A Waste of Time

Chapter 36: Vanished Embers

Qiu let out a long sigh when the boy and his shadow-like maid disappeared into the crowded street. Her fingers tightened around the four silver pieces he’d forced on her—payment for tea and shoes she would have given freely. But Daemon never took anything without giving something back.

"I won’t waste your advice," she whispered to the empty stall. Her eyes roamed the shelves stacked with stale cloth, trinkets, and old stock. "Time to clean house."

By dusk, the glow of oil lamps spilled onto the street as Qiu tore down half her old displays, sleeves rolled to her elbows, humming under her breath like a woman possessed.

At the far end of the market, Daemon wiped sticky syrup from his mouth and tossed the skewer of candied fruit to Jia, who devoured the last two pieces without blinking. They walked side by side, two shadows trailing them in the lantern light—one that flickered innocently, the other coiled like a blade in the dark.

He licked sugar from his thumb. "That Tanghulu was worth every coin. And the Dango? Perfect. Good pick."

Jia gave him a small nod, a smirk dancing on her lips when he stole the next skewer from her hand. She let him. His appetite for sweets was the least of the world’s concerns.

Weak, Daemon thought, crunching down on the syrup shell. That fool was weak. Barely worth a flick of my finger. Next time—

His eyes narrowed as they turned a corner. Iron rang ahead. Sparks danced on the night wind.

Inside the smithy, the heat was suffocating. Nie Leixu roared over the clang of Hammer on Steel.

"You call that a Javelin? That’s a twig! Twist your hips—pivot! If you thrust like that in bed, you’ll lose with a whimper!"

Six sons—big-shouldered, sweat-slick—gritted their teeth as they labored over anvils and forges. Sparks flew, iron glowed, and curses filled the night air.

Jia raised an eyebrow at Daemon. He winked at her, pushed open the door, and the roar inside swallowed him whole.

"Hey old man!" Daemon called above the din. "Why’s it sound like I’m the villain here?"

Nie Leixu looked up, beard bristling with sweat. "Because you are! If one of these lumps had half your guts, I’d be proud to call him a son. If one of them had your guts, I'd proudly call him father!"

He barked at his boys, "Refine that Steel! Hundred times if you must—our name outlives our bones! I’ll be dead before a Nie-marked Blade breaks in its master’s hand, and I'll be damned if I'm alive!"

The sons grunted in unison—"Yes old man!"—then risked quick glances at Jia. Lust and fear tangled in their eyes, but none dared voice a word.

Jia ignored them. She’d faced worse stares in red districts crawling with Blades and silk. She poured her young master a cup of water from a battered clay jug and held it to his lips.

Nie Leixu came over, boots heavy on the packed earth floor. "So," he rumbled, "another pet Cultivator?"

Daemon drank deep, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirked. "Enough to make me comfortable. Enough to make me king, if I feel like it."

The blacksmith’s belly shook with a low laugh. "Carefree as clouds, eh?"

Daemon only shrugged. Nie Leixu disappeared into the forge, barking orders so loud the windows rattled. When he returned to the backyard, his arms were full: a wrapped bundle of Steel, two Bows—one large, one small—and four quivers bristling with sharp Arrows.

"Your order’s halfway done," he grunted, unwrapping Blades that caught the firelight like hungry teeth. "Scabbards are being stitched. Test these—break them if you can. I’ll make them again. It’s your coin, not mine."

Daemon’s grin widened. He stripped off his shirt, bones thin but his chest shadowed with coiling muscle no nine-year-old should have. The six brothers froze mid-strike when the boy’s skin shimmered—and two extra heads, four extra arms unfolded from him like a nightmare blossoming.

Steel fell from trembling hands. Sparks hissed into cold silence.

Daemon stepped into the empty spot in the courtyard behind the Smithy. Weapons in six hands—Sword, Axe, Blade, Hammer, Spear, Shield. His feet traced circles on the dusty ground.

Then he moved.

Metal howled through the air, too fast for mortal eyes to track. Nie Leixu’s sons saw only slashes of moonlight and shadows—death in motion. Jia saw more—trails of force, arcs of power. The Hammer struck the air as if smashing bone. The Sword blurred, the Axe cleaved invisible necks.

And all the while, the boy’s three faces were blank—eyes fixed on some phantom enemy only he could see.

Inside her chest, Jia’s heart fluttered. Not with fear—but something sharper. Hunger. Determination. She could not fall behind. She would not.

Somewhere in her mind, a single thought sparked bright as Steel on an anvil: A Lightning Spirit Stone. I need one. He needs me stronger.

And so the Hammer rang, and the Blades danced, and the village held its breath—unaware that a storm, barely nine years old, had begun to sharpen its fangs under their noses.

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