A Waste of Time

Chapter 85: Numb Reverie

Zhao Wei’s skin prickled. The sensation was so faint it might have been imagined — yet every fine hair along the back of his neck stood rigid, the instinctive prelude to danger that only years of being hounded by his Instructors at the Jade-Eye Serpent Hall could produce.

Those so-called “mentors” had a habit of bullying him under the guise of tempering his foundations. He’d always been the easygoing one, drifting through lessons, skipping drills, attending class more for the thrill of chasing pretty smiles and swaying skirts than for the Techniques themselves. A lost puppy, wagging his tail whenever a beauty so much as looked his way.

But today, that merciless training — the sharp corrections, the bruises, the humiliation — suddenly became a blessing. If he had waited to react until after his conscious mind registered the threat, he would have been far too late. Daemon’s attack was wickedly layered, its true killing edge buried behind misdirection and speed. There would have been no space to dodge, no time to counter. Only instinct, raw and pure, saved him here.

Second Stream. Zhao Wei all but roared the sequence name in his mind. His left palm slapped hard against the obsidian handle of his Whip, and he flooded the Spiritual Treasure with Water Qi in a desperate, surging rush.

From the perspective of the audience, it was like watching the Whip come alive. The leather length blurred, barbs glistening as if dripping with fresh dew, and from its tip unfurled a liquid extension — a spectral serpent of water that connected seamlessly with the rotating sphere of his Water-Domain.

The moment Daemon’s lightning bolt breached the outer barrier, that aqueous serpent snapped into place, linking Weapon and Domain into a single, continuous defense. The Electric-Current that should have speared into Zhao Wei’s flesh instead dispersed harmlessly through the circulating flow, bled into harmless flickers before they could bite into his body.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, the sound of shared breath drawn tight between awe and disbelief. Many of the Inner Disciples watching narrowed their eyes — not at Daemon’s failure, but at Zhao Wei’s seamless reaction. The skill required to catch that kind of opening and reinforce it in the same heartbeat was something they had rarely seen from him before.

Daemon straightened slowly, planting both feet in the dirt. A faint frown tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he clicked his tongue in open irritation. His multi-layered trap — the kind of trick that would have left most opponents twitching on the ground — had been completely neutralized.

“Man… I really thought I had you with that one,” he said, rolling his shoulder until the joint popped, never breaking eye contact with his opponent. His tone was casual, but the sharp glint in his gaze carried the weight of genuine interest now.

Then, without looking away from Zhao Wei, Daemon called over his shoulder.

“Ru. Lend me your Sword for a bit. I guess I’ll need to get somewhat serious with this guy — he’s proving to be quite capable of using the soft to counter the hard.”

Yan Ru’s lips curved faintly, the gleam of anticipation in his eyes unmistakable. The Sword at his side hummed softly, as if recognizing that its next wielder was already preparing to test it in earnest battle.

Zhao Wei’s jaw tightened the moment he realized what Daemon had just asked for. Every instinct in him screamed to object — to point out how absurd it was for his opponent to suddenly be handed a servant’s Weapon mid-fight. His tongue even twitched, ready to lash out with protest.

But the image of Chu Ren’s earlier outburst flashed vividly through his mind — the loud challenge, the shameful loss, and the way Elder Ping had effortlessly shackled him with restrictions in front of everyone. The memory still hung in the air like a cautionary ghost, and Zhao Wei swallowed his words before they could leave his lips.

No… he wasn’t going to make the same mistake.

His gaze darted to Elder Ping, who appeared entirely unbothered, her fan lazily fluttering as if this was nothing worth her attention. That subtle gesture told him everything — if she intended to intervene, she already would have.

Unlike that simpleton’s bull-headed physique, Zhao Wei thought bitterly, my body is nowhere near as resilient. If this brat closes the distance…

His mind raced. The truth was something he could not deny — his Elemental-Compatibility placed him at a natural disadvantage here. Lightning devours Water. It didn’t matter that his control over the Nine-Tide Technique was far above average; one clean strike from Daemon’s Lightning-enhanced body could shatter his defenses and burrow straight into his weakest point.

The mental image came unbidden — Daemon’s small fist crashing through his guard, the shock tearing through his veins like molten iron. Zhao Wei’s grip on his Whip tightened reflexively, the leather creaking under the strain.

All it would take was one punch. One mistake. And the fight would be over before he even had the chance to mount a proper defense.

Yan Ru stepped forward without hesitation, his boots pressing into the scorched dirt with quiet resolve. When he reached his young master, he half-bowed and presented the Sword with both palms open, the unpolished steel lying reverently across them.

Daemon’s fingers curled around the raw, incomplete hilt — the very Weapon he had forged earlier that day, with the crucial assistance of Yan Jia’s Fire Qi. Even unfinished, the Sword carried a weight to it, a certain dormant presence that hummed faintly against his grip.

Across the clearing, Zhao Wei’s jaw tightened. His eyes locked on the boy’s hands, following the subtle movements with unblinking focus. For a heartbeat, his nerves coiled tight, expecting the Weapon to flare with energy like it had earlier during Yan Ru’s two battles against his fellow Sect Disciples. But the blade remained inert, cold, and still.

A rush of relief swelled within Zhao Wei’s chest, almost making him grin. Of course! he realized, the thought striking him like a fresh tide. He doesn’t have any Qi in his body at all. Without it, he can’t awaken that Sword’s true potential. This is just a lump of refined metal in his hands.

“You seem like you’ve just been given a second wind,” Daemon remarked, his voice low and edged with amusement as he observed the subtle shift in his opponent’s expression. A half-smile tugged at his lips. “Good… now we can both fight to our heart’s content.”

The unpolished Sword was heavier in the hand than it looked, its dull edge and lack of a proper hilt demanding a firm, deliberate grip. But Daemon’s stance shifted the moment he raised it — there was no awkwardness, no fumbling. Instead, he flowed into motion like a predator tasting blood, his posture and footwork betraying the countless hours his clone, Ippo, had devoted to sword drills every single day.

When the first clash came, it was sudden and explosive. Steel met scaled leather with a ringing snap, the boy’s wild, unrestrained swings crashing down from unpredictable angles, keeping Zhao Wei on the defensive. Each strike was guided not by orthodox technique but by an instinct sharpened through raw experience — an improvisational style that made up for the blade’s dullness with sheer ferocity.

Zhao Wei tried to slip his Whip past the boy’s guard, the barbed scales darting in sly, snaking arcs to coil around the Sword’s incomplete hilt. But each attempt was met with a sharp twist of the wrist, a low sweep, or a shoulder drop, Daemon’s Weapon intercepting with uncanny precision that forced the Whip’s tip away. The suppression was relentless, choking off Zhao Wei’s favored tricks before they could even fully form.

And all the while, Daemon kept stepping in — not just striking the Whip aside, but hammering at Zhao Wei’s Water-Domain itself. Every slash and thrust caused ripples, forcing Zhao Wei to bleed more Qi into holding and reconstructing the barrier. The frustration began to show in the young man’s clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

Finally, with a sudden flick, Zhao Wei managed to snake the Whip around the Sword’s dull edge. The coils tightened, biting against the steel. His heart surged with triumph. Now… I’ve got you.

But Daemon only lowered his head slightly, the shadow of his smirk hidden beneath his fringe. Got you now!

Up on the sidelines, Elder Ping’s expression darkened. She was inwardly cursing the sly little brat even as her glare shifted to Zhao Wei. Somehow! this foolish Disciple of hers had managed to forget all about the insane strength of his opponent — a detail she was painfully aware of. But that was Daemon’s greatest weapon beyond his fists: the way he flooded his opponents with so many details, so many shifting threats, that they lost sight of the truly lethal ones until it was too late.

The coils of the Whip bit tighter against the Sword’s dull edge, Zhao Wei gritting his teeth and yanking back with all the strength his arms could muster. But in the next instant, his confidence shattered.

Daemon’s head snapped up, and the smirk that broke across his childish face was pure predator.

With a sharp twist of his wrists and a sudden surge of brute force, the boy didn’t try to wrestle the Whip free — he pulled Zhao Wei in. The leather coils strained, the barbs scraping sparks off the Sword as the Whip’s handle jolted violently in its master’s grip.

Zhao Wei staggered forward, dragged across the ground like a fisherman hauled toward the depths by a hooked leviathan. His Water-Domain shuddered from the sudden shift, ripples exploding outward as Daemon yanked again, muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing like steel cables under flesh.

“C’mere,” the boy growled, his voice low and laced with anticipation.

Before Zhao Wei could disengage, Daemon spun, pivoting off his back foot and using the Sword like a lever. The pull wasn’t just physical — it was a full-bodied whip-crack of momentum, the kind that made Zhao Wei’s joints scream as he was nearly lifted off his feet.

Gasps erupted from the onlookers, and Elder Ping’s nails dug into her palm. Idiot! she thought, her fury barely restrained. You gave him the tether he needed.

Zhao Wei’s heart pounded in his ears as he realized far too late — he hadn’t bound Daemon’s Weapon at all. He’d bound himself to it.

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