A Waste of Time

Chapter 63: Gnarled Spiral

TschhhSizzle

Daemon exhaled a long breath through clenched teeth as the next piece of raw Iron glowed a soft red under the swirl of his Lightning Cocoon Skill. Sparks fizzed across the surface like tiny shooting stars trapped in Steel. He could feel the sting of heat even through the thick hide of the Steel Tongs clamped around it.

So this is Fire… savage, patient, always waiting to devour. He forced another surge of Lightning through the metal. Blue sparks crawled into the grain of the Iron, dancing with the red glow until both Elements seemed to breathe together.

Every swing of the Hammer split the stale Forge air with a clang that felt like thunder made solid. The Wind wrapped itself around each strike — he could sense it now — compressing into the blow, adding force as the descending Hammer met Iron’s stubborn resistance. Sparks spat out, trailing faint arcs of Electricity where the edge met the hot surface.

Beneath him, the Earth felt like an anchor. It drank up the stray charge that seeped from his boots — especially after Nie Leixu listened to his advice and coated the metal tools with wooden soles. No more accidental self-frying to the Master Blacksmith and his six sons.

Even the Water that hissed and foamed when he plunged the glowing piece in the barrel seemed alive, bubbling up in complaint at the uninvited new heat in its body.

The Wood fueling the Hearth crackled in protest, its smoky breath spiraling upward as if offering its Spirit to the Steel in sacrifice. It’s like the whole Forge is alive, Daemon thought, his eyes gleaming as sweat traced lines through the soot on his brow.

One Element feeds the next. Fire devours Wood. Water restrict Fire. Earth holds it all steady. Wind gives the Hammer its voice. And my Lightning connects them all…

Hours slipped by unnoticed. He should’ve felt hunger sooner — but the thrill of creation smothered every other need. The Hundred-Refinement Technique was no longer just a method — it was alive under his palms, whispering secrets he’d only started to grasp.

RumbleGrowl

Of course, his stomach had its own opinions on prolonged enlightenment. It roared loud enough to make Nie Xiaoli’s Hammer slip mid-swing. Sparks flew as metal skidded off the Anvil.

Nie Xiaowen snorted laughter behind a gloved hand. “Big brother, Daemon is forging his guts into soup.”

Nie Leixu clapped a massive palm on Daemon’s shoulder. The impact took him by surprise that it nearly made the boy drop his Tongs. “Break for today. You push any more, you’ll Hammer yourself flat instead of that Iron.”

Daemon just nodded, too drained to argue. He wiped his forehead on a sleeve, smearing soot into dark streaks across his nose and cheek. Nie Xiaosheng caught the sight and elbowed Nie Xiaowen — who failed to realize his own face looked like a coal miner’s boot heel.

Daemon shuffled out of the Smithy, rolling his aching shoulders. He whistled. Moments later, a shadow swept overhead, wings spread wide — Kirin descended with a piercing Caw, landing so close the gust nearly knocked the Forge’s door from its hinges. A single flick of its tail scattered stray coals into the ash pit.

Seconds later, Daemon swung himself up behind the Beast’s shoulder blades. Kirin gave an approving flick of its ear tuft before leaping skyward — each powerful wingbeat crackling faintly with residual Electricity.

Back inside the Smithy, Nie Xiaodan leaned closer to the array of Armor pieces scattered across the workbench. He traced a thumb along the faint lines and grooves Daemon’s Hammer had left behind — marks so subtle they seemed more like brushstrokes than dents.

“Father,” he asked, voice low, “do you really think he’ll push the Hundred-Refinement Technique to its peak? Forge a real Spiritual Treasure out of mortal Steel?”

Nie Leixu exhaled through his nose, stepping barefoot onto his grounding stone behind the Hearth. The bare rock drank up the stray charge still crawling under his skin.

He closed his eyes, voice rumbling like distant thunder. “Your great-grandfather once told me that his grandfather — our ancestor — claimed descent from an Immortal cast down for a crime too shameful to pass on by name. The only thing he left us mortals was this Technique.”

Nie Xiaodan’s eyes widened. The other brothers traded quick glances — excitement mixing with disbelief. For generations, the Hundred-Refinement Technique had kept the family fed, made them respected Blacksmiths in their region — but a Spiritual Treasure? That was myth. Rumor. Cultivator talk.

Nie Leixu just smiled wryly, running a thumb across the faint burn marks still visible on his palm. “If Da Wei’s boy can do more with it than we ever could… then maybe we really were meant to be more than just men with Hammers.”

Daemon’s first stop back at camp was the river. He ducked under the cold spray of water until soot and sweat washed away, steam rising where the last sparks of static met the chilly current. Kirin perched nearby, tearing strips of salted jerky from the drying line, its tail wiggling like a content duck's.

Inside the largest tent, Xia and little Mei nearly threw rice cakes at his head when he showed up dripping wet and half-starved. They fussed, stuffed him full of stewed meat, dried berries, and rough bread until he leaned back with a satisfied groan.

Then — ignoring their pouting and Mei’s half-hearted threats to tie him to a chair — Daemon ducked into the tent and slipped into his Asura’s Realm. A deep pull of Mana twisted through his veins. The world flickered, shadows shifting, and his mind sank through the boundary like stone through still water.

Outside, Ru watched Ippo packing. The boy moved briskly, rolling spare tunics and binding a few Weapons together with hemp cord. At his side, Kyra lounged on her belly, tail flicking — her cub Kira gnawed lazily on the bone of some small game the girls had roasted hours earlier.

“Ru Sensei,” Ippo said, bowing low with fists cupped. “It’s time I trained alone awhile.”

Ru studied him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed under his worn hood. He could guess why — and didn’t blame him. So the boy sees he’s still a blade best kept hidden. Good. Ru grunted, giving silent approval. “Do as you wish. Keep your edge sharp, keep your heart sharper.”

Ippo gave Jia a lingering glance. The girl flushed bright pink when he smirked. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Xia nearly choked on her laugh behind Ru’s elbow. Little Mei just rolled her eyes and made a show of gagging.

Kyra rose with a low growl. A single bark, and Kira abandoned the bone with a sad purr, trailing after its mother and the young man into the trees. Leaves rustled — then silence swallowed their scent.

Hours later, Daemon emerged from the tent, joints popping like old leather. He stretched, eyes sweeping the dusk. Ru was a dark shape at the treeline, guiding Xia and Mei down the forest path to their shelter.

Closer by, Jia was kneeling on one knee in the grass, Kirin lowered its massive head beside her shoulder, its golden eyes locked on Daemon. Both girl and Beast pulsed with raw Lightning Qi, flickering in waves — like a competition to see who could crackle brighter.

Daemon’s last dive into Asura’s Realm had been disappointingly quiet — no strong new Beasts, just the same worthless Gargoyles circling that rotten mountain. He’d avoided them this time — his Chain Lightning Skill was too precious to waste on cowards. Next time, when I can pin them down, he told himself, I’ll clear them out for good.

The rest of the world — rolling forests, hidden glades — felt sleepy. No real threats, no worthy prey. Meanwhile, back in camp, Grunt and Runa were shaping whole new layers of his legend.

Grunt's work on the Chief’s Tent was progressing nicely — a sprawling dome built from Cedar Logs, braced with Spikes made from Undead bones. Runa’s callused fingers spun scraps of fur and skin into something alive — a layered Vest, breeches cut from Centaur Hide, and shoes hardened from hooves trimmed and polished. Somewhere near the makeshift hearth, she cursed about lacking a proper Forge for true Metalwork — the irony made Daemon chuckle every time.

“Daemon! Look!”

Jia’s voice cracked the twilight like a spark in dry grass. She sprinted over, arms outstretched. In one hand, a perfect sphere of Fire flickered — raw heat swirling in waves. In the other, a coiled knot of purple Lightning hissed and spat sparks into the air.

Daemon’s eyes widened. If that’s not a Fire Rasengan and a Chidori, I’ll eat this Hammer!

He stepped close, eyes locked on the Fireball. Heat rolled off it in throbbing pulses. His fingers brushed the edge — sparks danced up his wrist. The swirl inside pulsed like a tiny sun, barely contained.

On the other side, his palm met her Lightning. The purple arcs twined around the blue-silver of his own Lightning Cocoon, both buzzing in harmony. Kirin leaned in with a curious Caw, talon raised — it crackled alive with crimson Lightning, adding its piece to the elemental weave.

Three strands of Lightning twined together — purple, silver, and crimson — humming like a storm trapped in glass.

So this is what happens when Lightning talks to Lightning, Daemon thought, goosebumps racing up his neck. On the other side, the Fire burned hotter. His touch drew out tiny whorls in the flame — and deep inside, something chirped.

A bright, clear note — like a tiny bird singing inside the Fireball.

Daemon’s breath caught. Memory uncoiled — a glimpse of wings, wreathed in flames, tearing through dark sky, igniting the world below in a single screech. The Phoenix. He could almost see it now — tiny, defiant, eternal.

The Fireball shivered — the chirp turned into a long trill as if the hidden Bird fluffed its wings and announced itself. The heat that poured from it didn’t burn — not him. It wrapped around his Mana like silk, threading into his veins alongside the Lightning.

Jia watched him, eyes wide. Kirin leaned closer, beak inches from Daemon’s shoulder — its feathers bristling with static.

A wild laugh bubbled in Daemon’s throat. This is it. Not just Steel. Not just Lightning. Fire wants in, too.

And somewhere deep in his mind, the Smithy’s anvil rang out — as if the old Iron itself approved.

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