A Waste of Time-Chapter 145: Measured Ascent

Clearly, Daemon had ruffled more than a few feathers by seizing first place in this stage. Most of the Inner Disciples — their confidence built on the strength his Life-Blood had once given them — now dared not posture before someone who had proven himself stronger than all of them, someone who had endured the Thousand-Blows Cycle Array longer than they could.
“All Inner Disciples who could not endure the sixth wave, step to the center of the Assembly Arena to receive challenges and defend your rankings against Outer Disciples,” a green-robed Elder announced. “The rest of the Inner Disciples, step back for now.”
The division was swift and brutal. Nearly seventy percent of the Inner Disciples withdrew in silence, while the remaining thirty percent stepped forward, faces twisted with shame, anger, and humiliation.
On one side stood Daemon and his band of newcomers — one thousand strong. On the other, a little over one thousand Inner Disciples, ready to unleash their wrath upon those who had embarrassed them and dared to challenge their authority.
“Kakaka… Wei Shun,” Kang Lai cackled, elbowing the younger man. “Don’t slip, brat, or you’ll end up with Inner boot-marks all over your face! I’m counting on the chance to thrash your snitching ass myself in the ranking competition. With luck, I’ll get to do it personally.” His grin widened as his gaze swept across the Inner Disciples. Finally, he jabbed a finger at a tall, broad-shouldered youth. “You’ll do just fine.”
The chosen Inner Disciple’s teeth ground audibly, but he stepped forward to accept the challenge. Refusal meant immediate Demotion.
Wei Shun, ever the schemer, took a different approach. He carefully selected someone at the same Fifth-Stage as himself — but unlike him, his opponent hadn’t been fortunate enough to refine Daemon’s Life-Blood. Kang Lai sought excitement. Wei Shun sought advantage.
All around, Daemon’s side hurried to choose opponents. The weakest among the Inner Disciples were few; anyone who hesitated would be forced to confront someone far stronger in cultivation, technique, and experience. Only Su An and Daemon waited.
The duels began. Instructors spread through the field, ensuring no stray techniques or abilities interfered with neighboring battles. The Assembly Arena exploded in a storm of violence — Elemental techniques erupting like fireworks, bodies colliding in vicious hand-to-hand combat. Nearly two thousand disciples fought at once, a dazzling, merciless spectacle.
The message was clear. Unlike the petty fights in the Combs among Slaves, or the squabbles between Applicants and Outer Disciples in the Barracks and Roosters, the Inner-Circle played by different rules. Here, strength was everything. Complaints, excuses, or weakness of spirit would be crushed beneath ridicule and scorn.
Su An glanced at Daemon and caught the gleam in his eyes. He was enjoying it — the spectacle, the chaos, the beauty in the violence. She smiled faintly, then stepped forward, choosing a girl in the Seventh-Stage, one who had stood too confidently, certain no one would dare challenge her.
Daemon, meanwhile, made his choice. He didn’t seek out the strongest. He pointed to the weakest.
It didn’t matter who he faced; victory was assured. And in his eyes, it was fair that the weakest should fall. Why should one clinging at the bottom keep his rank, while stronger challengers were forced down to the Outer-Circle?
The boy he chose would call it misfortune. But Daemon didn’t believe in luck. If luck existed, he would have been reborn into the body of a prince, wealthy and powerful. Instead, he had been forced into the frail shell of a starving child with no wealth, no health, no family, no friends.
Why show kindness now?
The weak had no claim to what they could not defend. Today, justice had arrived at that young man’s door — in the form of a boy who carried the weight of a grown man’s scorn.
“Damn it!”
The young man’s voice cracked, but at least he had the courage to accept the challenge.
Daemon stood still, a colorful barrier shimmering around his body. He never struck, never lifted a hand to attack. To do so would have been unfair, and he wasn’t the type to enjoy trampling others without cause — unless, of course, they deserved it.
His opponent threw everything he had at him. Techniques, abilities, every scrap of strength in reserve. The Wood Element surged in branches and roots, thick vines tearing from the earth and slamming against the barrier. The impact sent faint ripples through the multicolored shell, but nothing more.
The young man panted, drenched in sweat, his final trump card broken against Daemon’s defenses. Defeat hung heavy in the air. With clenched teeth, he lowered his head. “I surrender.”
He collapsed to the ground, breath ragged, confidence shattered. The mental blow was worse than the exhaustion. He had dared to stand against this boy — this monstrous kid — and the thought of what might have happened had Daemon chosen to attack chilled him to the bone.
The duels raged all around, fireworks of Elements colliding, fists and kicks thudding. Most Inner Disciples defended their ranks successfully, but the spotlight fell only on the rare few who had seized Promotion: Daemon, Su An, Wei Shun, Kang Lai.
Luo Han and Sun Kai, though they also rose to Inner Disciples, drew little notice. They were stronger than the average newcomer, but no threat to the Mountain’s elites.
“Demoted Inner Disciples and those Promoted to Outer Disciples,” a green-robed Elder bellowed, drawing the attention of the defeated. “ to the Outer-Circle’s administrative hall before dawn, or you’ll find yourselves in the cold cellars.” He dismissed them with a flick of his sleeve before turning to those who remained.
“Congratulations to those who held their ground and those who have joined the ranks of Inner Disciples. As stated before, it is now time to set the brackets. Only through these duels will we decide who earns the right to participate in the next stage of the Sect-Competition.
“Those of you who came from the Slave-Combs, Applicant-Barracks, and Outer-Roosters — take this time to recover. You’ve been fighting the longest, since dawn, and have proven you deserve to stand here.”
Daemon and the other top contenders received nods of approval, rare acknowledgment from the Elders. Many Outer Disciples with equal or even greater Cultivation had failed where these black-and-white robed juniors had succeeded.
“First place is Daemon. Step forward and choose a branch.”
An Instructor in grey retrieved a massive scroll from her Space Ring and tossed it into the air. It unfurled above the arena, a great chart of rectangles and lines branching outward like the limbs of a tree. At its trunk, written in red cursive, were the words: Core Right
.
“You may choose which branch to begin from,” the Instructor explained. “But the exact position will be decided by chance.”
Daemon stepped forward, lips curling into a sly grin. He chose branch number one, rubbing salt into the wounds of the Inner Disciples glaring daggers at his back.
“Is it the same for everyone else?” he asked, sliding his hand into the box before him. His fingers brushed across marbles of every texture — hot, cold, prickly, slippery, squishy. He closed his fist around one at random. The rest melted into liquid, slipping through his grip.
“Contestant Daemon is leaf number 423 on branch one,” the Instructor announced with a smile that dared him to complain.
Daemon shot her a look of blame, but only shrugged and stepped back.
“Only the top eight from the Thousand-Blows Cycle Array may choose their branches,” the Instructor clarified. “The rest will be placed in order, starting from number nine.”
Her tone softened as she studied him.
This boy reached the nineteenth wave — something most instructors could never dream of. Even our elites would barely cling to survival past it. And he didn’t flee from the twentieth wave out of fear. He simply wasn’t interested.
That difference, she realized, was far more terrifying.
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