A Waste of Time

Chapter 97: Broken Wreath

Liu Yuying’s patience frayed like silk against a blade. Every breath was sharp, every step punctuated by another damn Arrow whistling at her legs. Not once had he aimed higher—never at her arms, her joints, or anywhere that might cripple. Always her legs. Always just low enough to be infuriatingly precise yet unmistakably restrained.

A brat who declared his so-called “friendly” match a deadly rule—one where he himself would deal the execution to any who broke it? Her jaw clenched, her teeth grinding as her body blurred past another Arrow. Not even himself is allowed to contradict his words, huh? How annoyingly admirable of you.

Her Sword swatted one projectile aside, the steel ringing with a sharp clang! before her other hand carved a cyan Wind Blade into the next, cleaving it apart mid-flight. She spat her words through gritted teeth, breath hot and face taut with strain:

“As a woman, I can’t help but find your chivalrous actions quite charming… and utterly infuriating!”

Her frustration bled through the sarcasm, but the boy—oh, the boy only grinned wider, his three heads flashing their mischievous unity.

“What can I say as iron sand,” Daemon quipped, his bowstring thrumming as three Arrows left him in the span of a heartbeat, “when your magnetic beauty pulls me in so strongly… I’m left with no choice but to keep my distance. Do forgive my caution, for if I’m in your field, I’m stuck forever.”

The words were shameless. Brazen. Delivered with such theatrical gall that for the briefest instant, Liu Yuying faltered mid-step. Her flush deepened, crawling hot and traitorous up her neck until even her ears burned crimson. Rage and embarrassment collided in her chest, a storm she could neither stifle nor unleash.

Gasps spread across the crowd like fire catching dry brush. Whispers hissed from villager to villager and from guard to merchant, muffled behind hands raised to stifle their amusement. By now, they had learned well—the less they were seen laughing, the safer they’d be from this fiery Immortal girl’s wrath. Still, eyes sparkled and shoulders trembled with suppressed mirth.

And in the midst of it all, the roots surged. Thick, twisting walls of wood rose and bent with perfect timing, Elder Ping’s unseen command shaping them into barriers. Each root intercepted stray Arrows or Wind Blades, shielding the gathered disciples from the deadly crossfire. Then, just as swiftly, they retreated, parting again to grant the spectators their unobstructed view of the duel.

It was a masterful balance—protection and spectacle woven together seamlessly.

Yet none of them could deny the truth: this fight had become something else entirely. A clash of steel and wind, yes, but also of patience and pride, restraint and provocation.

And Liu Yuying… was finally pushed beyond her breaking point.

Liu Yuying snapped.

Gone was the measured precision, gone was the patient restraint. She threw caution to the wind—literally—and hurled every shred of her power into raw aggression. Cyan arcs burst wildly from her short Swords as she pursued the boy with unrelenting fury.

The arena transformed into a storm.

Daemon darted like a shadow, his movements slippery and unpredictable, each step accompanied by the twang of his Bowstring. Arrows rained backward as he fled in a wide circle, always one step ahead, always slipping from her grasp like an eel through rushing water. The ground cracked and groaned where her Wind Blades carved through the soil, each strike gouging scars into the earth.

“Coward!” she shouted, her face flushed red as she slashed another blade of cyan wind at his retreating figure.

“Face me head-on if you dare!” she cursed, voice cracking with both fury and exhaustion.

“Running like that… are you even a man?” she hissed, teeth clenched as sweat streamed down her face.

Yet no insult found its mark. Daemon only grinned, loosening another Arrow that spun past Yuying’s shoulder, while his three heads tilted back in mischievous unison.

But the Inner Disciples who knew better felt their hearts sink. A collective sigh escaped them, heavy and resigned.

She’s wasting her Qi.

Her furious swings, her constant Wind Blades—each cost double what it should. Perhaps more. Already her breaths came ragged, her shoulders heaved, her once-fluid footwork faltered under the burden of exhaustion. Her rage blinded her to the game at hand.

Because while she thought she was chasing him, in truth… Daemon was leading her.

He slipped around her feints with exaggerated rolls, vaulted past her strikes with dramatic flourishes, every maneuver designed not just to survive but to mislead. Behind that reckless showmanship lay a cold and calculating trickster. Again and again, when her eyes were fixed forward, he bent low to snatch one of his fallen Arrows. Again and again, he recycled them, their shafts bent or scratched but serviceable in his steady hands.

More than half his quiver was gone, destroyed under her relentless storm. But the ones that survived her parries, the ones scattered across the ground from their countless clashes—those he claimed back with uncanny precision. Each reuse was a feat of control, his strength honed to perfection so as not to snap the damaged shafts.

It was madness. It was brilliance. And it kept the boy armed even against overwhelming odds.

Still, to Daemon, this was nothing new.

His mind flickered back—back to a memory steeped in blood and bone. Asura’s World. An endless tide of skeletal warriors, ten-thousand strong, their jaws clattering as they surged to devour him. His only allies: Grunt, Runa, and the wild beasts of the forest, most of them frail and powerless in the chaos of war. He remembered the sky blackened by Skeleton Archers, their Arrows blotting out the sun, and himself—the tallest target, the prime prey—dancing between death with nothing but cunning, endurance, and relentless will.

I wonder if those two are still doing alright, he thought briefly, recalling his companions.

Even in the middle of this duel, even as he fired yet another Arrow, the memory lingered. Back then, he had juggled his many Weapons with all his spare arms, never once lowering his guard. Here, though…

I don’t have as many arms to spare. If I use the Bow, I must abandon the Shield and Hammer. But… this is worth it.

The thought ended with the sound of his Quiver striking the ground. Empty at last. Useless. The girl had destroyed the final Arrow, burning her Qi to its dregs in the process.

Liu Yuying was dog tired, spent to her very core, her body trembling like the autumn leaves of the trees nearby. Her breaths came shallow, her knees bent as though the weight of her Sword alone could topple her.

Daemon, by contrast, stood bare-chested in nothing but his trousers, his breathing steady, his physique unshaken despite the storm he had weathered.

“Huff… g-got you now…” Liu Yuying gasped, her body bent, her hands braced on her knees. Sweat poured down her face, dripping to the dirt. Her voice shook, yet her glare burned with undimmed ferocity. “I-if you dare run from me again… huff… I-I’ll kill you for real!”

And Daemon—Daemon laughed. A genuine, full-bodied laugh that echoed across the hushed arena.

He stepped forward, his Bow falling slack in one hand. With the other, he reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently against her damp skin.

“I guess it’s destined for iron sand to gravitate toward a magnet,” he said softly, his tone at once playful and disarming. “No matter how much it tries to outrun its force… sooner or later it’s carried by wind to meet its fate.”

He paused, savoring the moment, before his grin widened into wicked amusement.

“I guess we’re compatible after all. Wanna be my maid? What do you say?”

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