A Waste of Time

Chapter 66: Lingering Fade

Daemon left the Nie Family’s Smithy coated in soot and sweat. His clothes clung to his back like damp rags, and even the hair clinging to his forehead smelled faintly of burnt metal. But at least he no longer needed to trudge back to the campsite like a dying beggar — Kirin’s monstrous wingspan took care of that.

He could still feel the ache in his bones where the Hammer’s weight had rattled every joint.

Seems like extreme Mana depletion hurts just as much as draining every ounce of Stamina.

His lips twitched into a half-smile. But I’m not about to test how it compares to dying again — once was plenty. Never again, if I can help it.

Scree!

Kirin’s piercing cry split the clouds as it took off, its massive wings stirring whirlwinds of dust that billowed over the courtyard. Down below, Nie Leixu and his six sons didn’t even bother waving goodbye — they were too busy shoving each other aside like overgrown children racing for candy.

They charged into the Smithy’s Forge and slammed the heavy iron door behind them. Inside, the heat was suffocating — but the sight before them stole their breath entirely.

Half a dozen unfinished Weapons glowed on the racks — Blades, Spears, Axes, all shimmering like living coals. Each one was veined with tiny arcs of crackling Lightning. Spirals of heat danced off them like ghostly serpents. From the metal’s pores, black droplets oozed like sweat — sizzling when they struck the stone floor.

Nie Xiaoli stepped forward first, scooping up some of that weird oil with his finger. He rubbed it between his calloused thumb and forefinger — it felt gritty, almost like sand mixed with grease. He sniffed it, scowled, then — ignoring his brothers’ disgusted grimaces — dabbed a bit on his tongue.

“Blegh—!” He spat it out instantly. “Charcoal… and something else. Burnt ash and oil. What the hell?”

Xiaosi winced. “You just tasted it? You pig!”

But Xiaoli was ignoring him, eyes flicking from the Forge’s heart to the stack of Coal under the shed outside. His mind spun through every stage of the Basic-Refinement: the Iron-Sand, the Firewood, the Forges soaked in Oil to keep the Fire alive through the night.

Then it clicked.

“I see it…” He muttered, voice low but carrying enough weight to silence the bickering instantly. He jabbed a finger toward the Coal outside. “That’s it. That’s why we’re stuck.”

Nie Leixu’s thick eyebrows rose. The old Blacksmith crossed his arms, waiting.

Xiaoli took a deep breath, eyes darting to his father and then to his wide-eyed brothers. “Listen. We all know the Fumes from the Oil we soak the Firewood in help us fuse the Iron-Sand into usable blocks during the Basic-Refinement. Once we compress those into Iron plates, we sort out the good Steel. Easy. But… why does our so-called ‘good Steel’ always break past the Hundred-Refinement mark, huh? Why do our Swords snap like dry twigs if we hammer them even one strike too far?”

Xiaodan’s jaw clenched. “Get to the point before you choke on your own theory.”

“The point,” Xiaoli said, lifting one of the half-finished Blades Daemon had worked on, “is that our ‘good Steel’ isn’t pure. It can’t be. Every strike of the Hammer compresses the flaws from the surface down into the core. When we pass the Hundred-Refinement mark, we’re not forging strength — we’re forcing the impurities to push back out. That’s why the Steel cracks. That’s why it shatters.”

He turned the Blade, letting the black droplets drip from the edge. “But that brat… he forces the flaws out while he works. His Lightning splits the Steel open at a microscopic level — like burrowing worms pushing dirt up to the surface. That’s what this black stuff is — all the dirt and oil that hides inside our ‘pure’ Steel.”

Xiaosi scratched his scruffy jaw. “So the problem isn’t the Hammer — it’s the Fire.”

“Exactly,” Xiaoli said, eyes shining. “Our Coal’s good enough for Basic-Refinement. But not for forging beyond the mortal limit. The moment we reach the edge, we’re stuck with slag trapped deep inside the core. Meanwhile, that kid turns himself into a living Forge. His sweat, his Lightning — hell, even the air around him — gets drawn into the Steel, flushing out what shouldn’t be there.”

Xiaotong frowned. “So what, we need a better Coal?”

“Or a new Fuel altogether,” Nie Leixu rumbled, voice deep as rolling thunder. He stepped forward, pressing a heavy hand on Xiaoli’s shoulder. “Good work. For now, we study the brats’ methods. Maybe there’s a way to mimic his Lightning with Formation Seals or Fire-Runes. If we can’t match his Body-Refinement, we’ll cheat with Tools. It's going to be extremely costly, but manageable. All we need is to hire an Apprentice of Spirit-Formations to draw the seals, and to pay for the Fire Spirit Stones from the profits.”

His sons straightened their backs, excitement blooming across tired, soot-smeared faces. For the first time in years, they could see the next step — the iron wall cracking open at last.

Daemon practically rolled off Kirin’s massive wing as the Soul-Snatcher Eagle landed next to the only tent of his campsite. He tumbled in the dirt like a sack of wet laundry, then lay there on his back, catching his breath. He didn’t care that his clothes were even filthier now.

But someone else did.

Puff.

Little Mei, her cheeks pink and puffed like dumplings, glared at him from where she stood near the tent flap. She crossed her tiny arms, broom in hand, tapping one foot. Her eyes said it all: More dirt means more work.

Daemon raised both palms in surrender and shot her an apologetic grin. Sorry, little broom fairy. He pushed himself up and trudged toward the creek that cut through the grove. He didn’t even bother hiding as he stripped his filthy shirt off. The cold water jolted his senses awake the instant he plunged in.

I needed this. He scrubbed the soot and oil off his arms and face. By the time he stepped out, Mei was waiting with fresh clothes — simple but clean, the cotton smelling faintly of herbs and Soap-Roots.

She didn’t flinch or hide her face anymore. She held his sleeves steady while he shrugged into them. Her little fingers straightened his collar, tugging away specks of lint.

She’s getting used to this faster than I thought. He smiled, ruffling her hair once before heading back to the firepit.

“Jia,” Daemon called as he sat at the rough wooden table under the tarp. “Bring Ru. Tell him to escort our ‘guests’ over here. And make sure there are enough seats.”

Jia gave a crisp nod, her eyes sharp and watchful., then disappeared toward the edge of the campsite. Daemon turned to his cook, who was already stirring a pot over the fire.

“Xia. Don’t waste the good food on them. Tea, fruit, simple pastries — keep it light.”

Xia’s ears twitched, her mouth curling into a sly grin. “Understood, young master. Cheap drinks, cheap snacks — but I’ll make it look fancy.”

Finally, he looked down at Mei, who was picking stray leaves from the path. “You — just serve what Xia gives you. If anyone tries to chat you up, ignore them. Smile, nod, walk away. Clear?”

Mei giggled behind her hand, then bobbed her head twice. Her little feet padded off into the cooking area to fetch trays.

A few minutes later, the trail leading to the village rustled. Ru emerged first — the tall, silent shadow. Behind him came Jia, her expression polite but cool as stone. Following them was Han Hongyu, that middle-aged fox of a merchant woman, flanked by half a dozen other traders dripping with silk, beads, and opportunistic grins.

Hongyu glided forward as if she owned the clearing. She gave Daemon a graceful curtsey, lowering her head just enough to look demure. “Young master. Thank you for the honor of this visit — and this generous hospitality.”

Her voice dripped honey, but her eyes flicked constantly over Daemon’s face, Kirin’s shadow perched in the trees, then Ru’s cold stare. She knew she was stepping on a field full of hidden traps.

“Welcome to my humble patch of dirt and twigs,” Daemon drawled. He gestured at the crude benches. “Sit, talk, drink. But don’t expect to eat me out of house and home.”

The other merchants chuckled awkwardly as they crowded in behind Hongyu, careful not to jostle her claim to the best seat — directly opposite Daemon. She was their key — if she lost favor, they’d be out with the wolves.

Ru stood behind Daemon’s chair like an obsidian statue, arms folded, one eyebrow faintly raised. Jia took her place at his left shoulder, her hand tightening on her sleeve when she noticed one merchant’s eyes wandering. A single sharp glare froze him in place.

Mei danced around the table like a hummingbird, balancing trays of steaming tea and simple snacks. Every time a hand reached out to touch her hair or cheek, she turned, smiled sweetly — and vanished before they could blink. The more she did it, the more Xia grinned behind her cookfire. Good girl.

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