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Chapter 2: Breakfast, Bandits, and the Blade Maniac
Derek stumbled out of the smoking ruins of the underground temple, spoon still clutched tightly in his hand. Behind him, the cultists wailed, scattering like cockroaches after their ritual had literally blown up in their faces. The demon's laughter still echoed faintly in the distance, a chilling reminder that he hadn't escaped trouble—he'd just gotten a preview.
The morning sunlight was blinding after hours in the cavern. The sky above was a vast canvas of violet clouds, threaded with rivers of qi that shimmered faintly like auroras. This wasn't Earth. This wasn't anything close.
Derek inhaled deeply. The air itself felt alive, tingling on his tongue like static. He checked the glowing golden panel hovering faintly in front of his vision.
Realm: Mortal (Pathetic → Slightly Upgraded)
Weapon: Spoon of Eternal Mockery
Qi Affinity: ???
Destiny Alignment: Chaotic Ridiculousness (still personal)
"Great," Derek muttered. "Still broke, still underdressed, still wielding cutlery." His stomach growled. "And still hungry."
He trudged along a dirt path leading away from the ruins. In the distance, smoke curled from chimneys of what looked like a village tucked between jade-colored hills. If this world had pancakes, that was where they'd be.
Unfortunately, fate had other ideas.
---
The bandits appeared half an hour later, right on schedule. Derek should have known—fantasy worlds loved bandits. They were practically tutorial-level mobs.
"Stand and deliver!" barked the leader, a burly man with a scar across his nose. He and a dozen thugs spilled out from the trees, brandishing mismatched weapons. "Hand over your valuables!"
Derek looked down at himself. Pajamas. Burned hems. No shoes. A spoon.
"Sure," he said dryly. "Do you take lint? Or maybe sarcasm?"
The bandits glanced at each other. "He mocks us?" one muttered.
"Kill him!" the leader snapped.
Derek raised his spoon. "Alright, buddy. Just so you know, this spoon deals double damage to idiots who feel insulted. That's basically all of you."
The Spoon of Eternal Mockery pulsed, glowing silver. Derek didn't know how he knew what to do, but instinct guided his arm. He swung the spoon in a wide arc. A shimmering crescent of qi shot out, slicing through a tree trunk behind the bandits with a deafening crack.
Everyone froze. The tree toppled, sending birds screeching into the sky.
Derek blinked at the spoon. "Holy crap. Did I just… spoon-laser them?"
The bandits screamed. "He's a cultivator!"
"Run!"
They scattered like frightened rabbits, tripping over one another as they fled into the forest. The scar-nosed leader was the last to retreat, pointing at Derek with trembling hands. "This isn't over, spoon demon!"
Derek lowered his weapon. His hands shook slightly, but not from fear—more from disbelief. He'd just accidentally weaponized sarcasm with tableware. "Okay," he admitted, "that was pretty awesome."
But before he could bask in his victory, slow clapping echoed behind him.
---
A man strolled out of the forest, long black hair tied back with a red ribbon. He wore dark robes trimmed in silver, a massive sword strapped across his back. His presence was overwhelming—not because of theatrics, but because he radiated raw, terrifying strength. The air around him shimmered faintly with qi, heavy like a thunderstorm waiting to strike.
"That," the stranger said, eyes glinting, "was the most disgraceful sword technique I've ever seen."
Derek raised a brow. "It wasn't a sword. It was a spoon."
"Exactly." The man grinned, sharp and feral. "Which makes it even worse. You swung it like a drunk butcher hacking meat. The arc was clumsy, your stance was weak, and you wasted half the qi you summoned. Terrible."
"Gee, thanks," Derek said. "I just fought off twelve guys in pajamas with a piece of cutlery. Forgive me for not being textbook perfect."
The stranger threw his head back and laughed. "I like you, spoon-wielder. Name's Kael. Wandering cultivator, blade maniac, destroyer of sect tournaments, bane of polite society. You may have heard of me."
"Not a chance," Derek said flatly.
Kael blinked, then burst out laughing again. "Good! You're honest. I hate bootlickers. Tell me, spoon-boy, do you seek power?"
Derek hesitated. He thought of the demon's sneer, the cultists calling him a vessel, and the absurd power scale hanging over his head. Mortal → Immortal Lord. Gods and demons at the top. And him? Barely step one.
He twirled the spoon in his fingers. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I think I do."
Kael's grin widened. "Excellent. Then you're stuck with me."
"What?"
"You just impressed me. Anyone who can humiliate a dozen bandits with pajamas and a spoon deserves training." Kael slapped Derek's shoulder hard enough to nearly dislocate it. "From now on, you're my disciple!"
"I didn't agree to this!" Derek protested.
Kael ignored him. "First lesson: power is built on blood, sweat, and bad decisions. You've got potential. Undefined, the panel says? That's rare. Dangerous. I like it."
Derek rubbed his sore shoulder. "Wait, you can see my panel?"
"Of course. Everyone above Mortal realm can sense fate scripts. You'll learn." Kael's eyes narrowed suddenly, scanning the forest. "But not here. Trouble's coming."
As if on cue, a chilling wind swept the clearing. The ground cracked, and black mist oozed upward. From the shadows, grotesque figures clawed their way out—gaunt bodies with elongated limbs, eyes glowing like embers.
Derek's spoon vibrated violently in his hand. The golden panel updated:
[Enemies Detected: Lesser Demonic Shades]
Danger Level: Too much for pajamas.
Kael drew his massive sword in a single smooth motion. The blade howled as qi wrapped around it, a visible storm of cutting intent. His grin returned, sharp and unhinged. "Perfect! A warm-up!"
Derek swallowed hard. The Shades hissed, crawling closer.
Kael pointed his sword forward. "Let's see if the Spoon of Eternal Mockery can keep up."
Derek muttered, "This is not how I imagined breakfast."
Then the Shades charged.