A Waste of Time

Chapter 86: Hidden Marrow

Daemon’s eyes gleamed with a glint of approval — Zhao Wei’s stubborn resistance was admirable, but ultimately pointless. With casual precision, the boy slid one hand forward and gripped the Sword’s dull tip, his fingers curling firmly around the unfinished steel. Then, with a deft twist and sharp flip of the blade, he wound the Whip’s barbed length into a tangled knot.

The trap was perfect. Zhao Wei’s wrist froze mid-motion, his usual flowing arcs and clever flicks rendered useless. Without the freedom to jerk, flex, or carve wide sweeps through the air, his Weapon was nothing but a tether binding him to the boy’s will.

Daemon had tested him earlier — a light pull, just enough to see if the young man had some hidden counter. The answer had been written plainly on Zhao Wei’s face: panic and despair. That was all the boy needed to see.

The playful glint in his eyes hardened. Muscles in his back and shoulders rolled like coiled serpents as he tightened his grip. This time, the tug wasn’t a test — it was an execution of intent, a violent pull meant to rip Zhao Wei from his snug fortress within the twin layers of his Water Defenses.

Come flying at me, Daemon thought, a grin playing on his lips. If I don’t like you, the fist goes to the face. If I do… stomach shot.

But Zhao Wei, to his credit, didn’t play to script. His eyes flared with sudden resolve. Letting go of the obsidian handle entirely, he brought both palms together with a loud clap, voice ringing across the clearing:

“Third Lake!”

From his body erupted three surging torrents of Water Qi, flooding the already roiling Water-Domain. It expanded outward in a violent surge, doubling its original size. The crowd gasped as the barrier’s surface boiled with power. From within that turbulent shield, two colossal arms of water surged forth, latching onto the abandoned obsidian handle. The moment they gripped it, the Weapon thrummed — reconnecting seamlessly to Zhao Wei’s defenses, as if it had never left his control.

All eyes fixed on Daemon, the air in the clearing thick with anticipation for his next move — a move that would answer the counter to his own counter. The crowd’s collective breath seemed to still, as if even the wind was waiting to see what the boy would do.

Yan Ru stood slightly apart, his gaze sharp, his mind drinking in every detail. Zhao Wei’s control over Water Qi, his timing, his improvisation — all of it was valuable insight for someone who wielded the same Element. This was more than a fight; it was a live lesson.

Yan Jia, on the other hand, had a very different thought in mind. Her brow furrowed in mild confusion as she wondered why her young master hadn’t yet activated his “Handsome” mode — that awe-inspiring transformation where his body became a towering colossus with rippling muscles, multiple arms, and multiple heads. She’d been quietly hoping for another chance to admire that god-like physique in action, her eyes gleaming with barely hidden eagerness.

Elder Ping watched with a calculating calm, her lips pressed into a thin line. She had a sense — almost a certainty — that the boy had yet to reveal his full hand. Her instincts told her this was still the warm-up, and she was keen to see the rest of his cards.

Meanwhile, Zhao Wei allowed himself the smallest inward sigh of relief. His quick execution of the “Third Lake” Technique had prevented the humiliation of losing his Weapon — a narrow escape, and a small victory in front of so many watching eyes. But that joy was short-lived, dissolving instantly when he looked up and saw Daemon smiling at him.

“Is that all?” the boy asked, his voice casual but carrying a thread of mockery. Without waiting for an answer, Daemon twisted his torso sharply, dragging both arms down and to the side in a single, fluid motion. His grip tightened, and with a flex of strength that made the ground tremble faintly beneath his feet, he snarled, “I said… c’mere!”

Gasps rippled through the audience as Zhao Wei’s entire Water-Domain — along with the Whip — lurched toward Daemon, dragged as though tethered by an invisible chain. The sight was absurd, like watching a fisherman yank an entire lake toward himself with one pull.

Before the minds present could catch up with what they’d just witnessed, Daemon abruptly released the Sword’s handle and drove his foot into the ground. His body blurred, vanishing from sight.

Only two pairs of eyes could track him — the keen gaze of his mount Kirin from high above on its fifteen-meter-long body, and the sharp, alluring eyes of the woman in the black dress.

He reappeared behind Zhao Wei like a wraith, silent and sudden. Two open palms pressed firmly into the young man’s kidney area, the touch almost gentle — but beneath that façade lay a coiled, explosive force.

The result was instantaneous. Zhao Wei’s body was hurled forward as though struck by a battering ram, sent crashing toward the very Water-Domain he had only just lost moments before. The barrier accepted him back with a violent reunion, erupting in a chaotic spray that drenched the arena in a curtain of glittering droplets.

The clearing erupted into cheers, the loudest coming from the envious men who felt a perverse sense of vindication seeing the handsome young peacock who had strutted so confidently before the girls get sent flying like a rag doll. There was satisfaction in their eyes, the kind of smug delight born from watching someone so self-assured be humbled in front of everyone.

Unfortunately for them, Zhao Wei’s own Element spared him from the full brunt of that humiliation. His Water cushioned his landing, dampening the impact — though the real damage had already been done by the raw force of Daemon’s strike.

A few murmurs broke out from the bolder voices among the mortals in the crowd. They lamented how “unfortunate” it was that the boy hadn’t used his Lightning when he struck, muttering that surely he shouldn’t be taking it easy on his enemy. But these fools were quickly silenced — harshly chastised for daring to comment on the affairs of Immortals, as if lowly mortals had the right to judge the life-and-death battles of those far above their station.

Daemon, unfazed by either the cheers or the chatter, simply began walking toward his fallen foe. The water rippled and parted gently around his calves as his steps carried him into the shallow, ankle-high pool that now covered the battleground — the remnants of Zhao Wei’s control over the Element, which had dissolved with his defeat.

The boy stopped beside the unconscious young man, then without ceremony flipped him onto his back. The motion drew a startled murmur from a few onlookers until they realized Daemon had done so to open Zhao Wei’s airways and allow him to breathe freely again. Having ensured his opponent wasn’t going to drown face-first in his own Water-Domain, Daemon promptly ignored him.

His attention instead turned to the Sword still tangled in the Whip’s coils. With casual ease, he freed the Weapon from its bonds and then tossed it through the air toward its rightful owner. Yan Ru’s hand shot up in a blur, snatching it mid-flight with the smooth reflexes of a seasoned Swordsman.

The two exchanged a brief smile — a simple but telling gesture that spoke of mutual respect. Off to the side, Yan Jia’s lips curled into a pout and she rolled her eyes, her expression a perfect match for Mei’s own display of dissatisfaction. The moment she had been waiting for — the one she had eagerly anticipated — hadn’t happened, and her displeasure was obvious.

Elder Ping’s sharp eyes narrowed for a brief moment as she observed the scene, though her face quickly smoothed back into its usual mask of calm, neutral beauty. Her voice, however, carried the weight of command when she finally spoke.

“Disciple Chu Ren, take care of him.”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, her gaze shifted to the two young men and two young women still standing idle. “You all heard him — he’s in a hurry.” Her tone was cold, stripped of any warmth or indulgence, and as emotionless as the still water at her feet.

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