s hovering Leaf. His Mind-Eye rifled through the contents of Xue Lian’s surrendered Space-Pouch, while his real eyes never left the raft where Su An fought tooth and nail against her opponent.

Xue Lian had been far richer than his first victim. The pouch brimmed with Spirit Stones, an assortment of Pill bottles, and even two Spiritual Treasures beyond her Weapon the Chain and Sickle. One was a Brooch shaped like a shooting star; the other, an Amulet like a full moon blooming from petals.

Yet Daemon barely spared them a thought.

His gaze lingered on Su An, the lines of her struggle plain to see. She was being pressed back, suppressed inch by inch. Her chances of winning thinned with every exchange. The only thing keeping her on her feet was her physique — stronger, hardier than her opponent’s. A gift Daemon himself had given her.

For a moment, Daemon was tempted. His eyes itched with the urge to intervene, to distract — or even strike — the opponent suppressing Su An. It would have been easy enough to tilt the balance in her favor, to help her pass into the fourth stage and keep her at his side.

Since he was able to poke Cuifen's butt with a simple gaze, then he most definitely can give that man trouble with another.

But he didn’t.

The Disciplinary Chief’s voice still echoed in his ears: Final warning. Daemon might not care for the old man’s opinion, but he wasn’t about to throw away this opportunity. Better to wander the labyrinth of schemes freely than sit rotting in a cell, waiting for the Elders to decide when to reveal their cards.

Su An is still in the Sixth. She only needs a chance to meditate, to settle her comprehensions and bind her accumulations before breaking through to the Seventh-Stage. His Mind-Eye tracked her movements as her duel reached its end. If she forces it too early, her foundations will be shaky, and that will delay or cripple her progress into the Eighth and Ninth stages.

She looked at him in that instant before her body dissolved into light. Her eyes carried apology, soft and regretful. Sorry, Daemon… you’ll have to continue without me. But I promise to watch your rise, and I’ll cheer for you with all my heart, like a true friend.

He exhaled slowly. Sigh.

Tying the second pouch to his belt, Daemon stood as the Lake shifted. One by one, the sixty-four rafts merged until only thirty-two remained, drifting wide across the waters.

“Big brother Daemon. Here’s my Space-Pouch and Spiritual Treasure.”

The boy blinked. His next opponent stood across from him, greasy smile plastered on his face. Before Daemon could say a word, the man placed his belongings on the raft before his feet and declared, “I surrender.”

A flash of light whisked him away.

Inside the Lake Domain and beyond the mirrors, disciples and Elders alike stared.

So shameless!

The thought rang in every mind. But none could truly blame him. After all… who would choose to fight when a little monster like Daemon blocked the path forward?

“This is quite boring.”

Daemon sat cross-legged on his bamboo raft, cheek propped lazily against his fist, watching the chaos unfold across the Lake. Sixty-two Inner Disciples clawed, battered, and tore at one another on thirty-one rafts. His own, however, remained utterly still, untouched by conflict.

Onlookers outside the Array could only shake their heads. Some smiled ruefully, others ground their teeth. While these Disciples endured the hellfire of this stage — battles as fierce as walking through hell itself or crawling across a sea of blades — this brat reclined on his raft as though the Sect-Competition were nothing more than a dull performance. He even looked disappointed that he wasn’t in the middle of it.

Yet among the crowd, thirteen figures stood apart. Su An, Wei Shun, Kang Lai, Luo Han, and Sun Kai, together with eight others, watched with quiet pride. For them, the boy had become more than a spectacle. He was their source of confidence, their banner of defiance, their entertainment, and their pride all in one.

And just like that, the fourth stage ended. The final disqualified Disciple vanished in a beam of light, leaving thirty-two survivors adrift on the Lake.

Among them, one boy snored softly on his raft, oblivious, as though nothing of consequence had happened at all.

Daemon stirred awake, rubbing at his eyes before dragging a hand across his mouth to wipe away the thin line of saliva at the corner of his lips. Blinking, he looked down and was met with an unexpected sight — two more Space-Pouches lying neatly on his bamboo raft.

His brows lifted. The raft itself had grown enormous compared to its size earlier, broad enough now to feel more like a sea-platform than floating stalks of bamboo tied together to provide a foothold on the surface of this Lake. Looking around, Daemon quickly realized why.

There were only seven other rafts left on the Lake.

All of them had grown in size as well, drifting quietly in the water like islands. The Disciples standing on them were staring at him from across the circle. Their gazes burned, a mixture of confusion, wariness, and something else entirely — as if he were some exotic creature caged in a zoo, a curiosity to observe rather than a peer to face.

“Disciples.”

The Instructor’s voice rang out, calm yet thunderous, shaking the air with its weight. “The sixth round begins now.”

The waters rippled as he lifted his hand. A pulse of power surged outward from the hovering Leaf he stood upon, and all eight rafts shuddered, creaking as though they were alive. Slowly, they drifted inward, closing the distance until they formed a wide circle around him.

The air thickened, heavy with pressure.

Then came the collapse.

The fifth round dissolved before their eyes. Peaks sank into the earth. Flames dimmed and flickered out. Bubbles burst into nothing. Clouds unraveled into mist. Storms fell silent. Tunnels caved in. Jade steps splintered and shattered into dust.

The Lake itself drained, leaving cracked mud where deep waters had once stretched endlessly.

The rafts sank with it, their bamboo groaning as they fused into the earth. From the mud, the platforms swelled, stretching wider, hardening underfoot. Etched into their surfaces, glowing lines of Spirit Light flared, weaving themselves into intricate symbols that pulsed with quiet power.

Outside the Array, the Elders and Instructors watched from their high platform. Above them, the eight water mirrors trembled, melted together, and reformed into a single vast surface. It reflected not eight Domains but one — one battlefield, vast, diverse, and barren, where all who remained would now stand.

Spectators held their breath. From the highest seats of the Chief and Grand Elder to the members of the Elder-Council to the lowest ranks present of Inner Disciples, every gaze turned toward the sixty-four survivors.

They were no longer scattered across bamboo rafts, volcanic platforms, mountain summits, coral beds, storm clouds, raging cyclones, dark tunnels, or jade steps. Those Domains had changed.

Now, only the stages carved into their positions remained.

The Instructor lowered his hand. The suffocating pressure lifted, replaced by silence so thick every heartbeat echoed like a drum.

The sixth round had begun.

“This round is a free-for-all,” the Instructor declared, his voice carrying easily across the vast, barren Lakebed. He hovered high above them on his floating leaf, forcing Daemon and the seven other survivors of the Lake Domain to crane their necks upward. “You gain one point for every platform you capture within your own Domain, and two points for every contestant you eliminate there.”

His lips curved into a cruel smile as he continued, “You gain four points for every platform you capture in other Domains, and eight points for every contestant you eliminate outside your own Domain. You will also receive ten points for every day you survive in this sixth round… and ten points for every wave you eliminate.”

He let the words hang like a blade over their heads before adding, almost mockingly, “Good luck to you all.”

With that, the grey-robed man drifted higher on his leaf, vanishing from sight.

Below, silence reigned. Daemon and the seven other Disciples stood on their expanded platforms, staring at one another. Suspicion coiled like smoke between them, each unwilling to make the first move.

All except the boy.

Daemon stretched, yawned, and looked far less concerned about survival than the rumbling in his stomach. He wasn’t nervous in the slightest. While the others braced for blood, his attention seemed fixed on something far more urgent — food.

Without a word, he hopped down from his platform and wandered across the cracked mud of the Lakebed.

The Disciples left behind stared at the empty spot he’d abandoned, their eyes gleaming with a mix of greed and wariness, as if his departure had opened a sudden, dangerous opportunity.

Meanwhile, Daemon crouched and ran a hand along the ground, frowning.

“How come this big-ass Lake doesn’t have a single fish?” he muttered to himself, searching through the dry earth and finding nothing but dust.

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