A Waste of Time

Chapter 155: Challenging Strain

Behind him, the clash of steel and shouts of fury echoed from the seven Inner Disciples tearing into one another. Daemon didn’t spare them a glance. To them, his absence was an opportunity — a chance to seize platforms, to claim points through eliminations, to claw their way closer to the Core Circle. But for him, their struggle was nothing but background noise.

His pace quickened. His eyes and Mind-Eye stretched wide, searching for signs of life, and finding none. That was enough to set his direction — random at first, but now fixed by his intent. He had a goal: climb out from the drained Lakebed, reach the other Domains, and explore whatever secrets they held. If fortune favored him, perhaps he’d find something edible along the way.

At first, he jogged lightly, conserving his Stamina. But when the far-off rim of the Lake refused to draw closer, frustration tightened his jaw. He leaned forward, legs pumping harder, and the pace grew into a sprint. Dust rose behind him in a billowing trail, his small figure darting across hills of cracked mud and through valleys carved deep into the Lakebed.

Even after an hour of running, the edge remained distant, a mirage that refused to close. The eight bamboo platforms were long out of sight, swallowed by the horizon.

Ippo and Kai better be out of the System soon, Daemon thought, his breath even but his body tired. This trek isn’t an easy one, and I’m already running on an empty tank here.

He slowed, letting his Mind-Eye sweep the terrain more carefully. The Lakebed was no flat plain — it was a wasteland of jagged hills and steep cliffs, gaping chasms and winding canyons. The earth dropped low, rose high, cracked open in places to reveal buried remnants.

Bones littered the mud, half-buried skeletons of beasts and humans alike. A skull as massive as a mountain’s boulder had turned out to be a hill he had scaled earlier — a beast’s head so large it would have dwarfed Kirin himself.

“What’s that?” His senses caught something faint. Below the surface. A flicker of movement, a sound muffled and strange — like a breath, or the faint thrum of an infant’s heartbeat.

He darted toward it, beelining for a canyon that dropped steep into shadow. With nimble jumps, he descended from stone to stone, landing in darkness at the bottom. The air here was cool and thick, carrying echoes that clung to the walls.

The environment would have unsettled others, but not him. I’ve walked worse paths as Asura, he reminded himself, a grin tugging his lips. I’ve fought the Yeti and his Golems in a terrain far worse than this.

At least here, his small frame could slip into cracks, and if pressed, he could always rely on the Skill of Mass Teleport to escape. “Invincible, baby,” he muttered, eyes bright, feet carrying him deeper.

The sound guided him. The faint heartbeat grew louder, like war drums muffled by earth. The canyon narrowed, twisting into an underground tunnel where the walls leaned close and the floor betrayed every step with groaning instability. His light weight pressed loose slabs of mud and stone that threatened to collapse underfoot.

Still, he pushed forward. His Mind-Eye sketched the shapes ahead — claw marks gouged into the walls, a trail carved by whatever creature lurked deeper.

The journey stretched on for another hour. The heartbeat grew heavier, reverberating in his chest until even his own Vitality faltered. Sometimes his energy stagnated in his meridians, sluggish and unwilling to flow. Other times, it rushed like galloping horses, wild and uncontrollable.

Moisture clung to his skin. The air grew damp, sweet on his tongue. Fog thickened, swirling around him in pale veils that blurred his vision. His Mind-Eye struggled, forced back until it could see no more than a dozen meters at a time.

“Tricky,” he muttered, pressing on with sharpened caution.

Then, a glimmer. A faint light bled through the fog — the corner of a stone, half-buried, glowing so faintly it would have been missed by any eyes less keen than his. He crouched, unearthed it, and held it aloft.

Green veins streaked across its surface, glowing with a muted brilliance that pushed back the fog. Its light clung to the walls, revealed the ceiling, painted the tunnel whole. For the first time in hours, he could see more than shadows.

The walls were scarred, clawed with one-line scratches, then two, then three, then four, each gouge deeper and harsher than the last.

Deeper still he went, sticking close to the wall to avoid being turned around in the fog. The sound — the heartbeat — pounded harder in his ears until even his body pulsed with it. His steps echoed like the march of a soldier toward the inevitable.

Finally, the path opened into an ending.

A vast metal gate loomed before him, tall and cold, its surface adorned with a mural. The green glow revealed the shapes etched upon it — a brown turtle confronting a swordswoman standing atop a lotus blooming within a bamboo grove. The lotus rose like a stage, its pod a golden platform at its heart. Invincibility radiated from her stance, eternal and unbroken.

“Interesting…” Daemon muttered, though his interest waned as quickly as it had sparked. He dismissed the images and focused on the gate itself.

He took a step forward.

“Whoa—”

The air crushed him flat. An invisible weight slammed down, a gravitational pressure that threatened to grind his small body into the earth. His knees bent, his chest tightened, every bone felt heavier than stone.

The gate had no lock, no handle — only the will to crush those who dared to stand before it.

“Damn it!”

The words tore from Daemon’s throat, low and ragged, as his teeth ground together. His small frame strained under the suffocating weight pressing down on him. Every muscle quivered as though a mountain had been dropped across his shoulders.

“This is going to exhaust all my reserves,” he hissed, each syllable forced out like a curse, “and I was already hungry before this journey began… Now this is going to leave me starved.”

Yet even as his body trembled, his gaze sharpened. Black eyes narrowed on the looming gate before him, gleaming with defiance. His resolve spoke louder than any words: challenge accepted.

He inhaled — a long, punishing breath that clawed at his lungs. The air felt compressed, each gulp like knives forcing themselves into his chest. His ribs ached as though they might crack beneath the pressure.

Step.

The floor groaned beneath his foot, and the invisible weight doubled. His knees threatened to buckle, his spine arched, and his skull buzzed with strain. Only sheer willpower kept him upright, trembling but unbroken. Another step and he knew he would collapse face-first into the dirt.

Still, he stood.

Inside, something stirred.

The Grey-Palace within his body swelled as though it, too, felt the weight and responded. The ten colorful layers of the Formation beneath it spun faster and faster, each revolution like grinding gears building momentum. His awareness touched its walls — once dull, now etched with detail. The grey stone had grown refined, almost elegant. Decorations bloomed across the surfaces: carved patterns sharp as sword-edges, reliefs of intricate beauty where before there had been none.

The palace gardens came alive. Herbs swayed as if touched by a gentle breeze, their fragrance so real he could almost taste it. Plants thrived, their leaves emerald and vibrant. Fish darted through clear ponds, shimmering scales catching phantom light. Birds wheeled overhead, wings flashing as they chased each other in playful arcs. Even the smallest creatures, once ghostly and faint, now moved with vigor — predators hunting, prey darting, life unfolding in full.

Every step that crushed his body fed life into his palace. Every breath that shredded his lungs painted brilliance across his inner world.

Daemon gritted his teeth, sweat sliding down his temple, and pushed forward again.

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