A Waste of Time

Chapter 57: Woven Silence

“Damn it. These bastards are refusing to engage! When did they get so smart?” Daemon snarled, his voice muffled under the relentless drumbeat of stones smashing against his raised Axe and the Shield braced on one of his forearms. The Gargoyles above cackled their shrill laughter as they circled overhead, flinging sharp rocks in merciless salvos. It was like standing under a waterfall of pebbles sharpened by malice.

He felt the dull ache in his wrists each time a stone rattled his block. The constant barrage made the mountain feel less like a peak to conquer and more like a siege tower designed to break his back. He spat on the rocky ledge beneath his foot, then forced a grin. “Why does it feel like their aim gets better every time I climb higher?”

He knew exactly why—these winged vermin had learned. During their first clash, his Chain Lightning had stunned a cluster, and only the one hit with the Stun+3 effect fell to its death before his Great-Axe cleaved it mid-air. The rest scattered fast, out of range, never giving him another easy mark.

His Battle Cry Skill? Useless. Anything beyond twenty meters and his roar just echoed back at him, a pitiful shout bouncing off the cliffs while the Gargoyles mocked him from the clouds. No intimidation. No debuff. Just more stones.

He could have used Chain Lightning’s Single-Target Strike to snipe the scaly cowards one by one—but there were Thousands, and dozens more joining each second. His Mana Pool wouldn’t last a drawn-out war of attrition.

I could stand here all night, drain myself dry, and they’d still have enough rocks to bury me alive.

He grit his teeth. And I’d rather eat dirt than hand them that satisfaction. With one hand bracing the cliff, he raised the other and checked his internal bars: Mana hovering at 700 Points, Stamina barely holding steady but bleeding away with each strained pull upward. He clenched his jaw, forced his legs to push him higher, all while his Lone Tower Skill rippled through his veins—boosting his Attack-Speed so each swat sent stones scattering like startled bats.

His ascent was a miserable crawl—like climbing through a hailstorm armed with a club and a prayer. The Gargoyles weren’t even trying to kill him outright anymore. They seemed content to chip away at him, mocking him with every shriek and ricochet.

Then came the avalanche. A deliberate rockslide loosed by flapping wings and well-placed kicks. A boulder the size of a hay cart bounced down the slope, smashing ledges, spraying shards like arrows. Daemon hugged the cliff, muscles locking as the mass thundered past him by inches.

If I was normal sized, half these ledges would be perfect cover,

he thought bitterly, hauling himself onto a narrow shelf barely wide enough for his giant frame. He glanced up—dawn’s first grey veins threading the sky. At least he could see now. No more guessing where the next rock will hit. Small mercies, huh?His eyes caught a dark slit in the mountainside—an entrance, maybe a burrow or a wind-carved pocket. He climbed sideways, ignoring the Gargoyles’ fresh squeals of annoyance when they realized he’d found shelter.

One careful push of his shoulder tested the hole’s width. Too tight. He raised his Great-Axe, wedged its edge against the stone, and carefully levered it aside, pebble by pebble.

Sound and vibration—my worst enemies now, he reminded himself, working slow to avoid starting another slide. Each loosened rock got hurled up with savage delight—an improvised catapult to slap a Gargoyle mid-taunt.

Tables turned, huh? Like that, don’t you, bastards?

Finally, he wedged himself inside, shoulders scraping. He squeezed through the short tunnel, ignoring the dull thud of stones pelting the rocks above. He half-crawled, half-shoved himself deeper until the tight squeeze opened into a pocket wide enough for him to crouch.

He didn’t care that the wind inside smelled stale and the walls wept cold moisture. He was in, shielded, for now.

Daemon braced his back against the stone, gulping in the thin air while listening for wingbeats at the entrance. None came close. The Gargoyles squawked in frustration but wouldn’t dare squeeze through this choke point. Not yet.

He reached into his Inventory, muttering, “I’m such a moron. A torch or two wouldn’t kill me, but nooo, I’ve got fourteen Spears, eight Swords, six Blades, two Halberds, Hammer, a Great-Axe and a Shield besides a useless, half-broken Bow instead. Genius.”

He pulled out a few battered Blades, wedged them into the rock floor like crude mirrors, angling them to catch the dim dawn trickling in through the tunnel. It worked well enough—shadows danced as steel reflected cold light deeper into the cave.

With the entrance secured behind him, Daemon sat down, legs splayed out to stretch his tired muscles. He checked his bars: Mana slowly refilling, but Stamina painfully crawling back. It made no sense—his Vitality and Endurance were supposed to outpace his Intelligence and Magic Attributes by a wide margin.

Is it the cold? Thin air? Damn it. I hate not knowing. He flexed his fingers, wincing at the cold bite and the bruises swelling under cracked knuckles.

Outside, the Gargoyles shrieked like offended geese, wings flapping as they circled but never crossed that invisible line to the cave mouth.

Daemon leaned back against the wall, exhaling frost. Without that Fountain back at camp, my recovery’s pathetic. That damn spring spoiled me. I’ve gotten soft.

He pictured Ru, probably standing guard by the campfire, Sword at his hip, pretending he wasn’t peeking at Qiu’s tea stall when visiting the village. Ippo probably practicing his aim by bouncing pebbles off the Soul-Snatcher Eagle’s beak just for fun. Little Mei would be fussing with his spare clothes. Jia probably scolding Xia for dropping stew on her boots.

They’d all laugh their asses off if they saw me now—holed up in a rat’s hole, sulking about my Mana bar. He smirked despite himself.

The cave floor vibrated with another rock crashing down outside, followed by the clatter of pebbles rolling past the entrance. He checked the mouth—still clear.

Two hours passed in that half-doze half-alert state. When his Mana hit near full, he forced himself up. His six eyes flickered open with a silent growl. “Enough pouting. I’m not climbing all this way just to crawl back empty-handed.”

He braced his Axe, scanned the cave’s deeper tunnel, and pushed ahead. Cold wind sighed through the cracks—proof there was more air circulation somewhere deeper inside.

The passage bent left, sloped downward. The walls glistened with frost. He sniffed the stale air and found no scent of beast—no fur, no dung, no stale rot. Just cold stone and the faint tang of minerals.

If this is just a frozen hole, I’m going to smash something. He moved ahead anyway, boots crunching on loose gravel. After twenty paces, the tunnel widened again—revealing a second chamber, round and dome-like, with a low ceiling covered in dangling icicles that shimmered in the reflected light of his improvised Blades.

Since I'm here. Tightening his grip around his Weapons. Might as well explore instead of going back empty-handed and feeling so butt-hurt!

Here's a link to my discord server if you want to talk - .gg/HwHHR6Hds