A Waste of Time

Chapter 62: Eclipse of Echoes

“I’ll be damned… This boy wasn’t giving it his all yesterday, huh!” Nie Xiaoli muttered under his breath. He tried to keep it low, but his voice carried anyway in the heat of the Smithy, mixing with the Hammer-strikes and the hiss of cooling Iron.

Standing beside him, Nie Leixu, the broad-shouldered Master Blacksmith, only gave the faintest nod — then shot his six sons a look sharp enough to nick Steel. The message in his eyes was simple: Stay quiet. Watch. Do not interrupt him.

Nie Xiaodan, Nie Xiaosheng, Nie Xiaoli, Nie Xiaotong, Nie Xiaosi, and Nie Xiaowen all ducked their heads like chicks caught pecking rice from the neighbor’s yard. They shuffled back to their tasks, each sneaking glances at the boy in the forge’s heart.

There, Daemon stood in the orange glow of the Hearth, sleeves rolled high. Sparks flew as he struck the piece of red-hot Iron again and again, his Hammer rising and falling with a rhythm that felt like an ancient chant for Iron to sing — the song of Hundred-Refinement Steel.

Focus, he told himself, letting the roar of the flames and the hiss of the coals drown out every thought except the next strike, the next breath.

But the Smithy did not stay ordinary for long.

Crackle… Vzzt…

A thin arc of blue-silver light slithered over his shoulder, coiling down his arm like a living vine. Then another. In seconds, a shimmering cocoon of Lightning danced over his skin, casting reflections across every face in the Smithy.

Nie Xiaowen’s jaw fell open. “Did he just—” He bit his tongue when Nie Xiaosheng elbowed him silent.

Even Daemon felt a flicker of confusion. Why did my Lightning Cocoon activate on its own? I didn’t call it… But the thought faded under the weight of another strike. And another.

Each blow rang out — clang, clang, clang — punctuated by a crackle of Electricity that surged down the Hammer, into the Iron, and through the Anvil. Sparks mixed with tiny arcs of Lightning that danced between his knuckles and the glowing Steel.

Nie Leixu’s brow furrowed as he watched the unnatural sight. So the brat’s forging with a live current running through the metal itself. How in the name of the Ancestors is he not frying his bones?

Phew.

Daemon exhaled, lowering the Hammer one last time. The cocoon of Lightning flickered, then faded into a faint spark that crawled up his neck before vanishing into his hair. He stepped back, rolling his wrist.

Nie Leixu didn’t waste a second. He lunged forward, grabbing a pair of Steel Tongs. He gripped the piece of Armor — the segment of shin-guard for Daemon’s Giant-Form — and held it under the Hearth’s light, turning it this way and that to catch every detail.

Behind him, Nie Xiaodan craned his neck, trying to peer around his father’s massive shoulders. “Well, Pops? How is it?”

Nie Leixu didn’t answer. His rough, and thick thumb carefully neared the edge  — then snatched it back with a hiss when a faint tingle of Electricity jumped through the Tongs. He scowled and kept inspecting.

The piece was flawless — or near enough that flaws meant nothing. The curves matched the Anvil’s shape exactly. The tiny imperfections were not mistakes — but places left open, ready to be adjusted or joined to other plates. Most shocking of all was the heat still radiating from the Steel — far hotter than it should have been after so long away from the Hearth.

Nie Leixu’s voice rumbled like distant thunder. “I haven’t seen Armor breathe like this since Xiaodan was ten.” He set the piece on the workbench and tapped it with the Hammer. A sharp ring echoed — and with each strike, a pulse of static crawled up the Hammer’s haft into his palms.

The big man winced. His arms went numb. But he forced himself to finish, resting the Hammer on the bench with deliberate care. By the Forge, that stings.

Without a word, Nie Leixu pushed open the back door and stepped into the yard, cradling his tingling hands.

Daemon caught the faint scent of scorched leather from the Master’s gloves. He smothered a grin behind his sleeve. So I juiced the Armor with Lightning and turned it into a Battery. The big fellow over there got zapped recharging his soul! Wonder what would happen if I did this to every piece of the whole Armor? A walking thunderstorm…

Behind him came a yelp. Arrgghh! Nie Xiaowen’s voice cracked like a dry branch when he grabbed the Armor with bare hands, ignoring the Tongs. He dropped it instantly, dancing back with hair puffed straight up, and smoke wafting off his head.

Daemon didn’t even turn — he just shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. One day they’ll learn… maybe.

Outside, Nie Leixu sat heavily on a rough bench beside the Stone Fence. Kirin — perched nearby — turned a golden eye on him and tilted its massive head. The Eagle’s feathers bristled as if it tasted the leftover static clinging to the big man’s skin.

Daemon sauntered out and dropped beside him. He leaned back against Kirin’s warm flank and let the huge bird wrap a wing lazily around his shoulders. The feathers tingled where they brushed his arm — Kirin’s silent way of saying, More Lightning, please.

Daemon lifted a hand, let the familiar buzz of Mana swirl in his chest, and triggered Lightning Cocoon again. Threads of Electricity danced down his fingers and across Kirin’s feathers. The Eagle shuddered with delight, spreading its wings wide to catch every spark.

Nie Leixu watched, jaw tight. “I don’t know if I’ll get any real work done today. These hands feel like they’ve been stuffed with rusty nails.” He lifted a trembling palm, grimacing at the faint flicker of static dancing between his fingers. “But tell me — how did you keep that metal so hot, it was hotter than when I first pulled it from the Hearth.”

Daemon grinned, locking his fingers behind his head. “You really don’t understand Lightning, do you?”

Nie Leixu snorted. “If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.”

“Fair point.” Daemon shifted, watching the Eagle’s beak snap at the stray arcs flickering off his arm. “Take off your shoes. Stand barefoot on that rock over there — trust me, it’ll help.”

The big man raised an eyebrow but obeyed, sliding off his heavy leather boots and stepping barefoot onto a chunk of flat granite half-buried in the yard’s dirt. He hissed as the cold stone met his soles — then blinked as the fuzziness in his head began to clear.

“See?” Daemon said. “Lightning needs somewhere to go. Metal carries it easy. So does water — your sweat didn’t help. But stone or wood? Blocks it. Stand like that for a bit a few times every day, it’ll drain the leftover charge.”

Nie Leixu flexed his fingers slowly. The tiny sparks flickered, faded. “Hmph. You’re not only an apprentice Blacksmith but also a Healer now, huh?”

Daemon shrugged, smirking. “I prefer the term Lightning Sage, thank you.”

The big man barked a tired laugh that ended in a cough. “So — the heat?”

“Simple.” Daemon tapped his temple. “Lightning travels in metal — when it does, it generates heat. That’s why a tree struck by Lightning doesn’t just light up — it explodes from inside because the sap boils. Same with Iron. My Lightning didn’t just Purify the Steel — it kept the Fire alive inside it.”

Nie Leixu’s eyes narrowed as pieces clicked into place. “So the Armor stayed malleable while you worked… and shocked me because you turned it into a damned container for your Lightning.”

Daemon pointed at him like a teacher praising a star pupil. “Exactly! Next time, stand on wood when you fix my work.”

Nie Leixu let out a grunt of acknowledgment, stepping down from the rock. He flexed his arms — still stiff, but moving. His gaze drifted to the Smithy’s door, where his six sons were still poking the Armor with long Iron Rods, squealing each time a spark jumped.

With a heavy sigh, the Master Blacksmith stomped back inside, bellowing, “Wooden handles! I want wooden handles on every damn Tool before sunset! And if I see one of you grabbing Steel with your bare hands again, I’ll slap your ears backward!”

Daemon snorted laughter, patting Kirin’s warm feathers. The Eagle gave him a playful nip on the shoulder — a clear More Lightning, now.

Greedy bird. He let the Lightning Cocoon run a bit longer, drawing on his Mana Pool. The Skill drained him quickly, but thanks to the Winter Aegis he’d gained in Asura’s Domain, his reserves refilled steadily when activating the Buff — a trickle of cold Energy that balanced the hot surge of Lightning.

He watched Nie Leixu’s broad back disappear into the Forge. Funny, Daemon thought, how a single push in the right place makes even old iron bend.

Inside, the big man dragged another pair of half-finished Armor plates from the Hearth and slammed them onto the bench in front of Daemon.

“Use your Lightning again,” Nie Leixu ordered, voice rasping but firm. “Heat them up before you hammer. The hotter, the better.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow. “Trying to turn me into a living Forge, huh?”

“More like training you to listen,” Nie Leixu growled, eyes glinting under soot-black brows. “You feel Fire, don’t you? You sense how the metal shifts, how the grains inside line up or fight each other.”

Daemon rested a hand on one of the glowing plates. A faint hum tickled his palm, followed by a crackle as he fed a thin thread of Lightning into it. Sparks flared around the edges — the metal responded like a breathing beast, heat blooming back through the grains.

“Yeah,” Daemon murmured. It’s alive. Iron remembers every strike, every Flame, every current of Electricity.

Nie Leixu nodded once, satisfied. “That’s the path. Mortal Blacksmiths hit metal until it obeys. Cultivators listen. We call it Hundred-Refinements, but that’s just the first step. Purify the Steel — then speak to it.”

He paused, his voice dropping to something like respect. “Your path’s bigger than mine, I can teach you mortal ways. You’ll find your own beyond that — in your Lightning, your heart, your Skills. But start here. Listen to the Iron.”

Daemon pressed both palms to the Steel plate, letting the current sink deep. Sparks danced under his fingertips, Lightning and Fire tangling like restless snakes.

Hundred-Refinements… then Thousand-Tempers… then beyond.

He cracked a smile.

Looks like I’m learning more than swinging a Hammer in this Smithy.

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