A Waste of Time

Chapter 77: Wistful Relic

Yue Lan’s pretty head was a swirl of chaotic thoughts — shame coiling around anger, disbelief clawing at unwilling pride. She could still feel the ghost of Jia’s knuckles brushing her cheek, the sharp sting of that halted blow a reminder that the outcome had not been hers to decide. Her chest tightened with a cocktail of humiliation and something sourly respectful — a reluctant concession that this flaming maid was no easy prey to be wrapped in silk and frost. Worse, her Sect sisters were watching, eyes glinting with hungry curiosity — and Elder Ping’s calm presence behind her only deepened the burn of shame blossoming under her skin.

Jia, meanwhile, held her ground, her fist still warm from its final stop — relishing that thrum of triumph earned the hard way. Twice she’d nearly been frozen into disgrace. Twice she’d dug into her only real cards, her two hidden Spirits, burning every ounce of her fragile advantage to claw the win back. Inwardly, she sighed — a tiny knot of dread tucked under the glow of victory. Losing her first true duel against a Sect’s Inner Disciple would have been shame enough — but failing her young master Daemon in front of these robed Immortals and their watchful Elder? Unforgivable. Worse still, her big brother Ru had already won twice, blade to blade, against opponents above his Cultivation — leaving her no excuses. Now she understood: whoever stepped forward next would come armed with knowledge she’d shown them herself, while she knew nothing of their tricks in return. The next fight would not be a fair clash — it would be a hunt, and she the cornered prey.

Elder Ping broke the hush with a crisp clap of her fan — the final note of authority settling over the clearing on the edge of the woods, tense with unshed flame and frost. Her dark eyes flicked between the two girls, one fuming and the other steady but wary. “Enough,” she commanded, voice soft as silk but carrying an edge sharp enough to carve stubborn pride apart. “Yue Lan, step back. Let another step forward and share in this valuable learning experience — since that is what we have agreed this will be, is it not?” Her words dripped with polite finality — an elegant lifeline for Yue Lan to save face without further spectacle. Then she turned her chin just slightly, acknowledging Xue Lian, the Senior Disciple who’d been chewing on the scene like a starving fox. “You — Xue Lian — you’ve been restless from the moment this match began. Come. Take your chance. Show your Junior Sister how one receives such a generous gift.” It was half invitation, half dare — and the ripple of excitement that ran through the watching Sect Disciples said all that needed to be said about who would answer it.

Now it was Daemon’s turn to step in. He could see, clearer than anyone, that his maid was at a sharp disadvantage — unarmed, her last pair of battered daggers long gone, while Xue Lian calmly retrieved her weapon from the depths of her Space-Pouch: a coiled Obsidian Chain, thick as a man’s thumb, one end bearing a brutal Meteor Hammer of pitted iron, the other a small, wickedly curved silver Sickle that gleamed cold in the forest light.

Daemon rose from where he’d been perched on Kirin’s massive talon, his shadow stretching long over the clearing’s packed earth. His voice cut through the hush with a crisp finality that left no room for doubt:

“This next match will be clean,” he declared, each word carrying like steel. “No killing. No crippling. Break that rule, and I’ll bury you right where you stand.”

The villagers and merchants flinched, a few drawing sharp breaths at the brazen threat. But the Inner Sect Disciples of Ten-Thousand Beasts Mountain only traded faint scoffs and crooked smiles — still so sure that this mortal boy was nothing more than a mouthpiece for the real dangers: his Swordsman, and the flame-tongued girl now squaring up for her next test.

Unlike the mocking scoffs flitting through the ranks of the Inner Disciples, Ru and Jia held Daemon’s words like gospel — blind trust burning behind Ru’s half-lowered lashes and glittering in the corner of Jia’s eyes as she readied her stance once more.

The woman in black, Elder Ping, found herself flinching despite the layers of her Cultivation — that tiny flicker of Killing Intent that slipped from the boy’s small body brushed her skin like the cold edge of a hidden blade. For the briefest instant, a ripple of instinctive dread crawled across her back, an old part of her mind screaming that this child’s threat was no idle bark but a promise she might not be able to deflect if it truly landed.

What are you really hiding behind that soft grin, boy? she wondered, eyes narrowing as she forced her breath steady, smoothing her sleeve as if to brush away the phantom touch of that Killing Intent.

When her gaze met Xue Lian’s eager eyes across the clearing, Elder Ping dipped her chin in a slow, restrained nod — not to urge the girl to break the boundary Daemon had laid down, but to caution her to rein herself in. Yet the message slipped loose in transit.

Xue Lian’s lips curved in faint amusement. So that nod was iron proof, then? Elder Ping would stand behind her, no matter if she bent a brat’s silly rules just enough to taste blood herself. Hah… fine. Let’s see how he likes it when I bind that maid and my sickle is drinking blood directly from her throat.

Xue Lian let her voice drip with mockery as she circled Jia, her words sharp enough to slice skin if the girl let them sink too deep. “Trusting your life to a mortal brat? What a shameful stain on the Path of Immortality — you’d bow to a worm rather than walk your own Path?” She saw the flicker of heat in Jia’s eyes, the subtle twitch of her fists clenching tighter at her sides. That sight coaxed a smug curl to Xue Lian’s lips — her barbs had landed exactly where she wanted them.

What Xue Lian didn’t see — didn’t even imagine — was that the spark in Jia’s gaze wasn’t from shame at being called weak. It was rage — pure, burning rage that this peacock of a girl would dare insult her young master Daemon, standing there behind her, calm and silent as ever. To mock him, her Daemon, before a sea of watchful eyes? That was a sin Jia’s pride would never forgive. If it meant she had to bleed herself dry in this clearing to win — then so be it. She’d break her own bones and burn through her Qi until not a scrap of it remained, but she would never let this affront stand.

Ru’s eyes narrowed as he watched his sister’s shoulders coil tight, her jaw clenched so hard he could almost hear the bone grind. His voice was low, almost lost in the hiss and crackle of distant flame and the tense hum of Lightning gathering at Jia’s fingertips. “She’s about to snap,” he murmured, though the words felt more like an admission than a warning.

Beside him, Elder Ping caught the sharp edge in his tone. Her eyes flicked to Xue Lian, who was circling Jia with the lazy prowl of a predator tasting the limits of its prey. The Elder’s lips parted before she meant them to — her thought slipping out as bare truth. “If Xue Lian pushes further, she may cross the line.”

Silence hit her ears a heartbeat later, and she blinked — realizing too late she’d spoken aloud. Her spine straightened in a show of calm she didn’t quite feel as she turned her head slightly toward Daemon. “If that happens, young master Daemon, I will intervene. I won’t allow one of my Sect’s disciples to break the terms you’ve set.”

But the boy just tilted his head, lips curling in that same small, crooked grin that had unnerved her more than once tonight. He didn’t stand, didn’t posture, didn’t raise his voice — just let his words land soft as falling ash. “How reassuring, Elder Ping. But I’m quite capable of protecting my own. If any of your cubs stray too far…” His eyes glinted with a cold flicker that didn’t match the softness of his tone. “…I’d rather enjoy handling their punishment myself.”

The quiet between them stretched thin, taut as wire. Ru, who’d fought a dozen hidden wars for that boy, found himself watching Daemon with an unreadable mix of pride and unease. Elder Ping, despite the heat in her veins, felt the tickle of a shiver slide down her back — and hated that it was fear and intrigue in equal measure.

Down in the clearing, that hush was shredded by the clash of will and Spiritual Treasures. Jia’s breath came in controlled bursts as she wielded her rage like a blade, her two Martial Spirits weaving flickers of Fire and arcs of Lightning into a chaotic cage that battered Xue Lian’s Meteor Hammer, bit at the Obsidian Chain, and scorched the glint of the wicked silver Sickle as it danced for her throat. The villagers clustered at the edges of the clearing, breaths caught in their throats, eyes wide — all bearing witness to the storm as flame and thunder cracked the night wide open.

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