A Waste of Time-Chapter 147: Fox’s Gambit

Daemon’s thoughts about the hag’s schemes and the old man’s silent glance were torn away in an instant.
His body was reacting.
His blood surged, racing through his veins. His bones burned as if set aflame. A sudden weakness buckled his knees, and he sank to the ground before the force could topple him outright and strip him of his dignity before thousands of watching eyes.
Pins and needles prickled every inch of his flesh, trillions of stabs across his skin. Then came the crawling sensation — like ants swarming beneath his flesh, writhing over every part of him.
Teeth clenched, he endured. No groan. No cry. Not a sound escaped him.
Minutes dragged by, agony grinding against will, until—
Snap.
His skin split, tearing open. It slid down from his arms in strips, sloughing to the ground.
Only sheer stubbornness kept him from screaming:
What the fuck?!
Because beneath the ruined husk was something new — skin smooth, strong, and alive. A healthy tan glowed with vitality. Daemon stared, mesmerized by how good it felt to be rid of the old.
Like a serpent shedding its scales, he felt reborn. And more — he could suddenly sense the world around him with terrifying clarity.
He shut his eyes. Breath filled not just his lungs but every pore. The Elements clung to him eagerly, brushing his skin, drawn in as if by instinct. They seeped through his acupoints, coursing along his meridians until he felt dangerously bloated.
He dared not take more. The
Iron Root Foundation Method
had told him nothing beyond preparing for the Nine-Stars Realm and linking the Stars. What was happening now was beyond its pages. He was blind, sailing uncharted waters with nothing but instinct.
Buzz.
The Grey-Palace stirred.
From its ten-layered Formation, runes twisted and glyphs rotated, swallowing every shred of Natural Energy he had taken in.
Daemon’s head tipped back, a shudder wracking him. It felt
too good.
A wave of pleasure surged through him, so sharp he almost moaned aloud.
It was as close as he had ever felt to that moment when he had accepted the Archmage’s gem — as if his very Soul had been elevated, his physique freed from the chains of mortality.
Daemon opened his eyes.
At once, he noticed it — the range of his
Mind-Eye
had grown. What once stretched fifty meters now reached one hundred and fifty. And it wasn’t just wider. The clarity was staggering. Every detail sharper. Every sound crisper. Every thread of reality painted in colors he had never seen before.
Even the flow of Natural Energies lay bare before him, drifting inside and beyond his expanded perception.
But one thing froze him.
A string. Thin, grey, and unmistakably tied to the ankle-bracelet on his leg. It stretched outward like a leash, and at its end… the old hag.
Daemon’s eyes narrowed. His Mind-Eye probed deeper, tracing every inch of the cord. That was when he found the fork — a fainter branch splitting from the main string midway. It stretched toward Chief Shen, attaching itself delicately to the man’s left pinky finger.
What’s this about?
Daemon wondered, suspicion gnawing at his gut.
Closer study revealed the truth. The string wasn’t ordinary energy. It was woven entirely of Space Qi. Strange runes and glyphs pulsed along its length, alien yet hauntingly familiar.
Hold on a minute… these patterns…
Recognition struck. Many of the runes matched those carved into his own Grey-Palace.
His thoughts whirred at full speed.
So that’s it. A tether. Their means of tracking me. If I tried to slip away with Mass Displacement, this cord would hold me. No matter where I fled, they’d know.
The boy’s jaw tightened. The leash was hidden — but now he could see it. And knowing was the first step to cutting it.
Daemon’s gaze narrowed on the knot bound around his ankle, where the bracelet fastened itself. At once, his eyes caught it — a flaw.
Among the flowing runes and glyphs etched into the grey string, one point disrupted the rest. At the knot itself, symbols clashed and overlapped, breaking the perfect rhythm of the design.
His instincts told him what his mind hadn’t yet reasoned through: if he directed the Space Energy from his Grey-Palace at that weak point, he could cut the string cleanly.
But when he stole a glance toward the stage, the truth sharpened.
The hag sat there, restless. Her face lit with a faint gleam of anticipation — eager, excited, almost impatient. The flaw wasn’t a mistake. It was a hole she had left for him to find. A lure. A scheme wrapped in the promise of freedom.
Even so, Daemon did not hesitate. He focused, channeling the Space Energy through his Grey-Palace. The string snapped.
The leash dissolved.
A moment later, weight crashed onto his shoulders. Heavy, suffocating, the pressure of an authority not to be defied.
On the stage, the silver-robed old man shifted, his left pinky finger twitching almost imperceptibly. His sharp gaze swept across the crowd of Inner Disciples — and for the briefest instant, locked on Daemon.
The boy’s jaw clenched. His instincts screamed, his body stiff under that suffocating stare. The Chief had noticed.
And Daemon knew: this was only the beginning.
Such a sharp guy,
Daemon thought, his face an unreadable mask as he kept every reaction under control.
But he noticed something else. Mo Qiuya was tense, her whole body coiled, ready to spring at the slightest shift. By contrast, the Disciplinary Chief remained still. Though he had clearly noticed something had happened on Daemon’s side, he made no move.
Let’s test the water, shall we?
His gaze turned toward Su An, who had just returned after drawing her number. Ranked somewhere around five hundred, she looked excited, her eyes bright — she was placed on the same side of the bracket as him.
In the next instant, Daemon vanished from where he stood and reappeared at her side. Su An flinched, startled, her surprise sending ripples through the crowd. Inner Disciples muttered, Instructors stiffened, and all eyes shifted toward him.
But Daemon wasn’t watching them.
His senses locked on the two at the center of the stage. The man in silver, the woman in blue.
From Shen Duan came a gaze that was cold, piercing — not anger, not fury, but disappointment. Apathetic, almost. As if Daemon had failed to meet his expectation, as if he had let the Chief down.
From Mo Qiuya came hunger. Her look was devious, gleaming with satisfaction. Too confident. Too certain her scheme was unfolding exactly as she intended.
“I once promised you a taste of freedom,” Daemon said, slipping an arm around Su An’s waist. His smile was sly, his voice soft but steady. “Now it’s time I show you just that.”
And with that, both vanished.
The Assembly Arena erupted.
Green-robed Elders snapped their gazes toward the Grand Elder, silent demands written in their eyes — for her to move, to act, to seize the fugitive who had dared to slip through their grasp in broad daylight. Worse still, he had taken one of their own with him.
Like a fox, wild and cunning, Daemon had waited. He had laid low, strengthened himself, bided his time. And the moment the chance appeared, he leapt — fearless, reckless, audacious.
Mo Qiuya’s hands landed lightly on the armrests of her chair. Her fingers were long and slender, dexterous as ever. But their spots and marks betrayed the truth of age, the steady decline she despised. Her face could be preserved, her figure maintained — but her hands remained a reminder of the years slipping away. She hated them.
“Big brother Duan,” she said at last, her voice sharp with resolve, “I’ll be right back with that naughty boy. You just wai—”
Grand Elder Mo’s words rang out like a declaration of inevitability. She rose, ready to hunt. To claim the boy who had just spat on their authority — and dared to steal freedom for himself in front of the entire Sect.
Here's a link to my discord server if you want to talk - .gg/HwHHR6Hds