A Waste of Time

Chapter 17: Looming Silence

“That’s the thing about bullies—” Daemon’s voice cut through the stunned hush that lingered in the marketplace, his hands tucked casually behind his head, his grin sharp as a knife. “You lot only know how to prey on the weak. The moment you meet someone stronger, your courage scurries off faster than a rat at sunrise.”

He dropped his hands, leaned forward, eyes locked on the bruised boy still gasping in the dirt. “True strength isn’t throwing your weight around. True strength is standing up for the ones who can’t swing back.”

The bully’s face twisted—anger, shame, and something like fear all warring behind his eyes. But Daemon’s smile only widened, wicked and bright.

“But you won’t get it. Nah. In your head, this little beating—” he flicked his fingers at the four groaning shapes on the ground, “—is the worst thing in the world. Worse than death. Worse than dragging your whole family down with you when you come crawling for payback.”

He straightened up, spread his arms wide like a performer on stage. “So let me save you the mental effort—bring an army next time!” His voice boomed through the square, a general bellowing orders on an invisible battlefield. “Recruit some Cultivators while you’re at it. Because unlike you—”

He leaned close, voice soft as a whisper that still made the boy flinch—

“I’m not a bully.”

He stepped back just as Ru conjured four orbs of shimmering water. The crowd tensed—some flinched, half-expecting an execution.

Snap.

Splash.

“Aaah—!”

“Eh—?!”

“I’m alive—!”

“I took a Cultivator’s attack and survived—I’m awesome!”

The four boys staggered upright, drenched and gasping, their wide eyes blinking away the sting. Around them, the villagers watched in uneasy silence—some amused, others unsettled by the swordsman’s casual display of power.

Daemon just folded his arms, soaking in the spectacle like an emperor surveying loyal subjects. So this is what it feels like to stand in the spotlight and know you earned it. His grin widened, devilish and boyish all at once.

“You four misunderstood him,” Daemon called out, his voice echoing over the murmurs. “That was my follower’s way of cooling your heads before your stupidity dragged your ancestors’ ghosts down here to weep at the ruin of your bloodline.”

He turned away, tossing the final words over his shoulder like an afterthought—yet they carried the weight of an iron decree. “You want to find us? Follow the northern trail into the woods. Five minutes, no more. Watch all you like—just don’t interrupt unless you’re ready to beg forgiveness on your knees… or ready to fight.”

A ripple of heat passed through the gathered crowd—some women hid shy smiles behind calloused hands, hearts already tangled in daydreams of reckless heroes and secret debts repaid under moonlit pines.

Ru shot the bully one last look—a silent shake of the head that said Don’t. Then he turned, falling in step behind Daemon as the boy strolled away, practically glowing under the weight of a dozen wide eyes.

Later that dusk

They trudged along the narrow woodland path back toward their makeshift camp, bags and bundles piled high. Even Daemon had an armful, which made Ru’s smirk all the more annoying.

“Do you really think they’ll come crawling?” Ru asked, side-eyeing him as he shifted a heavy sack.

Daemon’s face scrunched into an exaggerated pout. “They should. But I really hope they’re dumb enough to pick a fight.”

Ru rolled his eyes so hard he nearly tripped. “Only an idiot would do that. Unless his family really does have Cultivators hidden away somewhere. Which, around these parts? Unlikely.”

Daemon kicked at a root, sending a pebble skittering ahead of them. “I’m a jinx. Mark my words—they’ll come. I want them to come.”

“For fuck’s sake…” Ru muttered, picking up his pace as if putting distance between himself and his reckless young master might spare him the next headache. Daemon just laughed, skipping sideways down the trail like an overgrown, trouble-hungry kid.

By the time they returned, dusk had painted the clearing in soft golds and shadowed greens. Jia looked up from her meditation, eyes bright as she rose to greet them. She took one look at the load piled in Daemon’s arms and shot a pointed glare at her brother.

“Big brother—how could you let the young master carry so much?”

“He insisted,” Ru deadpanned, dumping his bundle to the ground. “Besides, it’s about time we get our hands on some space pouches. I’m not hauling half a village next time.”

Daemon ignored their bickering. He dumped his load, plopped down cross-legged beside the crackling fire, and tore into a bowl of steaming rice like a wolf on borrowed manners. Ippo abandoned his exercises to help Jia sort through the new supplies—fabrics, belts, sturdy boots, and the promise of dozens more ideas sprouting in Little Qiu’s merchant brain.

Belly full and throat soothed by a long gulp of water, Daemon wiped his mouth on his sleeve and sauntered over to the spot Jia had used for her breakthrough. It was quiet there—enough distance from the campfire’s chatter to let his mind slip back to where his real power waited.

Inside the Hero’s Domain

Thump.

Thwack.

Thud.

Clatter.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Grunt’s massive green arms swung a makeshift stone axe, each impact echoing through the primal expanse of Daemon’s inner world. The crude blade was lashed to a thick branch with twisted strips of bark—primitive, but sturdy enough to bite deep into the trunks he felled.

A neat row of trees already lay where they fell, their trunks wide enough that even Asura’s enormous frame would struggle to hug them fully.

Daemon rose from his iron throne, his heavy footfalls stirring the dust. He crossed his massive arms over his chest, shadows dancing off the muscle cords packed like coiled cables under his fiend-skin.

“Is it me that’s too big—or is he just that small?” he mused aloud, three of his heads tilting in unison. Grunt kept chopping, oblivious to the thunder of his master’s muttering.

Honestly, Daemon’s new physique was monstrous—towering, bulging with raw power and extra limbs that flexed without conscious thought. If Earth’s old muscle contests could see him now, they’d throw him trophies just to keep him off the stage.

But there was no time to preen. Not here. Here, the Hero’s Domain was his forge—where the weapons for tomorrow’s war took shape, swing by swing.

He left Grunt to his labor, confident nothing here could threaten the Altar or Summoning Circle. Let fools come—if they fancied wasting time on the indestructible, so be it.

Turning west, Daemon stalked off through the twilight woods. The sun’s first rays hadn’t yet split the canopy—he preferred it that way. No glare in his eyes. Only shadows and the living world waking to his tread.

A startled squeak snapped him from his thoughts. He ducked beneath a branch—right into a squirrel frozen mid-chatter. The tiny creature stared, tail flicking in terror at the titan before it.

“Geez. You’ll wake the whole neighborhood screeching like that,” Daemon grumbled, stepping aside as the squirrel scrambled skyward, vanishing into the crown of its tree.

Further on, a deer bounded into view, then froze when it realized the looming shape ahead wasn’t a tree but something far more troubling. Daemon squinted at it, calculating.

If that deer’s shoulder barely reaches Grunt’s elbow, and Grunt barely comes to my knee… Hah. This world’s scale is laughable.

No wonder the canopy barely brushed his horns when he jumped.

He flexed three arms at once, scratching an itch under his second jaw. The fourth arm snapped open his status with a flick of thought.

[Asura: Tier-0]

Race: Fiend

Faction: Horde

Role: Hero / Leader / Warrior / Spellcaster

Strength: 9

Agility: 8.5

Vitality: 10.2

Endurance: 12

Intelligence: 16

Magic: 13.8

Daemon’s grin stretched wide enough to split his second jaw. Even stacking Grunt’s stats on top of his own—plus the boost from Battle Frenzy—he still lagged behind this monstrous template.

And the skills… oh, the skills.

[Rush] — Barrel through your enemies head-first. Movement Speed +5% for 45 seconds.

[Lone Tower] — The more that swarm you, the faster you swing. Attack Speed +1% per attacker for 30 seconds.

[Basic Instincts] — More eyes, more truth. Perfectly estimate any foe’s physical condition within seven meters.

[Critical Blow] — No mercy. No hesitation. +15% Damage. +30% if the target’s below 20% health.

[Battle Cry] — Call them close. Send them screaming. Forces all enemies within 30 meters to attack Asura. Those who resist suffer [Fear]:

Attack Speed -10% | Movement Speed -15% | All Damage -20% | Damage Taken +20%

Daemon threw his massive arms wide, his laughter echoing through the vast woods of his mind.

“Ha! Not bad, Asura. Not bad at all.”

And somewhere, in the hush before dawn’s first full light, the forest seemed to listen—wondering what he might unleash next.

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