A Waste of Time

Chapter 96: Refracted Halo

The girl sneered, her lips curving upward with equal parts disdain and irritation, when she saw this naughty brat daring to wield a Bow and Arrow against her—a Wind Cultivator whose entire strength lay in speed and agility.

Arrogant fool, she thought, her boots already glowing faintly as streams of cyan Wind Qi wrapped around her legs. In the next instant her body twisted midair like a ribbon caught in a breeze, a flawless spin that carried her safely past the oncoming Arrow. The maneuver was not only quick but breathtakingly elegant, her movements guided and sharpened by the natural flow of her Element.

As she twirled, one of her short Swords sliced through the air, a streak of cyan erupting from its thin cicada-wing blade. The compressed Wind Blade screamed forward, cutting through the atmosphere faster than sound, aimed squarely at Daemon’s chest.

Her pupils constricted.

When did he loose another Arrow?

The question stabbed into her mind, halting her follow-up strike before she could bring her second Sword down. Out of the corner of her vision she spotted it—a metal projectile already whistling toward her left foot, its flight as precise as if guided by an unseen hand.

Relief flitted across her face when she realized his target was non-lethal. If it had been aimed at my throat, chest, or stomach, even I might not have been able to evade without drawing blood. But why? Was it luck… or on purpose? Did this boy truly fire to miss?

On the other side, Daemon had already sidestepped her cyan Wind Blade. The shimmering crescent of cutting air bit into the soil with terrifying ease, carving a deep gouge across the earth before smashing into the Tower-Shield he had earlier buried at his flank. Metal shrieked under pressure, and a scar—deep, jagged, unyielding—was left etched into its once-pristine surface.

Gasps rippled across the crowd.

But the exchange was only beginning.

Arrow after Arrow clashed with Blade after Blade. Cyan wind shrieked against streaks of cold steel, their dueling rhythm echoing through the ruined arena. Dust swirled. The air churned. The disciples watching could see the clear imbalance—one of them, their proud Senior Sister, was giving it her all, attacking with vicious precision and trying desperately to strike true. The other? That damned boy with the messy hair was shooting casually, his posture almost lazy, as though this were practice and not battle.

Her flush deepened, crawling up her neck until her cheeks were painted crimson. Rage—pure and unmasked—boiled within her chest. He wasn’t just resisting me. He was toying with me.

“Senior Sister Liu Yuying has lost it completely,” Shen Li whispered, his face pale as an old memory came rushing back. That one time he had tested her patience in training, he had been laid flat for three days. The cold shiver that ran his spine now was all too familiar.

“Can you blame her?” Yue Lan murmured, her voice low yet sharp. Her lips curved with grudging respect. “The brat’s got a way with words—and now actions." If it were me, being mocked like this in front of a crowd… I’d do worse than lose my temper. Turning into a ghost to haunt him for life wouldn’t feel like going too far.

“I understand how she feels,” Zhan Lei muttered, jaw tight, his teeth grinding together audibly. His eyes stayed locked on the fight, a shadow of his own humiliation still darkening his face. That freak crushed my self-confidence in my own specialty. "Right now, Senior Sister Yuying’s being suppressed in her source of pride, her specialty—speed and control. Her Movement Techniques, her reaction speed, even her strategic mind… he’s stepping on them all. The things she treasures most in combat, he’s dismantling like they’re nothing.”

The Inner Disciples fell quiet, their words giving way to the sound of clashing air and steel. Then, slowly, deliberately, Elder Ping closed her Fan with a soft snap. The black-dressed beauty tapped the folded ribs against her palm as though weighing the words she was about to speak.

“Do you understand now,” she asked softly, yet every syllable struck with the weight of authority, “what makes this boy such an extremely dangerous opponent… even for someone like myself?”

Her eyes swept across the gathering, taking in their furrowed brows, clenched jaws, and troubled silence. Then, with a faint, teasing smile, she added:

“I’m curious. Tell me—what do you boys and girls think?”

Chu Ren was the first to speak, his booming voice carrying through the tense air. Direct and simple, as always.

“He’s too damn strong for his age—for any age, really. The kid is just ridiculous!”

A couple of disciples nearly winced. Yu Tianwu almost facepalmed on the spot, but his attention was still tethered to the battle raging before them. He had no patience for Chu Ren’s lack of subtlety, and neither did the others; one by one, his Junior Disciples followed his example and ignored the knucklehead’s remark.

Xue Lian, ever composed, shifted her posture with deliberate elegance. She rested her delicate chin on one fist while the other arm folded across her chest. Her sharp eyes narrowed in thought.

“He’s all-rounded,” she said quietly, though the weight in her voice silenced even Chu Ren. Her gaze drifted across the field—first at the four young men who had already suffered humiliating defeat at Daemon’s hands, then at Liu Yuying. Their Senior Sister was recklessly closing the distance, her short Swords flickering as she parried incoming Arrows.

Perhaps she’s confident… perhaps she thinks there’s no risk if the brat keeps aiming for non-vital points. But what if he changes his mind?

The thought crawled over her skin like cold steel, sending a sharp tingle through her nerves. If he so much as shifts that aim, none of us—none of our caliber—would be able to escape unscathed. Against his speed and trickery, even a single Arrow would spell disaster.Her lips pressed into a thin line. “But his mind games are quite devious.”

Chu Ren, Zhao Wei, Zhan Lei, and even Yu Tianwu—all of them instinctively nodded. They knew too well the sting of being baited and humiliated by the boy’s cunning tricks. Every one of them had been caught in his net, and now Liu Yuying was being dragged into the same trap, the cords tightening around her with every exchange.

Lin Qinghai finally broke the silence with what he thought was reason. “But… isn’t he going to run out of Arrows sooner or later? Senior Sister Yuying should’ve just waited. If she held back and bid her time, he’d have no choice but to stop!”

The cold girl turned toward him, her voice crisp and cutting, like ice splintering beneath weight. “Wrong. Long-range abilities are not cabbage to be thrown around casually in the Qi-Gathering Realm. Even if Yuying and I are both at Peak-Perfection, neither of us could afford to recklessly bombard an opponent with Technique after Technique. That would be foolish—especially against someone as fast and deadly as this brat.”

Her eyes never left Daemon as she spoke. The boy’s arrows whistled again, his smirk flashing whenever one slipped past Yuying’s guard.

“Remember,” she continued, “Daemon himself was forced to abandon his Lightning during his fight with Yu Tianwu. He burned out every last drop of Elemental power. Now all he has left is his body… and still, that alone is enough to overwhelm us. That’s what makes him terrifying. He’s a Body-Refiner who achieved what we Spirit-Cultivators pride ourselves on—Elemental dominance. For him to use even a fraction of it against us, and do so with such efficiency… that is something admirable.”

Her words settled over the group like a heavy shroud, leaving the disciples restless and uneasy as they continued to watch their Senior Sister’s struggle.

Elder Ping’s eyes softened, a flicker of warmth slipping past her otherwise impenetrable mask. She let the Fan brush lightly against her chin, then nodded, the barest curve of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You’ve summed it all up… almost,” she said. Her voice carried like a thread of silk over steel, cool yet magnetic, pulling every ear toward her. Instantly, the muttering disciples fell silent, their gazes riveted to her face as they deliberated over what they might have missed about this little freak of a boy.

“Yes, he’s ridiculously strong. But that is to be expected—most Body-Refiners are. Physical superiority and invincibility are the foundation of their Path. What sets him apart is not just that.” She angled her chin ever so slightly toward the battlefield, her lashes lowering as she studied Daemon’s movements. “He’s all-rounded. And on top of that, he has a fine mind resting on his shoulders. Three heads, and each of them sharper than most blades. That might explain why his tricks, his schemes, his mind games always cut so deep. He’s not afraid to experiment, nor hesitant to learn—even from his enemies. Every single one of his battles so far has proven as much.”

The disciples exchanged glances, some unwilling, others uneasy, yet none dared refute her words.

“But…” Elder Ping’s Fan stilled, and the black-dressed beauty allowed her gaze to harden. “His true edge lies elsewhere. It is his ability to adapt. To act with whatever cards fate lays before him. When pressed in close-range combat, he immediately shifts his focus to the weaknesses he senses, yet still keeps a broad outlook, always searching, always planning toward his goal. The instant a situation shifts—even by the smallest degree—he reacts. Instantly. And so he gives the impression that he is always in control.”

Her words lingered, unsettling.

“He is not,” she continued after a heartbeat, “but he hides it well. He hides his emotions. He hides his fears. And yet…” Elder Ping’s eyes narrowed, recalling countless glances, countless fleeting betrayals. “The look in his eyes has given him away time and again. That is where his inexperience lies. His mind is oddly mature, his demeanor unshakable, but there is always that shadow—distrust toward everything and everyone around him.”

She exhaled softly, lashes trembling with unspoken thought. “Perhaps it is because his own mother cast him out. Threw him into the wilderness, left him to fend for himself. Alone, in danger, against beasts and odds. And yet… to grow beyond his years, to grow sharper, faster, stronger—without corruption of character? That is what intrigues me most. And frightens me the most.”

The disciples leaned closer, tension thick as oil in the air. Elder Ping’s words had turned heavy, almost confessional.

“For some reason,” she admitted, her voice now little more than a whisper, “I sense a shadow behind his brightness. A darkness he has not yet shown. I dread the day it emerges into the Light.” Her hand tightened on the ribs of her Fan until the lacquered wood creaked. “Even my own Darkness Qi pales before it. And I am a Cultivator in Foundation-Establishment.”

Her words dropped like stones into a still pond. A ripple of dread passed through the disciples, each one swallowing hard, unwilling to imagine what kind of shadow could frighten Elder Ping of all people.

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