A Waste of Time

Chapter 98: Opal Miasma

Liu Yuying gawked, stunned, and for a moment almost forgot to breathe. But her battered body screamed for air in its exhausted state, and the result was an ungraceful fit of coughing. Nobody could quite tell what painted her face such a deep flush. Was it the pounding of her blood after the relentless chase, the violent coughs wracking her chest, the humiliation of being teased so brazenly once more, or the boiling anger that this mortal brat had the gall to touch her cheek so intimately in front of everyone—and then, without a shred of shame, attempt to recruit her as his maid in public, his tone dead serious, not playful in the slightest?

Zhan Lei muttered aloud, unable to contain himself:

“Who would’ve thought this brat is such a player?”

The young men in the crowd nodded inwardly. The women, however, glared at him, some rolling their eyes—yet none could deny a grudging acknowledgment of his words. Even the beauty in black gave a faint, approving nod.

“S-stinky brat… cough… I’ll make you regret these words after Big Sister Han Ruyue beats you up! We’ll see if you still dare to think of me as one of your maids then!” Liu Yuying snapped, swatting his hand from her cheek and scowling with all the fire left in her. She would have dearly loved to beat him to a pulp right here and now, but reality chained her will: her body was dead tired, drained to the dregs. Only pride kept her upright. To press the fight any further would invite nothing but humiliation—and she knew it.

So she left her sharp words hanging in the air, dragging her weary legs back toward the Junior Brothers and Sisters of her Sect. Each step was a slow walk of shame, her pride lamenting bitterly at being forced to join the ranks of the eight losers.

“I take it that Han Ruyue is the boss of your group of Sect Disciples?” Daemon asked lightly, walking beside her as though they were old friends. Without hesitation, he reached out and clasped her hand, steadying her faltering steps. His gesture was casual, natural—yet intimate enough to draw gasps from the onlookers. His tone, however, was curious, even innocent. “Is she really that good? What’s her secret?”

His face might have ruined the effect—mud-caked, smeared with soot from his earlier toil in the Nie family’s smithy—but his expression betrayed a boyish earnestness. He widened his eyes, black orbs turned into pleading pools, almost like a puppy begging for scraps.

Weren’t his eyes glowing silver when he wielded Lightning earlier? Yuying thought, dazed. But these eyes—calm, serene, clear—were far more dangerous than that feral gleam. So pure… so steady… No, no, no! Liu Yuying, what are you thinking? Falling for the enemy? What foolish taboo is this? Shake it off!

She pinched herself, shook her head violently, anything to banish the strange fog creeping into her heart.

Is this one’s head full of air? Daemon wondered, baffled by her sudden silence and bizarre antics, three pairs of eyes staring at her in outright confusion.

But before he could press the question, Han Ruyue herself stepped forward, her icy voice cutting through the charged silence.

“Why ruin the surprise?” she said, her tone sharp as steel. “I was about to reveal it to you anyway—if you have the skills to withstand it.”

“Well… this was unexpectedly rude of you!” Daemon pulled an exaggerated silly face, his eyes widening in mock offense as though she’d just insulted his family line. His tone carried that irritating edge of humor he always used to get under people’s skin, fully intending to disarm Han Ruyue by dragging her into some petty argument. If she bit, even for a second, he could twist it, push her off balance, and force her into his tempo.

But clearly, this girl wasn’t the type to get tangled in his nonsense. Cold, steady, and unmoved, she didn’t so much as flinch.

“What’s wrong with me collecting intel on my opponent?” Daemon pressed on, unwilling to let his words die uselessly. His grin widened, his voice rising so the entire crowd could hear his provocation. “You’ve been shamelessly doing the same to me—have you ever heard me complain? What, are you maybe afraid? Is that it?”

The boy’s voice was light, taunting, but his eyes glittered with calculation. He refused to let her slip away without giving him something. If she wouldn’t stumble, then maybe he could at least drag her into a twisted exchange of logic and reasoning.

For just a fleeting heartbeat, Han Ruyue’s eyes softened—like a veil had been pulled back to reveal a trace of apology. But just as swiftly, the look vanished, replaced by her usual calm composure. Yet, to those watching closely, the tiniest ghost of an amused smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Take it like a man and deal with it,” she said coolly, her voice cutting through the arena’s silence. Then, with a decisive step forward, she sank into a low fighting stance. Her yellow robe swayed against her frame as she added, “Like I said before. If you’re capable… then you’ll personally experience everything.”

With that, Han Ruyue reached into her Space-Pouch and withdrew her chosen Weapon. A slender, dark-stained wooden Ruler gleamed faintly under the light.

Daemon blinked. A Ruler? Of all the Weapons he expected—a Sword, a Spear, even a Blade—this girl had brought out a schoolroom tool. His lips curled, disbelief flickering across his face. Such an odd choice for a Weapon…

But he wasted no time. He leapt back with surprising agility, boots kicking up dust as he landed squarely beside his massive Tower-Shield and Hammer. The iron weight of the Hammer and the solid comfort of the Shield steadied him instantly. Armed with everything he thought he might need, he flashed a grin. “Alright then. Let’s see what homework you’ve got for me.”

“Huh? Where did she g—Whoa!”

His words were cut short. One blink—and she was gone.

The spectators gasped as Han Ruyue vanished from sight, dissolving into nothing but air. But Daemon’s instincts screamed. The Passive Skill Basic Instincts, granted by his Asura Buff, flared to life the moment her presence brushed the edge of his seven-meter sensory boundary. The boy’s skin prickled, hair rising as every nerve screamed danger.

Behind him.

Daemon spun even as panic clawed at him. And sure enough, Han Ruyue reappeared like a yellow-robed ghost at his back, the tip of her wooden Ruler thrusting forward with pinpoint precision—straight for his tailbone.

The audience held their breath. It was the kind of strike that could cripple a man permanently if it landed.

But what happened next defied logic.

Daemon’s arm moved on pure instinct, dragging the Tower-Shield back just in time to intercept the strike. The sharp crack of wood meeting metal rang out—yet before anyone could process the clash, Han Ruyue blurred again.

She was gone.

In the next heartbeat, she stood right back in her original spot, as though she had never moved at all. Her stance was the same, her breathing calm, her expression unshaken. To the crowd, it looked as if the attack had been an illusion.

Daemon’s jaw dropped. His voice broke with disbelief as he jabbed a finger toward her. “You can… Teleport!”

The boy was utterly losing his composure. He had already witnessed Cultivators wielding Fire, Water, Wood, Earth, Gold, Wind, Lightning, and Darkness Qi with casual mastery—and not once had his heart skipped a beat. But this? This was different. This was beyond anything he’d prepared for. His pulse hammered in his chest, his grin stretching wild.

Excitement, raw and unfiltered, lit up his eyes like twin stars. For the first time since stepping into this arena, Daemon wasn’t just fighting—he was thrilled.

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