Chapter One: Forced to Flaunt

The tavern at dusk was as lively as ever, filled with the aroma of ale and the sound of clinking glasses. From mercenaries to farmers, all gathered here to unwind after a day's toil. Yet, at this moment, a hush had settled over the crowd as everyone listened intently to the bard at the center, his voice rising and falling with dramatic flair.

"Our protagonist, Rex, sneered coldly, 'You think you, an insect, can plot against me? You’re finished. You’ll regret everything you’ve done today!'" declared the bard, his words sweeping up the majority in rapt concentration, for this was clearly the story’s climax. Only a lone figure in a white robe, seated in a shadowed corner, responded with a series of sardonic chuckles.

"The enemy burst into laughter. 'You miserable wretch, it seems you’ve forgotten the meaning of power! Take this—Forbidden Spell: A Hundred Million Miles of Frost!' The common folk nearby reeled in terror. Could this man actually unleash the Hundred Million Miles of Frost? Even a Grand Archmage couldn't cast such a spell. A power like this hasn’t surfaced in thousands of years. He’s doomed for sure.”

"And yet, not a single bystander was frozen to death by this spell?" the man in white suddenly interjected. The tavern erupted in laughter.

"You know nothing!" the bard glared. "The true essence of magic lies in mastery—its range can be controlled at will. The commoners and the protagonist stood right at the spell’s boundary. The spell surged from the boundary outward, a hundred million miles, sparing the folk. Is there a problem?"

The tavern quieted, most seeming to accept this logic, while the man in white merely smiled, offering no further retort. The bard shot him another glare. "Sometimes, it’s best not to speak without learning first. Otherwise, you’ll only make a fool of yourself."

"Let’s continue," the bard resumed his tale. "The protagonist leaped nimbly, landing beside the townsfolk. Gasps filled the air—he’d dodged the spell! Then Rex gave a thunderous shout. The sky darkened, clouds rolled in, and with a casual punch, a fierce wind struck his foe, more terrifying than any forbidden magic."

"The awestruck crowd exclaimed, 'That’s the legendary Supreme Divine Fist, used by the ancestor of the god who created the creator of the creator of the creator of the world! A supreme technique lost for countless eons—the Auspicious Sun Fist!'"

The tavern was silent.

"The enemy fell, disbelief in his eyes. A mere downtrodden... cough... drunkard, content to while away his days in a tavern, with nothing to his name—how could he be so powerful?" The bard's narration surged with emotion.

This line clearly resonated with the crowd; many saw themselves in the protagonist.

"Our hero sneered at the corpse. 'That’s the price for looking down on me. Ha ha ha!'" The bard suddenly shifted tone. "But the story isn’t over. Soon, the enemy’s father arrived!"

"He wept over his son's body, then glared at the protagonist in fury. 'You miserable wretch—(a thousand words omitted)—take this! Super Forbidden Spell: A Billion Miles of Frost!' The crowd was stunned—(words omitted)—then the father fell, disbelief in his eyes—(words omitted)—the protagonist sneered, 'That’s what happens when your son scorns me!'"

"But the story still wasn't over. The enemy’s grandfather arrived... 'Take this! Ultra-Super Forbidden Spell: A Quintillion Miles of Frost!' The crowd was stunned—the grandfather fell—the protagonist sneered, 'That’s what happens when your grandson scorns me!'"

"And yet, the story still wasn't over. The whole enemy family arrived... 'Take this! United Super Forbidden Spell: Frost Over the Whole Continent!' The crowd was shocked!" The bard, realizing something, hastily added, "Cough, I mean Frost Over the Last Few Survivors of the Continent! The crowd was stunned... the whole family fell... the protagonist sneered, 'That’s what happens when one of your descendants scorns me!'"

"But the story still wasn’t over..."

"It’s not?" the man in white interrupted. "There are only a few people left on the continent. What’s left?"

"Heh, you clearly don’t understand," the bard retorted smugly. "Above mortals lies the realm of the gods. Such a battle has already drawn the attention of the divine. Beams of holy light descend, and gods themselves walk the earth. One of them confronts the protagonist, thundering, 'You dare kill those under my protection? Take this! Divine Spell: La Ne Lai Wo Sa!…'"

"Now you can’t even come up with names and are just making up syllables?" the voice from the corner cut in again.

The bard ignored him, pressing on with the tale. "The crowd was shocked—could it be… the god fell! The protagonist had slain a god! The protagonist sneered, 'That’s what happens when some god’s descendant scorns me!'"

"Then appeared the God of Gods… and then the God of the God of Gods…" The bard's spittle flew as he painted a world grand beyond mortal imagining.

"At last, our hero was truly invincible—utterly, completely invincible! Ha ha ha!" The bard applauded himself, signaling the end of his tale. The tavern erupted into excitement, everyone toasting and laughing.

"Utter nonsense!" The man in white suddenly slammed the table, and the room fell silent. Such scenes weren’t uncommon—those who frequented taverns knew this was often how bards challenged each other. Each bard vied for a permanent place in the tavern, sometimes by publicly humiliating a rival.

"Hmph! So what? This is my story," the bard answered calmly. "It all happens on another continent, much like ours, yet not the same. Anything is possible—only your feeble imagination can’t keep up."

The man in white laughed aloud. "Do you think I’d argue with you over the rules of your imaginary world? It’s pointless. What I want to ask is: what spirit are you trying to convey with this story? As a bard, you have a duty to spread light and peace. What are you teaching? Light?"

"Of course!" the bard answered spiritedly. "I’m sharing the protagonist’s indomitable will—through relentless effort, he became a god and was invincible."

"So you’re saying you’re encouraging everyone here to strive for invincibility?"

"Absolutely! Only by becoming invincible is one free from oppression, free from threats, the world at their feet. Supreme power—of course everyone should pursue it!"

"Nonsense!"

"Show some respect when you speak!" the bard snapped.

"What does 'invincible' mean? Only one in the world can be truly invincible. Everyone else either dies in the attempt or gives up the pursuit. The survival rate is one percent. But in our country, the average life expectancy is sixty; over half the common folk live into their seventies without any power at all. Many can command them, but at least they have enough to eat and wear. Yet to pursue invincibility, you’d have to train relentlessly and fight others with the same goal, leaving hardly a one percent chance of survival. And you’re encouraging people to chase that? Are you trying to get people killed?" The man in white jabbed a finger at the bard.

The bard tried to argue back, "Life is short. To die in pursuit of invincibility is still meaningful. An ignorant farmer’s long life means nothing!"

"What a joke! You’re over thirty—could you even beat a farmer? All you do is spout nonsense, yet you urge others to become invincible?" The man in white’s questions were razor-sharp.

The bard’s forehead beaded with sweat. "You, you…"

The man in white pressed on, "If you’d really been training for invincibility for twenty or thirty years, you’d at least be confident against a farmer. Clearly, you don’t believe your own message, yet you preach it to others? You hypocrite—your tale is nothing but a derivative of the famous novel The Legend of Rex. All the best parts are missing, and you’ve only kept the fight scenes."

"Originally, the enemy said, 'You lowly noble,' but you changed it to 'miserable wretch' to appeal to these drinkers. When he fell, the line was 'A fallen noble could actually…,' but you changed it to 'A fallen drunkard.' Not only did you plagiarize, you twisted the story. I must ask: Do you have the blood of a kodo beast? Your face must be thicker than their hooves!"

"You, you, you…" The bard's face flushed scarlet, but then he realized that no one here had likely read The Legend of Rex and tried to bluff, "You’re the one talking nonsense! I wrote The Legend of Rex myself, and I never changed a thing. Your accusations are laughable."

"Oh? In that case, can you beat a farmer?" The man in white circled back. "There are plenty of farmers here—shall we put it to the test?" At this, several burly farmers rolled up their sleeves, their calloused hands and muscular arms making the bard nervous.

"I…"

But the man in white continued, "The Legend of Rex was just a bit of entertainment for nobles, a diversion. With your alterations, even that fun is lost. Many here are experienced—mercenaries who’ve braved danger, lived by blade and blood. Do you really think only tales like yours can bring them joy? Only a bard like you deserves their tips?"

The tavern buzzed with discussion. Though the beliefs of these seasoned drinkers would not be changed by a few words, the bard’s authority was clearly shaken.

"Who are you? Show us your badge!" the bard demanded angrily. Every registered bard carried a badge with their name for public performances, as a sign of accountability. The man in white, just a bystander until now, wore none.

"Who I am doesn’t matter," the man in white replied. "You’re just deflecting. I’ll ask again: do you dare challenge a farmer here?"

"Yeah!" an old man stood up, rolling his sleeves. "Come on, show us this Auspicious Sun Fist! We’d love to see it!"

"N-no, it’s just for fun, just entertainment," the bard stammered, stepping back.

"If it’s for fun," the man in white laughed, "why not tell a bawdy joke instead?"

"You, you…"

"What do you say, folks? Want to hear a dirty joke or another tale of Rex?" the man in white called out. The tavern erupted, "A dirty joke! We want a dirty joke! Ha ha ha!"

"You, you…" The bard was speechless with rage.

"A bard must be quick-witted, yet you can barely speak. How are you fit to be a bard?" The man in white waved his hand. "Get out!"

The tavern roared with laughter and shouts; the spectacle of a verbal duel was always more entertaining.

"Fine, just you wait!" the bard sputtered, then hastily fled the tavern. But once defeated, no one paid him any mind. All eyes now turned to the white-robed newcomer, whose attire was undoubtedly that of a bard, though he wore no badge.

"Come on, friend, give us a dirty joke!" The crowd laughed, faces alight with mischief.

The man in white merely smiled. "Sorry, I didn’t bring my badge tonight. I can’t perform publicly according to the rules. I just couldn’t listen to that nonsense any longer and had to send him packing."

A chorus of disappointed sighs filled the tavern, but no one pressed him.

He soothed them, "It’s getting late. Next time, I promise you a grand, sweeping—dirty joke."

Laughter rang out; many raised their mugs in a toast, eager for his return.

The barkeep handed the man a silver coin. "This was the other bard’s tip. It’s yours now."

"Thank you," he accepted it with a calm nod, slipping it into his pocket.

"Are you planning to stay? Our tavern welcomes talented bards," the barkeep offered warmly.

"No, I’m a wandering bard," the man in white replied, shaking his head. "I’ll be leaving tomorrow; otherwise, I wouldn’t risk offending the local bard."

"I see," the barkeep chuckled. "The last one knew many nobles. Offending him isn’t wise, but I suppose it doesn’t matter now. Still, it’s a shame you won’t stay with your talent."

The man in white smiled. "Don’t think me so talented. The last bard was fine—his tales suit most in this tavern. I just needed some coin, and since I’m leaving, I took my chance. In a way, I was unfair, taking someone else’s meal. But competition among bards is the way of things; we all need to eat."

The barkeep seemed puzzled, not quite understanding.

"Don’t worry if you don’t understand," the man said. "At least you’ll still get to hear The Legend of Rex for a good long while." Smiling, he turned and walked toward the door. "Farewell!"

"At least tell us your name, bard!" the barkeep called after him.

But the man in white did not reply. He pushed open the door and vanished into the night.