A Waste of Time

Chapter 82: Reverent Hollow

The wailing screams cut off as abruptly as they began. In the same instant, the silver-blue arcs of the Lightning-Cocoon snapped inward, vanishing into Daemon’s body with a crackling sigh. Chu Ren stood rooted in place, steam curling from his broad shoulders.

The sharp, bitter smell of scorched flesh and singed hair hung thick in the air. His skin was mottled and blackened in patches, his powerful frame smoking and trembling like a charred beam dragged from a fire. His hair stood in wild, frizzled clumps — a bird’s nest after a storm.

Daemon took a single step back, tilting his head as though appraising an art piece. He scratched his chin with one finger and let a slow smile creep over his face.

“You must be durable to still be standing after taking that stream,” he murmured. “I’m proud of you, big guy.”

Then he cracked his knuckles, the sharp pops loud enough to carry through the clearing.

“Now… are you ready for round two?”

The boy’s smile was as bright and guileless as a child’s, his expression carrying not the faintest trace of the apathetic cruelty he’d just unleashed. That dissonance crawled into the bones of everyone watching. Several villagers shivered; one young man in the crowd crossed his arms over his chest as though to ward off a sudden chill.

Chu Ren, meanwhile, felt a strange glow in his chest at Daemon’s words. He’s… praising me? The thought was almost intoxicating. The Ironheart Beast Guard straightened, forcing his shoulders square. His fellow Sect Disciples had seen him take the full brunt of that venomous surprise attack and remain on his feet — they’d think twice before mocking him later.

But then Daemon’s eyes shifted — brightening, sharpening, filling with an excitement so pure it was almost feral. His last words still hung in the air, and in them Chu Ren heard not praise, but a promise. Round two…? The realization struck him like ice water.

All the courage he’d just rebuilt slipped away, flowing out of him like the tide retreating from a beach. His knees felt hollow, his breath shallow.

Daemon flexed his arms, his frame small but taut with a restrained energy that promised violence. Then, without ceremony, he reached out and gripped two of the heavy earthen slabs Chu Ren had raised earlier for protection. The boy’s fingers dug into the hardened soil, and with a casual tug, he wrenched them free from the ground.

The crowd gasped — even the other Inner Disciples leaned forward in disbelief — as Daemon hefted both slabs and brought them together in a brutal clap aimed to crush Chu Ren between them. To him, they were toys. To Chu Ren, they were weapons forged with condensed Earth Qi, shaped from the raw Element itself.

The slabs slammed together with a deafening crack, the sound echoing through the clearing like a thunderclap. Dust exploded outward in a gritty wave, stinging the eyes of the villagers in the front row and shrouding the ring of earthen walls Chu Ren had raised in a choking haze.

Inside that ring of hardened earth, Chu Ren moved on pure instinct — the kind of motion bred in the marrow, born from the oldest urge to survive. Both Gauntleted arms snapped upward, forearms crossing on either side of his face as his spine bent forward, dragging his upper body down into a smaller profile.

His Earth Qi flared hard enough to make the air around him ripple. The ground beneath his boots quivered as he drove that power into a defensive shell over his frame. It was the Heavy-Boulder Stance, one of the most basic Techniques, drilled into his bones by the sadistic Guest-Elder of the Chu Family. He’d been forced to repeat it until it became a reflex — until he could snap into it without thought, ever since the day his parents learned he could sense Spirit Energy and store Earth Qi within his Spirit-Roots.

It saved him now — or at least kept him conscious. The slabs struck like twin hammers swung by giants, their combined force rattling through the layered defenses, through the Gauntlets, through skin and bone until it reached the very marrow of his Soul.

Hells… it feels like my ribs are groaning, he thought, jaw locked as his teeth ground together.

The impact didn’t drop him, but it stole his breath and stripped away any shred of composure. Villagers winced as the echo of the blow faded, their murmurs a mix of awe and pity. Even some of the Inner Disciples shifted on their feet, frowning at the sheer rawness of the strike. Elder Ping’s fan stilled mid-motion, her eyes narrowing as she measured the boy’s rhythm and strength.

Chu Ren’s pride shriveled further when he caught sight of Daemon’s face through the settling dust. The boy wasn’t gloating — not yet. His eyes were already moving, already locked onto the next pair of earthen slabs still standing nearby.

That realization chilled Chu Ren’s blood faster than the first hit. He’s going to do it again.

A bead of sweat cut a path down his temple as Daemon’s shoulders rolled lazily, like a predator stretching before another pounce. His small hands flexed in anticipation, the knuckles pale against the grime, and then reached toward the next slabs with deliberate slowness — as if giving his prey time to understand exactly what was coming.

Every breath in the clearing felt heavy. The villagers stared, caught between horror and morbid fascination. Yan Ru and Yan Jia traded another glance, this one sharper, more knowing. He’s not even at full speed yet, their thoughts mirrored, and that alone made the air around them feel tighter.

Chu Ren swallowed hard, his throat dry, his stance tightening once more — but his knees still trembled from the first blow. The rattling in his Soul had barely settled, and the boy was already preparing the second.

The beauty in the tight black dress kept her fan poised lightly before her lips, the picture of serene detachment — but beneath that mask, Elder Ping’s brows threatened to knit. Embarrassing, she thought, her gaze fixed on Chu Ren. The tall Inner Disciple stood there in front of a crowd of wide-eyed mortals, his posture betraying just enough cower to sour her mood. He might not realize it, but in her eyes, every twitch was a crack in the Sect’s dignity.

Her scolding stayed silent, locked behind the faint curve of her smile, but it burned all the same. Useless boy… Eighth-Stage of Qi-Gathering, yet folding after a couple of moves? With your Elemental-Compatibility toward Earth, you should be holding your own even against Ninth-Stages — even those at the Peak-Perfection of Qi-Gathering. But no… the moment pressure comes, you shrink.

Her fan twitched once before stilling again. This is the problem with these pampered little idiots. No matter how refined their Techniques, they’ll never match the wild, instinctive reactions of Loose-Cultivators when their lives are dangling by a thread.

Out in the dust-filled ring, Daemon looked as casual as ever — confidence worn like a loose coat, playful smirks flickering over his young face, a glint of cockiness in his eye. But Elder Ping’s Spirit Sense told another story. He’s on his toes. Every shift of weight, every tilt of his head, spoke of someone prepared to spring in any direction, ready for the unexpected. His attention wasn’t just on Chu Ren — his awareness stretched toward the three young men and two young women still waiting for their turn, none of whom had yet tested him.

Yet beneath all of that, there was something else. She felt it like a subtle brush against her own presence — his focus touching her, tracing the shape of her black dress that clung to her figure like a second skin. It wasn’t the clumsy hunger she’d seen in others. No, this was different… steady, deliberate, almost invasive.

The realization made her fan lift a fraction higher, hiding the faintest parting of her lips. She shouldn’t have been unnerved. She was an Elder, with more than enough experience to ignore the stares of men — mortal or not. And yet… a strange warmth unfurled inside her chest, curling downward like the wick of a candle catching flame. It burned there, quiet but insistent, for reasons she couldn’t name.

Right when Daemon’s hands reached toward the next pair of earthen slabs — intent on repeating the same bone-rattling method — Chu Ren’s composure cracked.

“Fight me like a man!” he blurted, voice raw with urgency. “Stop using Earth slabs to whack me around like some Barbarian. Beat me with your fists, if you dare!”

The words hung in the air like the poised blade of a guillotine, their weight pressing on every ear in the clearing. The sudden hush magnified the statement’s recklessness a hundredfold. Even the rustle of the leaves seemed to fade away.

Chu Ren’s bronze skin mercifully concealed the flush of embarrassment creeping across his face — but only for a moment.

Because Daemon froze. His hands lingered near the slabs for the barest instant before his head tilted toward his opponent. And then… he laughed. Not a polite chuckle, but a sudden, unrestrained burst that carried clear across the field. It built with each breath, until the boy doubled over, clutching his stomach, his eyes watering with mirth.

The crowd couldn’t decide whether to gasp or grin. Villagers stared wide-eyed at the audacity of it — the sheer insult — while a few Inner Disciples smirked behind closed lips. Elder Ping’s fan twitched once, though her gaze never wavered from the boy.

When Daemon finally straightened, the grin still spread across his face, he raised both thumbs in a mocking gesture of approval toward Chu Ren. Without another word, he stepped back — boots crunching over loose dirt — and exited the jagged maze of earthen walls his opponent had raised.

“It’s up to you,” Daemon called, his voice carrying an easy drawl that somehow managed to sound both teasing and deadly serious, “whether you keep this little playground for the next phase… or tear it down so our wonderful audience gets the full view of what it looks like when two men duke it out until one prevails.”

He paused, eyes flicking deliberately toward the Gauntlets and Bracers strapped to Chu Ren’s arms, then lower toward the Greaves on his legs.

“It’s also up to you,” Daemon continued, “whether you want to remove those now. But here’s the thing — anything I strip off you during this fight… I’m keeping. So I hope you won’t hold it against me later.”

A slow smile curved across his face, the sort that promised trouble far beyond the boy’s years. “I’m even kind enough to warn you first.”

The villagers’ whispers rose again, swelling like an oncoming tide. Somewhere in the back, a gambler’s voice could be heard placing a new bet on who would still be standing in the end.

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