A Waste of Time

Chapter 95: Quelling Echo

The girl was still reeling, her composure cracked by the shameless exchange of words just moments before. That fleeting softness in her eyes, the trace of blush from his wolfish teasing—it all vanished when reality crashed upon her.

Because the boy did not hesitate.

Daemon surged forward with the same brutal form he had unleashed against Yu Tianwu, every step a thundering stomp that made the earth quiver beneath his weight. But this time, he was more than just that feral child with a Blade and stubborn willpower.

This time, he was a nightmare given flesh.

Three heads snarled and laughed in unison, their expressions shifting between childlike mischief, savage bloodlust, and chilling calm. Six arms brandished an arsenal fit for a warlord—Sword, Blade, Great-Axe, Hammer, Blade, and Tower-Shield—their cold steel catching the pale daylight, glinting with a hungry sharpness as though eager to drink deep of battle. Each weapon seemed alive in his grip, vibrating with the sheer force of his stride and the weight of his intent.

“Senior Sister Xue Lian…” Shen Li’s voice cracked as his eyes widened, “is this… a Martial Spirit manifestation?”

Xue Lian’s gaze narrowed as she studied the boy’s grotesque transformation. Her reply came quiet, almost reluctant.

“No… this is him.”

Lin Qinghai turned his head, brows furrowing. “Senior Sister, what do you mean by that?”

The others leaned closer, curiosity burning in their eyes.

The cold woman finally spoke, her arms crossed loosely before her chest, her voice as steady and detached as the autumn breeze. “This has nothing to do with the Path of Spirit-Energy.”

All gazes snapped back to the boy in the circle. Their fellow Sect Disciple, the one who had stepped forward to confront him, was darting about with Wind Qi flaring at her feet. With each burst, the air seemed to fold beneath her steps, and tiny flashes of metal appeared—a pair of Daggers sliding free from the toes of her boots, and Nails extending like hidden blades from her heels. Her entire body became a weapon honed by her movement.

“This,” the cold Senior Sister continued, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “is an ability that only belongs to the Path of Body-Refiners.”

Her words sent a ripple through the group.

They watched as their sister in the circle pushed herself to her limit, Wind Qi carrying her in dizzying arcs around the battlefield. Yet for all her speed, she found no opening. Daemon’s three heads and six arms shifted in perfect coordination, his weapons moving like extensions of instinct itself. His reflexes were sharper, his perception wider—there were no blind spots to exploit.

Shen Li swallowed audibly. “Even with her speed… she can’t land a strike?”

Lin Qinghai clenched his jaw, unwilling to voice the thought that pressed in on them all.

The silence deepened. Each disciple’s face reflected a truth none wanted to admit aloud: even their fastest, most precise sister was being suppressed.

And the one doing it wasn’t a refined master of Spirit-Energy…

It was that boy. That Body-Refiner.

A child wearing the visage of an Asura.

Elder Ping looked at this Disciple, the crown-jewel among all of the Inner-Disciples in the Ten-Thousand Beast Mountain, and nodded inwardly though her beautiful complexion revealed nothing. The woman lazily fanned herself with her Fan and joined the conversation while watching the speedster of the Inner-Sect struggle—her every strike deflected by the boy’s Tower-Shield, her every angle foiled by his many weapons.

“Even among Body-Refiners,” Elder Ping remarked softly, “this kid is an extremely special case.”

“He is,” the cold girl agreed, her tone clipped but sure. “Those Body-Refiners in the Nine-Stars Realm are not supposed to be able to use Elemental Techniques.”

The beauty in black took this chance to probe further, her voice deliberately smooth. “So, what do you think?” she asked, eyes narrowing as she glanced at the girl still circling Daemon. The speedster was beginning to lose her calm—her strikes, fast as they were, yielded nothing. Yet Elder Ping’s thoughts were quietly reassuring: At least you’re not taking damage or injuries. You’re still unharmed. Patience. Keep looking for your chance.

But instead of voicing those thoughts, she shifted her gaze to the cold girl beside her. “Is this kid in the Eight-Palaces Realm?”

“I’m not sure,” the young woman admitted, “but what I am certain of is this—those in the Eight-Palaces Realm are only capable of regrowing their limbs and accelerating recovery when injured.” She gestured faintly toward Daemon, who smirked the moment his opponent disengaged to catch her breath. From her Space-Pouch, the speedster retrieved a pair of short Swords—thin as the wings of a cicada, forged of cyan metal, their delicate hilts carved from Emerald Jade.

“But growing extra heads and arms in the blink of an eye?” the cold girl continued, voice sharpening. “That is something they could never do—not without consuming all their Vitality and sacrificing their entire Lifespan.”

“Does that mean I was beaten up by someone in the Eight-Palaces Realm and walked away with just a few scrapes?” Chu Ren asked, his massive fists tightening, his grin swelling as if he had just achieved the impossible.

“Idiot,” Zhao Wei muttered, casting him a single disdainful glance before looking away.

“Humph.” Chu Ren crossed his arms with mock pride. “You’re just jealous because I wasn’t carried away on a stretcher like you.” His bronze skin caught what little light remained in the gloomy sky, a sharp contrast to the once-sunny day now drowned in storm clouds thanks to the boy’s madness.

Zhan Lei bristled and glared. He, too, had been carried off like Zhao Wei, and Chu Ren’s words stung like salt in a wound. “Looking for another beating? Did you forget how my Spear still reached you, even through that thick skin of yours?”

The cold girl ignored the childish bickering between her Junior Sect Disciples and turned her gaze instead toward Elder Ping. Her expression was calm, but her eyes carried the weight of expectation—if anyone here could peel back the veil on that monstrous boy’s secrets, it would be this woman whose Cultivation-Base far exceeded theirs.

Even Yan Ru and Yan Jia leaned forward ever so slightly, ears sharpened like hunters awaiting the sound of prey rustling in the grass. Across from them, Zhao Wei, Zhan Lei, and Chu Ren—who had been moments away from escalating their verbal squabble into another round of bruised egos—reluctantly called a truce. For once, their lips sealed, their attention converging wholly on the elder whose silence carried more authority than their noise ever could.

“Actually,” Elder Ping began, her voice soft but cutting through the tension with ease, “it’s wrong.”

Her Fan flicked once, opening with a crisp snap, and she resumed fanning herself as though she were merely commenting on the weather. Yet her eyes never strayed from the fight.

Daemon had just let the Tower-Shield slip from his grip. Rather than discard it entirely, he drove it halfway into the soil beside him, the slab of refined steel now forming a protective wall on his flank. In the same fluid motion, he slung the Hammer aside and reached for the Bow. The boy’s frame tightened as he bent it into a perfect crescent, nocking an arrow on the bowstring until it drew taut like the full moon swelling in the night sky.

“There are exceptions in the Path of Body-Refinement,” the beauty in black explained smoothly, “just as there are in our Path of Spirit-Energy. Xue Lian… and even that girl Yan Jia, are living examples of this truth with their Martial Spirits.”

The gathered Inner Disciples instinctively nodded. They could hardly dispute it when their own companions stood as proof. Encouraged by their silent agreement, Elder Ping continued, her words slipping past the ambient hush of battle.

“Those in the Nine-Stars Realm can indeed wield Elemental Techniques,” she said, “but in nearly all cases, it is only to reinforce their physical forms. Rarely, a handful may extend that into crude external techniques—but such things are clumsy imitations, a mockery compared to the Qi methods of true Spirit Cultivators. Almost laughable, really.”

Her Fan whispered through the air again as Daemon loosed his first arrow, silver light flickering across his boyish face. “And yet… this boy has already shown he can do what they cannot.”

The disciples stiffened, eyes widening, a ripple of unease crossing the group.

“But make no mistake,” Elder Ping’s tone sharpened, as crisp as the edge of a Sword. “He is not in the Eight-Palaces Realm. If he were, he would have already noticed my Spirit Sense probing him. I have tested him many times since this began.”

She leaned back slightly, a knowing gleam surfacing behind her calm mask. “Not once did I meet resistance. Not once did he bristle at the intrusion. Spirit Cultivator or Body-Refiner—no one, no matter how arrogant, tolerates having their privacy invaded without so much as a flicker of awareness. And yet this boy… remains blind.”

A tense silence gripped the watching disciples, their thoughts churning as they struggled to reconcile the paradox standing at the center of the battlefield.

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