A Waste of Time

Chapter 99: Ambered Palisade

Han Ruyue tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing as she studied the boy’s expression. Daemon’s excitement looked genuine, but she doubted its authenticity. This kid was a trickster—clever at pulling others into his flow, then twisting the rhythm of the fight until momentum shifted completely into his hands. That exact talent was what allowed him to topple five of her Junior Brothers and Sisters, each more seasoned than him in their own way.

And yet… a small part of her hoped his reaction was real. Because loneliness had been her shadow every step of the way.

Ever since she stepped onto the Path of Cultivation, Han Ruyue had been hailed as a genius, a prodigy, a one-in-ten-thousand talent. Her Elemental-Compatibility was so rare that the only other person in the Ten-Thousand Beast Mountain who shared it was an old crone—the Grand Elder herself. That woman was terrible: socially inept, temperamental, moody, and, Ruyue had sensed, quietly envious of her youth and beauty.

That was why she had been cast back into the Sect’s Inner-Circle. The Grand Elder had claimed it was “for training,” that she needed to “experience the difficulty of clawing her way up the ranks” and “learn how to fight for her own resources.” Laughable, truly.

Her slender fingers tightened ever so slightly around the wooden Ruler. Two years in the Inner-Circle… and I’ve cultivated all the way to Peak-Perfection of the Qi-Gathering Realm on my own. No help. No guidance. While others begged for scraps, I fought for my Spirit Resources with my own hands.

She recalled watching more than a dozen disciples enter Entrance-Competitions, only to be directly recruited by Grand Elders and raised instantly to the rank of Core-Disciples. It was supposed to be an honor. But in her eyes, not one of those pampered disciples was worthy enough to carry her shoes.

“You seem well informed about my Element of Space,” she finally said, her tone measured but sharp, “yet you were so ignorant about my Junior Disciples’.”

The girl’s words were a test. A dangerous one—she knew it could shake her chances of victory, even jeopardize her mission. But she needed to see what lay beneath this boy’s mask.

Daemon’s lips twitched, but the smile never came. Instead, his eyes clouded with something else entirely—helplessness, regret, exhaustion. Not the exhaustion of muscles or bones, but the kind that seeped into the soul and leaked out through the gaze.

“Girl… you have no idea.”

His voice came low, weary, heavy with an age that shouldn’t belong to someone so young. It was the voice of a man far older, worn down by decades, cracked by memories that didn’t belong to the body he now carried.

In his heart, Daemon felt the ache of truth. His soul had been summoned from another world, stripped of the comfort of death, denied rest, and cast into this new life. He had been given a gift, yes—but one bound with the constant shadow of death. Every step forward meant survival. Every breath was a lie. For this new chance, he wore an act that was the polar opposite of who he truly was: not a warrior, not a prodigy, just a middle-aged man from Earth with mediocre ambition and no real achievements to his name.

Han Ruyue tilted her chin slightly, studying him with an intensity that made the silence hum. “What else do you know?” she pressed, before adding another question like a blade to the throat: “Have you ever met someone like me before?”

But Daemon shook his head.

“I’m done talking.” His gaze met hers, firm and sharp. Her lively expression vanished at once, slipping back into the cold, blank mask she always wore. “Win this fight and I’ll be your prisoner. Can’t you wait until then to interrogate me? Why ruin the surprise? I was about to reveal it to you anyway—if you have the skill to make me your prisoner.”

Her lips parted, the faintest flicker of annoyance passing through her eyes at having her words turned back on her. But beneath the irritation, there was something else—admiration. She liked that he stood his ground, even when the odds pressed down on him like a mountain.

Han Ruyue locked her gaze on him for a heartbeat, then her figure blurred and vanished once again.

Daemon’s instincts howled. His Shield tilted forty-five degrees west and angled upward, exactly where his nerves screamed danger.

Crack!

The sharp collision of wood against metal rang out, the sound bouncing through the arena. The Ruler had appeared from thin air—then, like a mirage, Han Ruyue’s form shimmered into view at the opposite side, where a small gap lingered between his arms gripping the Hammer and the Great Axe.

Her movement flowed seamlessly into a follow-up strike. This time, the flat of her Ruler came swatting downward with uncanny precision, its aim almost playful—as if she were Liu Yuying herself, out to spank this naughty boy’s backside.

“You dare!” Yan Jia shouted from the sidelines, her threat crackling with barely recovered Lightning Qi, sparks dancing faintly across her clenched fists.

Crack!

The sound of impact came again. One of Daemon’s other arms—this time the one gripping a Blade—lashed out with casual precision, halting the Ruler mid-swing before it could so much as graze him.

“You’re fast indeed,” one of the boy’s heads sneered, lips curling into a ridiculing smile. His many eyes burned with mocking fire. “But these weak attacks will never reach me.”

Then, in a sudden motion, Daemon spread his six arms wide—like a monstrous flower blooming under a blood-red sun, or a wild Beast puffing itself up, making its body larger to intimidate a rival.

The crowd shuddered. Against Han Ruyue’s cold grace, his display was feral, raw, and frightening.

Han Ruyue’s fighting spirit ignited the moment she recognized Daemon’s provocation as a challenge for her to take him seriously. Her chest rose with a calm breath, but her eyes hardened, gleaming with a sharp focus that made the crowd’s pulse quicken. The faint ripple of battle intent around her grew heavier, pressing into the dueling ground like a storm about to break.

Grey Qi surged to life, coiling along the length of her wooden Ruler. The weapon groaned softly under the strain as if space itself bent around its edge. She raised it overhead with both hands, her sleeves fluttering violently as the surrounding air distorted.

Then, without hesitation, she brought it down.

Space-Rend.

The Ruler cut through the air with a soundless sweep, yet the world seemed to shudder. To the watching disciples, the strike looked less like a swing and more like a crack tearing open in reality itself.

Its power was merciless. Ten of Liu Yuying’s Wind Blades—stacked together in their sharpest storm—would not equal this one stroke. The speed was monstrous, a blur so fast it erased the possibility of reaction. Even seasoned eyes in the audience could barely follow; the trajectory itself seemed to vanish, an illusory arc that slipped past perception.

The ground groaned as the force rushed downward, earth splitting in jagged lines while dust shot upward in spirals. The silence of the crowd broke into sharp gasps, the disciples shrinking back unconsciously from the pressure of the strike. Even Yan Jia’s fists trembled, Lightning Qi sparking faintly as she clenched harder, unwilling to admit the awe burning in her chest.

And in that moment, all eyes locked on Daemon—waiting to see how the boy would withstand the storm descending on him.

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