A Waste of Time

Chapter 161: Pickering Chicks

Moo!

The herd of water buffaloes thundered forward — fast, furious, and fearless. Their charge shook the ground, and as they roared in unison, a sheen of Water Qi rippled across their bodies. The aura converged, gathering into a surge that swelled and shaped itself into a colossal spectral buffalo, its form gleaming blue beneath the dim light.

It bellowed once — a deep, vibrating sound that rattled the very air — before slamming full-force into Daemon’s barricade of stone and steel.

Boom!

The collision was cataclysmic. The shockwave ripped through the forest, hurling fragments of shattered earth and twisted metal spikes like missiles in every direction. Trees splintered, leaves tore loose in a violent gust, and the air trembled with the echo of destruction.

Daemon reacted in an instant, blinking out of the blast zone in a flash of displaced air. He reappeared a short distance away, boots skidding across the soil as the lingering tremor rolled beneath his feet.

But even that didn’t grant him respite — the glowing lines of the Formation flared again, shifting fluidly through the landscape to follow him. Wherever he went, the circular pattern adjusted, dragging the entire battlefield along and anchoring him once more at its heart.

“Fuck me…” he hissed, running a hand through his hair as the ground pulsed beneath him. “Whoever designed this trial is really ruthless.”

With a grim exhale, Daemon’s eyes hardened. His mind reached inward, commanding the Hero Summon — but this time, not Asura.

“Tharok,” he muttered, lips curving into a determined grin. “Buff me.”

To balance the difference in Attribute Points between Asura and Tharok, Daemon began switching their trophies between Inventories, ensuring each Hero had what best suited their role.

On his right hand, a ring of crystal-clear glass gleamed faintly — the Spider Ring.

It caught the light with a deceptive delicacy, hiding the deadly precision it granted.His left wrist bore the Death Band — a black bracelet adorned with a tiny skull whose twin purple gems glowed faintly within the hollow sockets, pulsing like a heartbeat. The eerie gleam made it seem almost alive, whispering of curses that never slept.

Around his neck hung the Life Pendant, the thick chain supporting a large green gemstone that still shone through the fabric of his shirt. It was the prize he had taken from the Centaur Khan — a relic humming softly with vitality, like the breath of the wild itself.

Strapped across his left shoulder, the Winter Aegis rested firm — the metal shoulder guard locked in place by leather, positioned perfectly to shield his neck and collar from sudden strikes. Its faint chill clung to the air, leaving a trace of frost on the skin it brushed.

And upon his right forearm, he wore the Phantom Bracer, a dark vambrace once claimed by Ippo after vanquishing his first enemy.

That battle had been chaos incarnate — a chance encounter with a King Cobra dwelling deep in the forest southwest of the Orc Camp. The massive serpent’s scales shimmered like polished obsidian, its eyes burning with cold malice. Ippo had stumbled upon it entirely by accident.

Before he could even issue an order, his overeager Orc followers — reckless and loud — had already charged in as though bewitched, sprinting toward the beast as if it were the prettiest female Orc in existence.

The outcome was predictable. Three Orcs perished before the serpent’s fangs, their bodies crumpling beneath its venom-laced strikes. Only then did Ippo act, invoking Demon Descent. The fiery clone flared to life, drawing the serpent’s focus while his darker counterpart slipped through the chaos to rescue what remained of their foolish comrades.

But among all the new relics Daemon had summoned, the most striking wasn’t the assortment of trinkets adorning his body — it was the weapon in his grasp.

A long, curved Blade rested in his hand, its slender edge gleaming faintly beneath the diffuse light filtering through the canopy. The weapon seemed alive, the steel breathing with a soft, restrained hum that rippled through the air whenever he shifted his stance. Its arc was elegant, lethal, and purposeful — the embodiment of precision honed to a single edge.

Those who observed him from afar — the elders and disciples watching through the shimmering water mirrors outside the Eight-Trigram Tree Formation — found their concern unexpectedly fade.

A moment ago, the sight of the boy standing before the incoming storm of green wasps had drawn gasps of alarm. Now, as that curved Blade angled slightly, its cold light flashing once like a crescent moon, the unease in their chests melted away.

For reasons they couldn’t explain, the moment before the second clash began no longer felt dangerous. It felt inevitable.

“Hooh! I’ve been awfully curious for quite some time now… kept getting irritated since I couldn’t find the one emitting those faint bursts of such delicious Intent.”

The voice rolled through the observation platform like thunder wrapped in silk — amused, old, and far too alive. The group of Elders watching the final round were instantly snapped out of their focused reverie.

An old man stood above them, his sudden appearance so effortless it was as though he had stepped out from the air itself. The sight of him ignited an invisible fire beneath their feet — every Elder on the platform sprang up, robes rustling, spines straight.

“Greetings, Chief-Protector Xi!” they chorused, bowing low with genuine deference.

Mo Qiuya rose quickly, cupping her fists and lowering her head in deep respect. Beside her, Shen Duan offered only a curt nod — bold enough to stand apart, yet careful not to cross the line — before turning his attention back to the battle below, where the boy had drawn a weapon at last and begun to bare his fangs.

Xi Shenyan, the Chief-Protector himself, paid the display of respect little mind. His silver robes fluttered softly as he descended and took a seat, the motion smooth, unhurried. His eyes gleamed with the faint light of mischief and interest.

The Grand Elder beside him, maintaining her usual unreadable calm, merely shifted to another chair without comment as Xi Shenyan gathered his silky white hair into a loose knot at the back of his head. The act was casual — but every movement carried the poise of a predator now seated to watch a long-awaited hunt.

Daemon finally revealed the one advantage his Hero Tharok held over Asura — not versatility, but focus.

Bladesmanship.

Where Asura was the ace of all trades, Tharok was a master of one — the art of the Blade. And in Daemon’s hands, that mastery reached terrifying heights. Each motion, each slash, was refined to perfection, empowered further by his monstrous physical strength and speed as a Body-Refiner of the Eight-Palaces Realm.

With the addition of his Equipment — the Spider Ring, Death Band, Life Pendant, Winter Aegis, and Phantom Bracer — the outcome was all but inevitable.

The green wasps were fast and cunning, darting to hide behind the lumbering water buffaloes whenever danger struck. The buffaloes, in turn, were sturdy and relentless, their hides thick as ironwood. Yet wherever Daemon’s Blade fell, it fell true — fast, clean, precise. His strikes cut through beast and barrier alike with blinding accuracy, every swing a promise of death.

Still, the numbers were absurd. Every time he carved through one swarm, more replaced it. Venom from the wasps’ stingers corroded his colorful barrier, forcing him to shake them off repeatedly. Each pause, each reset, gave the buffaloes the precious seconds they needed to regroup and launch another terrifying, synchronized charge.

Should I adhere to patience here… or answer their challenge by bringing out the big guns? Daemon mused, even as his arms moved in a ceaseless rhythm, cleaving through air and flesh alike.

“Demonic Bloodline!”

His voice cut through the chaos, and his aura ignited. The skill burst to life, crimson threads of energy coursing through his veins, amplifying his speed and heightening his evasion. It wasn’t his full power — not yet. The situation didn’t warrant it, not when too many variables were still unknown.

If these buffaloes had another ability — one meant for defense rather than attack — gambling everything could turn against him. Daemon was no reckless gambler. He never wagered where the gains weren’t worth the risk.

“Hehehe… Found you!”

The shrill, teasing voice of Liu Yuying rang out long before she arrived. Her tone dripped with mockery and delight. “If you give this Big Sister a heartfelt apology, I might just get you out of this trouble!”

She hovered at the edge of the Formation, arms crossed, smiling smugly at the boy who battled wasps and buffaloes in equal chaos.

Han Ruyue appeared beside her in a flash of light, standing with calm poise, the air around her trembling faintly with spatial distortion. Her black eyes gleamed, reflecting both pride and challenge as she watched the boy’s movements below.

Her previous loss to Daemon hadn’t been a physical one — it had struck her confidence instead. Seeing him rise, witnessing his brilliance firsthand, she had expected him to grow powerful, yet this… this was beyond what she had imagined.

His Life Blood had helped her break through to the Foundation Establishment Realm, linking their Paths more deeply than she cared to admit. Since then, landing a place among the Top Three had become her personal goal — both to prove her worth and to honor the strange bond between them. The Core Circle awaited, but so did something more enticing: the chance to pick Daemon’s brain and use that insight to perfect her own attainments in the Space Element.

“Perfect timing!” Daemon’s eyes gleamed, his smile twisting into one of mischief and dangerous amusement. “I knew you’d accept my offer and be my maid. You certainly deserve a hug for recruiting another!”

He teleported a few meters ahead of them, arms wide open, grinning as if to welcome them into his embrace.

“Get lost!” Liu Yuying snapped.

“Nonsense!” Han Ruyue countered, her voice sharp but tinged with reluctant laughter.

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