A Waste of Time-Chapter 143: False Calm

Mo Qiuya formed the Formation with ease. A few graceful gestures, a sequence of seals traced by her slender fingers, and the runes ignited around Daemon.
Compared to the two Formation variations Yan Jia had once prepared to help him absorb six Spirit Stones — Fire, Earth, Wood, Water, Wind, and Lightning — this design was leagues beyond. More than ten times as intricate, its lines wove together like an endless web of power.
“Focus on absorbing the Gold, Light, and Darkness Elements!” the old woman chided when she caught him studying the shifting runes instead of directing his will inward.
Caught red-handed, Daemon reacted with the flustered look of a boy nabbed sneaking sweets from the kitchen. To the onlookers, the exchange between Elder and child looked almost comical — even endearing.
At last, he stilled himself, letting his consciousness sink inward. But not before he cast a discreet glance toward Chief Shen. The old man noticed at once, his sharp eyes narrowing.
Such a perceptive brat,
Shen Duan thought as the Gold, Light, and Darkness energies poured into the boy — Gold soaking into his left foot, Light into his right, Darkness settling into his Dantian.
Does he sense that woman’s hidden intentions purely by instinct? Or does he know more than he shows?
The Disciplinary Chief’s desire burned. He wanted to peel back this boy’s facade, strip away the mask of innocence, and unearth the truth buried in the deepest shadows of his mind.
He was not fooled. Just as Body-Refiners were famed for their razor instincts, Shen Duan himself was peerless in sniffing out deception.
That reflexive reaction earlier — the way the boy’s body had snapped into a defensive stance the instant they locked eyes — told him everything. A soul prepared for revenge and eager to embrace death would not flinch so. No, that was fear. The boy’s instincts screamed at the threat of being ground down, his secrets wrenched into the open by the one man no lie could withstand.
One Chief in silver, one Grand Elder in blue, dozens of Elders in green, and nearly two hundred Instructors in grey. All of them watched in silence as Daemon’s physique drank deep from the three Spirit Stones.
Gold was swallowed by the Star in his left foot.
Light by the Star in his right.
Darkness by the Star in his Dantian.
The remaining six Stars flickered in response, glowing and dimming at a rhythm that unsettled the mind. Their cadence mimicked the flow of nature itself — rain, wind, the beating of a heart, the rise and fall of breath. The longer one stared, the more one doubted what they saw.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
The Spirit Stones fractured, breaking apart once their power was spent.
Daemon’s skin flared with runes — tiny, delicate sigils connected in intricate lines, all linking his Nine Stars into one web of power. Around him rose a barrier of light, eleven colors woven together in a dazzling, ever-shifting display.
Floating at its center, weightless as if caught in zero gravity, was a fist-sized Grey-Palace. It hovered on a ten-layered Formation, each layer a unique tapestry of color and design: lines, runes, and structures unlike anything seen before.
The Nine Stars dimmed, fading like celestial bodies going dark one by one. But as their brilliance faded, the Formation beneath the Grey-Palace solidified, and the Palace itself came alive.
Dark soil sprouted flowers and trees. Lanterns lit with fire. Streams of water coursed through the miniature world. Windows gleamed with metal frames. Rock formations jutted from the ground. Breezes stirred branches. Clouds drifted, shading tiled roofs. Light reflected on glass. Lightning snakes writhed across those same clouds, their arcs snapping with vitality.
This was no illusion. This was true life — manifested within the child’s Vitality-Nonagon.
Except… it wasn’t a Nonagon.
What stood before them was a Decagon. A grade higher than anything any of them had expected. He had forged an additional layer tied not to the Vitality of the body or the energy of the Elements, but to the Soul itself.
Dong.
A deep toll rang out from the Grey-Palace, as though a great bell had been struck. The sound reverberated through the Ten-Thousand Beast Mountain, heavy with the weight of the Dao.
Hearts faltered. Wills trembled. Bodies weakened. Souls quivered. Minds bent beneath the pressure.
Even the Ferocious Creatures and Magic Beasts lurking in the wilds pressed their muzzles to the ground, silenced by the invisible hand that bore down upon them. The Cultivators fared no better, none daring to move or even raise their heads.
The toll carried on, until Daemon opened his eyes.
He froze. A multicolored barrier shimmered around his body. For a moment, he thought someone had trapped him within a restrictive Formation.
But when he turned toward the woman who had created the Formation to assist him, his words caught in his throat.
Because in Mo Qiuya’s eyes, he saw greed. Not the kind born of hunger or ambition — but the ruinous kind, the kind that always came at a cost.
Daemon’s stomach sank. Whatever that hag was plotting, it had to be tied to the changes overtaking his body right now — though the exact shape of her scheme remained hidden. Her murky eyes glimmered with something devious, something evil, and it frightened him to be the target of it.
He sprang to his feet, cupped his fist, and gave a curt bow. “Thanks.”
Without waiting for her reply, he spun on his heel and bolted toward the shimmering curtain of the Thousand-Blows Cycle Array. “I’d better do my part in the Competition now. Later, then!” His excuse was flung over his shoulder just before his figure vanished into the light.
Relief washed over him the instant the world shifted around him. Here, at least, there were no hags or geezers prying into his every move.
That is one batshit crazy crone,
Daemon thought darkly, even as his focus turned inward. The barrier of color still clung to him stubbornly, refusing to dissolve, and he couldn’t understand why.
Awoo!
The sound split the air, low and resonant, a wolf’s howl rolling from the distant treeline. Red eyes gleamed in the shadows, dozens of them, and soon grey silhouettes padded into view.
They were wolves — canines twice the size of Tibetan Mastiffs, lean and massive, every muscle honed for pursuit. A pack bred for the chase, relentless hunters who could harry prey ten times their size until exhaustion toppled it. Teamwork was their nature, patience their sharpest fang.
Daemon groaned under his breath as the predators fanned out, their bodies flowing from the trees like a river of muscle, fur, and fangs. In moments, they had encircled him completely.
“Why does it have to be you guys?” He sighed, eyes narrowing. “I adore your kind… fuck.”
The wolves answered with silence — jaws parting, breath steaming, a circle of bloodthirst sharpened to a knife’s edge.
Grrrrr.
One of the wolves snapped first. Impatient, it lunged straight at him, jaws gaping, teeth gleaming as they came for his throat.
Daemon shifted aside with ease, his hand chopping down in a clean strike to the beast’s neck. He had been careful — gentle, even. He hadn’t wanted to kill it. How could he? The creature was majestic, almost adorable in its savage grace.
Yelp—Arf!
The boy froze, eyes widening, as the wolf went tumbling a dozen meters through the air… before shattering into fragments of light.
“What the fuck?” His jaw dropped, rage bubbling up an instant later. He felt duped, as though someone had just convinced him the earth was flat only to laugh in his face.
“You’re not even real?” he barked at the pack, his voice rising. “How dare you not be real! You lot are so un-fucking-believable!”
He threw his arms out, furious.
“That’s what you get for playing me for a fool! Scram, you digital bastards! I want real puppies! Where are my awesome wolves? I deserve the real deal — not this cheap light show. This is bullshit!”
With that declaration, all restraint vanished. Daemon tore into the pack with reckless abandon, scattering wolf after wolf, every last one bursting into shards of light until none remained.
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