Laughter rolled through the streets as drums thundered, tuba boomed and flutes sang to the sky. From above Some instruments floated midair, glowing faintly — as if guided by an invisible hands of magic, each note pulsing like a heartbeat of life itself.
At the front of the parade, dancers split into two groups, their movements a perfect harmony of motion and magic. From the left, blazing red magic circles spun beneath their palms — and in a brilliant sweep, a dragon of fire erupted, twisting upward in a storm of heat and light. Its flaming body rippled like a living wave, drawing gasps from the crowd.
Meanwhile on the other side, the opposing dancers answered with cool elegance. Blue sigils flared to life, and streams of water rose from the ground, weaving together into a serpent of liquid grace.
Fire and water spiraled above the parade — clashing, swirling, and twining in a dazzling dance of opposites.
The crowd roared in awe, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the very elements themselves joined the celebration.
People clapped in rhythm as the parade marched proudly down the wide main road. Along the sides, crowds waved joyfully—children darted through the throng, ribbons fluttering in their hands, while merchants shouted over one another, luring families with sweet treats and roasted meat. From every corner, joy burst like sunlight, warm and unending.
It wasn't just any celebration. Today marked the 368th Foundation Day of the village—a time when every fourth of November, the streets came alive with laughter, music, and the scent of roasted meat. It was the day they honored the birth of their home, the heart of the village history.
As the parade marched gloriously by, Emelia fought her own tiny battle—a candy wrapper that refused to open. She bit the corner, she tried but it wasn't enough. Then he frowned
"Why do they make these like a treasure chests?"
Emelia sat proudly on her father's shoulders. Still in that hair matching vibe, Beside them, her mother stood beside her brother, Fred—her smile dazzling, her laughter carried away by the rhythm of drums and trumpets. She was radiant, lost in the joy of the parade, cheering like a child herself.
...Fred in the other hand. Seems a bit suspicious very suspicious...
His face carried a quiet storm. His eyes wandered through the crowd, unfocused, as though searching for something—or someone as thhe cheers around him blurred into noise.
For the next moment Aveloria noticed. She blinked, lowering her hand from waving the flag.
"Brother… is something wrong?" She ask.
'Yeah is something wrong Fred?'
Fred flinched, realizing he'd been staring too long. He forced a small, crooked smile.
"Huh? Oh—yeah, I'm fine, Ave. Don't worry."
He said as the crowd erupted again as the marching band thundered by, brass horns blaring proudly. Confetti rained through the air.
Meanwhile up above, Emelia giggled, her little battle ends up to victory, her candy finally unwrapped, sticky sweetness smudging her fingers as she waved it like a trophy.
Looking back to fred who's gaze flicked upward, then back toward the crowd. His brow furrowed again.
"I know that jerk zeke is up to something"
He thought as he narrowed his eyes sharply.
"But I just can't prove it."
It's seems he kinda didn't trust Zeke, think about it, that little brat volunteered not to come to do chores?
Meanwhile back at home...
Zeke was in the middle of what could only be described as a one-man performance.
Armed with a mop in one hand and a rag in the other, he glided across the floor as if he were dancing in a grand medieval court. Each swipe of the mop came with a dramatic spin, his movements oddly graceful for someone cleaning mud off the tiles.
He twirled the rag with a flourish, humming loudly to the rhythm of an imaginary orchestra. The broom became his dance partner; the bucket, his audience. When the floor finally gleamed enough to reflect his face, he leaned forward, wiped a bit of sweat, and grinned.
"Ahh… perfection! The floor now approves of my existence." He said with a swagger look.
Somewhere in the distance, the faint echo of trumpets and drums from the parade drifted through the open window—completely unaware that inside this quiet house, a cleaning legend was being born.
Not for long, He pulled the little notebook on his pocket then pulled out a pen , with a dramatic stroke.
"Floor, check"
Witnessing this, his lips twisted into a grin—he could already taste the sweetness of victory.
But it seemed he had forgotten something…
For the next second he tugged the edge of the paper, and it just kept unfolding—again and again—like some ancient scroll of doom revealing a list so long it touched the floor. His confident grin froze… then slowly began to fade.
Line after line stretched down the paper—"Clean the windows. Wash the dishes. Feed the chickens. Water the plants. Sweep the yard… blah blah blah..."
The list went on and on.
Zeke's smile trembled. His eyes glistened with the weight of destiny—or maybe exhaustion.
He stared at the never-ending chores that went touching his feet.
"T-This…"
A single tear threatened to fall.
Then for the second, with a dramatic flourish, he snapped the notebook shut without folding back the scroll then the next second he looked toward the heavens.
"This is nothing but… a list."
He sighed like a war hero facing his final battle, shoulders slumping as if the broom in his hand had become his burden of fate.
Zeke stood before the battlefield—his home. His enemies: dust, dishes, and despair.
He tied a red towel around his neck like a cape, while eyes blazing with determination.
"Alright," he muttered, cracking his knuckles.
"Let's finish this once and for all."
'ohh this is going to be epic.'
***
Level one: The Laundry War...
Zeke kicked open the bathroom door, a basket of clothes in one hand. Socks flew like projectiles as he threw them into the basin. Foam splashed across his face like battle scars.
With a dramatic stance he pulled two objects, holding it like some kind of special weapons.
"Soap! Detergent! Activate!"
he shouted, scrubbing with the intensity back and forth like a warrior summoning his ultimate skill, however his great performancs, you can clearly see the tears though...
Level two: The Dishwashing Dungeon.
The plates towered like enemies waiting in line. Zeke raised his sponge high.
"For the glory of cleanliness!"
He slashed through greasy surfaces, bubbles flying like sacred light. Each dish clinked into the rack with victory's chime...
Level three: The Garden Gauntlet.
He marched outside, hose in hand.
He paused as he raised the hose with a dramatic a
Accent.
"Let there be water!"
The hose rebelled, whipping like a serpent— moving uncontrollable from left to right, however Zeke wrestled it with all his might. soaking the flowers, the fence, the heavens and himself...
When the last droplet hit the soil, he stood tall—dripping like a hero after the rain showered, basking in what he imagined was a dramatic victory moment.
'huh? The sun was blinding, where the hell did that rain even came from?'
...For a brief moment he drew in a sharp breath, the battle wasn't over yet… this was only the beginning of the so-called Legendary Household Quest.
And... thus began.
First came The Beast's Feast—feeding the animals, a trial of courage and odor. And the worst part is—
"Demonic chicken." He whispered.
Zeke stood outside the chicken coop, holding a bucket of feed. Not for long The chickens stared back at him from the shadows—silent. Watchful. Judging.
"Alright… you feathery demons, let's not make this complicated."
The moment he lifted the bucket slightly, their eyes locked onto it like trained assassins spotting a weapon.
Zeke was about was about to take mid step, then without a warning.
The chickens surged forward in an unstoppable tidal wave of feathers and rage.
"Holy shit!"
One particularly chunky chicken with dead-serious eyes launched itself at him like a ninja. Zeke panicked, jerking the bucket of feed high above his head on pure reflex. Another chicken lunged from the right—whack! He twisted away. Two more charged from the left—jump, dodge... scramble!
zeke fought back with his reflex and instinct he tried But holding a bucket of feed while being outnumbered by bloodthirsty poultry made things ten times worse—it was like dangling treasure in front of tiny, angry dragons with beaks...
In the next moment, Zeke had evolved into a full-speed like a running feeding tower, sprinting in circles outside the coop while being pursued by a ruthless Chicken Mafia squad—led by the chunky ninja chicken himself.
" THIS ISN'T HOW THE FOOD CHAIN WORKS."
Zeke's screams echoed like a dying idiot.
'M maybe... L– let's move forward... Shall we?'
Time passed. The beast's feast level was mission failed, However it's time for the new level
"The Blades of the Emerald Plains"
Zeke stood where he faced the endless grass armed only with a dull blade. Yet he dashed forward moved then with a dramatic Slash he severed the grass like child play, slicing accurately like an experts.
Not a single bead of sweat dared appear on his face.
"This one's easy."
With each swing, he moved like he could see invisible cutting lines, over and over again, the blade danced while Severed grass flew into the air in slow motion.
'not bad.'
Next was The Trial of the Bottomless Well, a test of endurance as he drew bucket after bucket from the ancient depths.
His arms trembled like noodles. His soul threatened to evaporate as he carried a bucket of water down the hill back to his house over and over. His tears stood proudly in his eyes, ready to leap at any moment.
But he refused to give up. Mumbling with his trembling voice from struggle.
"I-I'm a survivor… not gonna give up… I'm a fighter… gonna work… h-harder…"
' Is he singing?'
And finally… came The Wrath of the Wooden Titan—a cursed log so dense it seemed forged from stubbornness itself. Almost impossible to split.
Yet zeke gripping the axe with tired hands. Each breath he drew was deep and heavy, as though he was gathering weight into every swing. With every strike, it felt like the axe itself grew heavier—fueled not by strength, but by pressure, will, and something burning within him.
His eyes narrowed, glowing faintly with a quiet, burning determination. Sweat trailed down his cheek—not of weakness, but effort.
Some logs felt harder than iron, resisting every blow, refusing to yield—even against his rising wrath. But Zeke did not stop. He struck. Again. And again. Each swing carried more than force; until it cracked spliting in half.
Each task more ridiculous than the last, each victory earned with sweat, splinters, and the occasional scream of frustration...
By the time went on... he finally returned inside, his hair was a mess, his shirt half untucked, but his eyes gleamed with victory.
Finally He took out his notebook again, flipping it open with the weight of a man who'd faced destiny.
One by one, he checked the lines.
"Laundry—complete. Dishes—defeated. Floor—purified. Garden—conquered... Blah blah blah..."
Then, with one final breath, he whispered proudly:
"The house… has finally been rebirth"
'well congratulation.'
For the next moment he collapsed to the floor, drained of every strength. His weary feet had finally surrendered after the long and merciless battle. Yet… the war was won. The house stood finally clean.
His sacrifice… shall be remembered by generations to come... I guess?