Dimas stared at the massive, slammed doors, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The scent of Mei Lin’s "icy tea and death" perfume still hung in the air, making his nose itch."I’m dead," Dimas whispered, his voice cracking. "I’m so dead. I’m like, double-dead. I died in Jakarta, and now I’m going to die in... whatever this place is. Probably Heaven’s version of a bad action movie."He scrambled to his feet, his "Golden Dragon" pajamas rustling. He needed an exit. He needed a window, a secret tunnel, or a very convincing cardboard box to hide in. But as he turned, the doors creaked open again. It wasn't the demonic army. It was Elder Feng, looking like he’d just run a marathon through a swamp."Ancestor! Why are you still here?" Feng wheezed, clutching his chest. "General Mei Lin is waiting in the training courtyard! She says the demons are delayed by the outer mountain mist, but she refuses to lead the defense until you... and I quote... 'stop acting like a conf

"Put that thing away, Mei. You’re going to give yourself a cramp if you keep tensing up like that," Dimas said, gesturing loosely at the inch of steel gleaming between her fingers. "And honestly? Threatening the guy who just saved your sect from becoming demon-flavored glitter? That’s bad karma. Really bad."Mei Lin’s jaw tightened, her knuckles white on the hilt. "You called me by my name again. And you... you tricked me into doing that... that ridiculous hand gesture. My dignity is currently in shambles, Dimas.""Dignity is overrated. We’re alive, aren't we?" Dimas stepped back, holding his hands up in a mock surrender. "Besides, you were a natural. If this 'General' thing doesn't work out, I think you’ve got a bright future in idol management. We just need to work on your stage presence. A bit more smiling, a bit less 'I’m going to murder everyone in the front row.'""I am going to murder you," she whispered, though she finally clicked her sword back into its scabbard. She looked o

"Don't. Just... don't," Mei Lin said, her voice a flat line of exhaustion as they continued down the winding forest path."Oh, come on, Mei! Think about the tactical advantage!" Dimas trotted after her, his polyester pajamas fluttering. "If my feet are flashing neon blue every time I take a step, the enemy will be too distracted by the sheer aesthetic to aim straight. It’s psychological warfare 101.""It’s a beacon for every assassin within five miles," she countered, not looking back. "And stop calling me 'Mei.' It’s General Tan. Or Head of the Martial Hall. Or, if you’re feeling particularly suicidal, ‘Grandmistress.’""How about 'Mei-Mei'?"The sound of Mei Lin’s sword clicking an inch out of its scabbard echoed through the quiet woods."Right. General it is. Loud and clear," Dimas muttered, raising his hands. "But seriously, can we talk about the 'Orange Justice' thing? I think I pulled something in my lower back. Do you guys have, like, magical tiger balm? Or a spiritual chiropra

The clearing suddenly fell silent, a hush so profound it felt as if the very wind had decided to hold its breath.Twenty disciples of the Black Vulture Sect stood in a loose semicircle, their dark, feathered capes fluttering in the twilight breeze.At the center of their formation stood Zhao, the "Prodigy of the Iron Claw."He was a mountain of a young man, his shoulders broad enough to carry a heavy plow and his skin bronzed by relentless outdoor training.He wore metal gauntlets that caught the dying light, the claws glinting with a sharp, predatory malice that made Dimas’s heart do a frantic tap-dance against his ribs."So," Zhao sneered, his voice dropping into a register designed to intimidate the weak-willed. "This is the legendary Ancestor of the Cloud-Step Sect?"He took a slow, heavy step forward, the ground beneath his boots crunching with the sound of snapping twigs."You look less like a cultivator of the ancients," Zhao continued, tilting his head with a mocking smirk, "a

The walk back to the Cloud-Step Sect was, for lack of a better word, a parade of unintentional agony.Every step Dimas took triggered another round of rhythmic, neon-blue flashing from his footwear, illuminating the dark, winding mountain path with the frantic intensity of a disco ball trapped in a dungeon.Mei Lin walked several paces ahead, her spine as rigid as a steel rod, never once looking back to see if her companion was keeping pace.Dimas, meanwhile, was engaged in a desperate, silent battle against his own anatomy.The polyester material of his "divine" pajamas, which he had been forced to wear since his sudden arrival in this world, was proving to be a catastrophic choice for mountain travel.The humid night air had turned the synthetic fabric into a clinging, non-breathable shroud that clung to his skin with the persistence of a leech.By the time the familiar stone gates of the Cloud-Step Sect came into view, the lower half of his body was burning.A severe, blistering he