The night in the Grave of the Thousand Swords was not peaceful. The wind howled through the rusted blades sticking out of the earth like the wails of ten thousand vengeful ghosts. It was a place where the resentment of fallen cultivators gathered to form a miasma that could rot the skin off a bone in seconds.
To Shen Yu, it was just a bit drafty.
He tightened his scarf—a "Novice Gift" from the System that he assumed was cheap polyester but was actually woven from the silken fur of a Void-Walking Yeti—and looked at the wooden signboard the System had just materialized.
[Peace Tavern (Mobile Branch)]
"System, this isn't a tavern," Shen Yu complained, crossing his arms. "This is a tent. A glorified gazebo at best."
He stood before a small, open-air structure. It had a simple wooden counter, four stools, and a canvas roof held up by sturdy wooden poles. Behind the counter was his trusty black iron wok and a small stove that burned with a quiet, blue flame.
[Host, please do not judge by appearances. The Peace Tavern is capable of shielding the Host from all external weather conditions and Class-5 or lower spirit attacks. It is currently in 'Economy Mode' to save Spirit Stones.]
"Whatever," Shen Yu yawned, stretching his back until it popped. "As long as it keeps the rain off. Meatball, stop chewing on that sword. It's rusty, you'll get tetanus."
At the edge of the light cast by the stove, Meatball—the terrifying Taotie beast—was currently gnawing on the blade of a shattered celestial sword. To the ancient beast, the residual sword intent was like a spicy breath mint. Hearing Shen Yu's scolding, Meatball spit out the hilt with a clang and trotted over, wagging its tail.
"Woof." (Translation: I am the devourer of worlds, but I submit to the provider of pork.)
"Good boy." Shen Yu scratched the beast behind its ears. "Now, I need a sous-chef. Chopping vegetables alone is going to give me carpal tunnel."
He looked around the Sword Grave. Aside from rusted metal and bleached bones, there wasn't much. But then, his eyes caught a glint of white amidst a pile of scrap metal.
He walked over and pulled it out. It was a metal frame, roughly humanoid, round and bulky, like a sumo wrestler made of porcelain and iron. It was missing an arm and had a giant crack running down its chest.
"Looks like a broken automaton," Shen Yu muttered. "Maybe a discarded prop from a theme park? System, can we fix this? It looks sturdy enough to mash potatoes."
[Target Identified: Wreckage of the 'God-Slaying Vajra Puppet', a relic from the Era of Chaos. Durability: 2%. Host can utilize 'System Repair' for 50 System Points.]
"Fifty points? That's my entire startup capital!" Shen Yu gritted his teeth. "Fine. But it better be good at doing dishes."
He placed his hand on the cold metal. "Repair."
A soft, golden light enveloped the scrap metal. The rusted iron peeled away to reveal a pristine, white material that looked like polished jade but felt like steel. The missing arm regenerated, turning into a bulky, segmented limb. Two red lights flickered on in its eyes, spinning like camera lenses focusing.
The puppet stood up. It was about two meters tall, round-bellied, and looked strikingly similar to a giant marshmallow man made of armor.
[Repair Complete. Please name your kitchen porter.]
"You're white, round, and look squishy," Shen Yu assessed. "I'll call you Dumpling."
The God-Slaying Vajra Puppet, a weapon designed to crush dragon skulls with a single grip, tilted its head. Its mechanical eyes flashed red.
"Dumpling," it repeated in a mechanical, buzzing voice.
"Okay, Dumpling. Your job is to peel the garlic and smash the cucumbers. Don't use too much force," Shen Yu instructed, handing the puppet a delicate porcelain bowl.
Dumpling accepted the bowl. Its fingers, capable of exerting ten tons of pressure, held the fragile china with terrifying precision.
"Good. Now, let's get some sleep. We open at dawn."
Shen Yu pulled out a sleeping bag behind the counter. He fell asleep instantly, the sleep of a man who didn't realize he was camping in the middle of a literal hellscape.
Meatball curled up at his feet. Dumpling stood rigid as a statue by the counter, its red eyes scanning the darkness, analyzing the thousands of wandering sword spirits that dared not approach the terrifying domain of the "Peace Tavern."
The Next Morning.
The sun struggled to pierce the gray mist of the Wildlands.
Su Ling was running for her life.
Her robes, embroidered with the insignia of the Alchemy Alliance, were torn and stained with green blood. She clutched a jade box to her chest, her breathing ragged.
"You cannot escape, Little Alchemist!" a voice boomed from the mist behind her. "Hand over the Seven-Heart Lotus, and I might leave you with a whole corpse!"
Su Ling didn't look back. She knew who was chasing her—Elder Gu, a traitorous elder who had fallen into the demonic path. He was a peak Foundation Establishment cultivator, while she was merely in the middle stage of Qi Condensation.
She had been running for two days. Her spiritual energy was dry. Her meridians burned.
I'm going to die here, she thought, tears welling in her eyes. In this grave of swords, with no one to bury me.
Just as despair threatened to consume her, a scent hit her nose.
It wasn't the smell of blood or rot.
It was... oil? Heated oil, aromatic and rich. And... eggs?
Am I hallucinating?
The smell was impossible to ignore. It hooked into her stomach and pulled. It smelled like warmth. Like safety. Like her mother's kitchen before she joined the sect.
Stumbling, Su Ling broke through a thicket of dead thorns and froze.
There, in the middle of the desolation, sat a small wooden stall. A banner fluttered gently in the wind, inscribed with characters that seemed to contain the profound truths of the universe—or maybe just bad calligraphy—reading "Peace Tavern."
A young man in strange, short-sleeved clothes was standing behind the counter. He held a black wok in one hand and a ladle in the other. He was tossing something golden in the air.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
The rhythmic sound of the wok tossing was hypnotic.
Su Ling sensed no spiritual energy from the man. He looked like a mortal. But... a mortal in the Grave of the Thousand Swords?
"Help..." Su Ling croaked, her legs giving out. She collapsed ten meters from the stall.
Behind her, the mist churned. Elder Gu burst out, riding a flying centipede made of bones.
"Found you!" Elder Gu laughed maniacally. "Nowhere left to run!"
He raised his hand, gathering a ball of green necrotic poison. "Die!"
Su Ling closed her eyes.
"Hey," a voice cut through the tension. It was calm, slightly annoyed, and utterly unimpressed. "If you're going to fight, take it outside the zone. You're scaring the customers."
Elder Gu paused. He looked at the stall. He looked at the young man.
"A mortal?" Elder Gu sneered. "You dare speak to this Old Man? I'll turn you into a blood puppet!"
Elder Gu threw the poison ball not at Su Ling, but at the chef.
Su Ling screamed. "Run!"
Shen Yu didn't even look up. He was busy plating. "Dumpling, deal with the pest. It's ruining the hygiene rating."
From the shadows of the stall, a white, bulky figure stepped out.
It moved with a speed that defied its bulk.
ZIP.
Dumpling appeared in front of the poison ball. It didn't dodge. It didn't block. It simply opened its mouth—a mechanical hatch in its face—and ate the attack.
Gulp.
Elder Gu froze. "What..."
Dumpling's red eyes flashed. It raised one arm. The mechanical hand spun, transforming into a flat, wide metal paddle.
WHACK.
It was a simple slap. But to Elder Gu, it felt like the sky had collapsed. The paddle hit the bone centipede. The centipede shattered into dust. The force carried through to Elder Gu.
He didn't even have time to scream. He was launched into the horizon like a baseball, turning into a twinkling star in the distance.
Dumpling reverted its hand to normal, dusted off its chest, and walked back to the kitchen to continue peeling garlic.
Silence.