The moment John said those words, old Jaque felt an overwhelming wave of… disdain!
How many years had it been since someone dared speak to him with such arrogant bravado?
"Heh," Jaque chuckled coldly. "Kid, if you're going to talk big, at least pick your audience. You're really going to stand in front of me and claim your sword art is too powerful? Who gave you that kind of courage?"
His eyes widened, sleeves rolled up with one swift motion, veins popping on his forehead as he shouted,
"Come on, don't be polite with me! Hurry up and make your move—show me just how strong your so-called sword art really is!"
"This might not be such a good idea…" John hesitated. "I heard your stomach's always been kinda fragile, and well, you're getting on in years. I'd feel bad if you couldn't look me in the eye after this."
"Why the hell are you still talking? You scared? If not, then swing your sword already! Let's see how long you can keep up this cocky attitude!"
Old Jaque was fuming now. "If I don't beat the crap out of you today—literally—then maybe you've already done it yourself!"
He was convinced that John had gotten too full of himself lately. Someone needed to bring him back down to earth, make him understand how cruel the world really was. Talking nonsense might get you in trouble—and John was asking for it.
Just then, he saw John raise his sword and swing.
"Good! That's more like it!"
Jaque sneered and braced himself to retaliate—but then, his stomach suddenly turned over like a tidal wave!
The tightly clenched fortress of his backside burst open like a dam breaking under pressure. An uncontrollable torrent erupted, draining him faster than he could blink!
PFFFFTTT!
The air was filled with a foul stench. His reading glasses slipped from his face as he doubled over, both hands clutching his gut. His face twisted in agony like a man battling constipation.
He couldn't believe it.
Right in this crucial moment—he had diarrhea!
Sure, he was getting older, but he'd always been in great health. This sudden, uncontrollable eruption caught him completely off guard. No matter how hard he tried to clench up, his body refused to listen. His stomach emptied itself in dramatic fashion.
His body… had completely betrayed him.
How many years had it been since anyone dared challenge him?
He had once traversed the continent as a feared warrior. His name alone used to send people scrambling in fear. He'd mocked cowards and weaklings alike.
And now?
He had become a human fountain. Right in front of John.
Shameful!
Absolutely humiliating!
He would never be able to face John again.
With his last shred of dignity slipping away, old Jaque turned tail and fled the scene. His voice trailed behind him like a ghost of pride.
"My glorious reputation... ruined! It's all ruined!"
Celia heard the commotion and stepped into the courtyard, confused.
"John? What happened? Why did old Jaque run off holding his butt?"
John coughed awkwardly, eyes shifting.
"I just... tested my new sword art on him. He couldn't handle it. I didn't mean for this to happen…"
Celia sniffed the air and frowned. There was a very particular smell lingering around. She noticed some suspicious stains on the ground. Remembering Jaque's pitiful exit, her hand flew to her mouth in disbelief.
"John... your sword art—is it really sword art? Or is it... something else entirely?"
As she looked him up and down with a deeply skeptical expression, John's lips twitched.
What kind of pure-looking girl is this? Why is she acting so weird all of a sudden?
He tapped her on the head and scolded,
"It was a serious exchange of sword techniques between me and old Jaque! What nonsense are you imagining, you silly girl?"
Celia nodded with exaggerated understanding. "Don't worry, I get it. Just the two of us know what happened. I won't tell a soul!"
John: "…"
"But I still don't get it," she whispered, leaning close to his ear. "If you're not into girls, that's fine. But why an old man?"
John nearly choked on his own breath.
"Slander! I'll sue you for defamation if you keep this up!"
Meanwhile, poor old Jaque—already wallowing in shame—heard what Celia said and exploded in rage. Whatever calm demeanor he once had was now long gone.
John buried his face in his hands.
"I told you. My sword art was powerful. You didn't believe me. And now look what's happened…"
He genuinely hadn't wanted to strike Jaque. But the old man insisted. And now?
Jaque lost face.
And he got mistaken for a closeted old-man-loving weirdo.
Was there ever a more misunderstood genius?
He was not gay! Just look at his face! Could someone this handsome be—
Wait, that's not the point!
"If you have that much imagination," John muttered, "why not put it to good use and cook us something nice? I'm starving. And I bet old Jaque is too."
Just as he was about to return the golden longsword—
Celia suddenly reached out and grabbed his wrist.
Her gemstone-like eyes stared seriously at the weapon in his hand. All her earlier mischief vanished, replaced by solemn intensity.
Bathed in the evening light, the golden longsword in John's grasp pulsed with a mysterious glow. A faint golden mist surrounded the blade, giving it the illusion of breathing. It coiled like a divine serpent—majestic, awe-inspiring, and full of latent power.
"That's the Divine Serpent Sword!" Celia exclaimed. "A legendary weapon said to have slain the Sky-Swallowing Serpent!"
Her tone was so serious that John was taken aback.
"You… know this sword?"
"Of course I do!" she nodded earnestly. "This sword is ranked sixty-sixth in the Codex of Divine Arms! Legend says it was forged from a meteorite from another realm and used to kill countless magical beasts. It gained sentience and became one of the most famous divine weapons of all time!"
"Such a weapon is rarely seen in any kingdom. How did you end up with it?"
John raised his hand and pointed toward the direction Jaque had fled.
…
Time passed swiftly.
Night fell.
Though it was New Year's Eve, the once socially fearless old Jaque had turned into a traumatized recluse.
His experience that day had been too humiliating—something he would carry to his grave. Possibly his greatest shame in a lifetime of achievements.
But he hadn't been in his room long before the scent wafting in from the courtyard started tempting his senses.
His stomach growled. After that explosive disaster, he was starving.
He couldn't resist anymore.
He opened the door.
Out in the courtyard, a large iron pot was set over a flame. Inside, a bubbling red broth sent steam and fragrance curling into the night air.
Surrounding the pot were heaps of fresh vegetables, meats, and skewered ingredients.
It was a feast!
"John, is this the hotpot you mentioned? It looks strange, but I've never seen anyone in other kingdoms eat this way."
"It's a dish from an ancient Eastern nation," John replied. "Far from here. Just eat and enjoy!"
Celia nodded, increasingly impressed by the mysterious youth before her.
Mimicking John, she skewered some ingredients on bamboo sticks and dropped them into the pot to cook.
Old Jaque swallowed hard. After his earlier ordeal, he was ravenous. Faced with such mouthwatering food, he no longer cared about appearances.
He plopped down beside John without hesitation.