A Waste of Time

Chapter 7: Murmurs of Stone

I’d say I have about a minute or two before whoever’s coming can see my spot clearly. That should be enough to hide my prize in the big tree roots near the old pit. But I’d better move the pheasant carcasses fast afterward, or colonies of bugs will have themselves a feast—

“How stupid of you! The green beast of Konoha would make sure nothing like that ever happens to your meal,” the clone shot back through their link, overhearing Daemon’s thoughts.

Daemon cringed so hard at the mental image that he nearly bit his tongue. Without hesitation, he decided to slap a name on this chatterbox. “Ippo. That’s your name now. Less nonsense—keep it safe, but don’t get caught, no matter what.” He dropped the weight next to the tree root hollow—Da Niu’s first shelter once upon a time. Just standing here brought back the memory of curling up in that cramped space, uncaring if insects crawled over him in the dead of night. A phantom itch crawled up his spine, prickling his skin.

A shiver overtook him. He checked Grunt’s remaining time on his way back, slipping on the dirty, bloodied linen sack that Ippo had been wearing.

Daemon circled back toward his camp from the same direction he’d always used when relieving himself, his steps lazy and careless—as if he had no idea about the two pairs of eyes lurking just beyond the tent’s shabby flap.

“Huh? I-is someone in my tent?” He stopped about seven meters away, tilting his head with wide-eyed innocence. He made sure to keep the boiling broth pot between himself and the entrance—just in case these visitors had darker intentions. One thing was certain: more than one pair of eyes watched him from the shadows.

“Is someone looking to steal from me?” he called out again, his voice pitching up like a frightened cub. The ones crouched in the darkness froze, caught off guard by the boy’s naïve tone—waiting, hoping he’d spill his secrets before they had to step out. A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—hidden by the sham performance.

“No! The only thing worth anything is my Axe... and that’s like a toy to grown-ups. So what’s left to take?” He paused, pretending to think deeply. “Hmmm... Ah! I get it. The bird I roasted must’ve smelled too good. Someone wants to share my dinner!” He clutched his head dramatically. “Too bad though! I already ate almost everything, and there’s only the broth left. It’s plain—no salt or spice. Are they gonna scold me for wasting food?”

He crouched by the fire, hugging his knees like a kid on the verge of tears, mumbling to himself. The two in the tent gawked—lost for words, then growing steadily more annoyed by the absurd act.

“W-who? I surrender! Please don’t hurt me!” Daemon squeaked, covering his head with both arms while one eye stayed locked on every twitch of their shadows.

“Humph. Living good out here, huh, all alone?” The older man stepped forward, circling the fire with fake concern, but his eyes never left the broth—his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the drifting scent.

“Big brother Ao, you’re scaring the boy with that ugly mug.” His companion plopped down on Daemon’s log, tracing a finger over the cutting board to gather stray scraps of meat. He tilted his head back and dropped them into his mouth, chewing with his eyes shut in bliss. He even moaned like he’d tasted a delicacy, then smirked. “Pheasants, huh. Been a while.”

Ao sneered and pointed a finger at the scattered feathers Ippo had left behind. “Stop acting like you’re smarter than you are. Anyone with eyes knows these are pheasant feathers! Want me to cut you, huh? Remember your place—you’re the little brother. Just ‘cause your name’s Ru doesn’t make you one for real, so shut it already.”

The man named Ru just flashed a shark smile and copied Daemon’s fake surrender. “Alright, alright... I surrender.” But Daemon wasn’t fooled—he caught the blaze of cold fury buried deep behind Ru’s calm gaze.

This guy’s a snake. Only a fool would buy his crap—

“Hahaha... Little brother Ru, come taste this. Lucky for you I’ve got some salt. It’ll taste even better.” Ao dumped a handful of salt into the broth, squatting by the pot like he’d found buried treasure.

Daemon gawked. A prime example of a bird-brained moron sprinkling salt like he’s seasoning a royal banquet... But when he met Ru’s eyes—saw that lip curl—Daemon’s neck prickled with unease.

Slurp.

Daemon wished he hadn’t seen it. Ru’s tongue darted out, long and wet, to lick his lips—too reminiscent of a certain anime snake. A shiver of disgust crawled through him.

Is that freak Orochimaru’s reincarnation? And this Ao guy—some bootleg Jiraiya? Damn their ancestors... Now I’m just hoping Tsunade’s out there too, blessed jugs and all. Despite the absurdity, Daemon felt no real fear. Maybe it was the rush from Grunt’s stats, maybe just the sheer weirdness—fear seemed so distant now.

No rush. If they twitch wrong, I run or retaliate. I’ll decide when Grunt’s timer hits five minutes. He grabbed the wooden bowl, washed it at the creek, then returned and held it out toward Ru. “Here, big brother.”

“Damn brat! I’m the big brother—he’s the little one!” Ao barked, tearing meat from a bone with loud snaps.

“B-but... I wouldn’t dare call him that.” Daemon’s voice trembled as he offered the bowl again. “Senior. Please use this—I cleaned it in the creek.” This time, Ru’s eyes gleamed, a predator’s edge softened by a stroke to his ego. He puffed his chest a little, nodding like he’d just been crowned king.

But when Ru’s eyes drifted back to Ao, his grin curved cruelly. Daemon’s gut twisted—he unconsciously glanced at his left hand.

That’s my Axe! When did he swipe it?! His fingers fumbled at his belt—gone. He felt his heartbeat thrum harder as Ru stepped forward, casual as a lazy cat, edging behind Ao.

He’s about to do it. Should I warn him? If Ru kills him, I’m next— But then again... If Ru wanted me dead, he could’ve gutted me after he left the tent. The tent!

Daemon’s gaze flicked sideways—just enough to catch a glimpse of small shoes peeking under the flap. Not a man. There’s someone else in there. A chill tightened his spine.

It all happened faster than a heartbeat. Ru’s stolen Axe carved open Ao’s throat—blood sprayed like a fountain. Ao clawed at the wound, other hand fumbling for his Sword hilt, gurgling. Ru calmly flipped the curvy stone with the Axe blade—scalding broth splashed Ao’s face, blinding him as he flailed.

“Aaaahhh!” Ao screamed one last ragged cry before collapsing, twitching on the dirt until the forest fell silent but for the hiss of the fire.

“Why didn’t you run?” A voice from the tent—female, calm.

Ru wiped the Axe clean on Ao’s cooling body, admiring the blade. He flicked it in one easy motion—Thunk. It buried in the log, a finger’s width from Daemon’s leg. “Thanks for the loan. Didn’t want to stain my Sword with his filthy blood.”

Daemon tugged it free, slotting it back into his belt like it had never left. “Anytime. You swiped it when he barked at me, huh? Didn’t feel a thing.” He shifted his eyes to the tent. “And to answer you, lovely-voiced sister—I didn’t run because your partner in crime had my only possession worth anything.” He shrugged. “That’s all.”

Ru’s laughter broke the brittle silence. “Hahahaha! Hear that, little Jia? We’re criminals now!”

“Pfft—” The woman inside the tent tried to hold back her giggles. She pushed aside the flap and stepped out.

Daemon’s eyes widened a fraction. She was lithe, wrapped in dark combat wear that hugged her frame, her steps so light they barely touched the forest floor.

“You know... In our line of work, we don’t leave witnesses,” Jia said, closing the distance with a grace that dripped confidence.

“Yeah, I guessed as much,” Daemon said, his voice flat but calm. “You’d have tracked me down after your ‘partner’ here finished up. Rules or no rules, I’d be dead meat. So how about we skip the scary talk? Let’s part ways as friends. I’m pretty sure neither of you want a visit from one of my elders... And killing me? That’d leave you with a ghost on your tail—and a death mark for life.”

Ru’s grin twitched. Jia’s eyes narrowed. They exchanged a wary glance—this scrappy kid was too calm, too steady for a cornered rat.

Daemon just picked up a stone between thumb and forefinger—flicked it at the distant tree.

Thwack.

The sharp crack echoed in the clearing. The stone had punched a fresh gouge in bark over thirty meters away—too clean, too casual for any normal kid.

The two assassins didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. This kid might be small—but he was dangerous. And danger, they knew, could be a curse worth walking away from.

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