Ascended by Accident: My Luck is a Joke

Chapter 5

"Divine sneakers? Seriously?" Dimas whispered, his eyes fixed on the floating neon text that only he could see. "I'm about to go into a death-match with a guy called the 'Prodigy of the Iron Claw,' and the universe is offering me light-up shoes from 1995? Are they at least the ones that charge via USB?"

"Ancestor? You’re muttering to the air again," Mei Lin said, her voice cutting through his frantic internal monologue. She was already several paces ahead, her silver-and-white robes catching the light of the setting sun. "Unless you’re consulting with the spirits of the wind, I suggest we move. The Black Vulture Sect doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Dimas hurried to catch up, his cheap polyester pajamas swishing loudly. "I’m not muttering, Mei. I’m... negotiating. The heavens are very bureaucratic. Lots of paperwork for a duel of this magnitude."

"You’re wearing a garment with a peeling dragon and you're worried about paperwork?" Mei Lin glanced back at him, her expression softening for a fraction of a second. "You’re a strange man, Dimas. Most masters would be meditating on their killing intent. You’re worried about whether the music has a 'good beat.'"

"Hey, the beat is essential! It’s the rhythm of the soul," Dimas countered, stepping over a mossy root as they entered the Whispering Pine Forest. "Besides, killing intent is bad for the complexion. Look at you—you’re always so tense. If you relaxed just ten percent, you’d probably accidentally ascend to a higher plane just from the lack of stress."

Mei Lin stopped in her tracks, turning to face him. The canopy of trees filtered the orange light, casting long, elegant shadows across her face. "Relax? I am the Head of the Martial Hall. My sect is surrounded by enemies, my Ancestor has the combat skills of a newborn fawn, and I just performed a 'finger-heart' gesture in front of a thousand people. Exactly which part of that should make me feel relaxed?"

"The part where we’re still breathing," Dimas said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. He leaned against a tree, looking at his hands. "Back home, I used to get stressed if a client asked for a logo to be 'blue but in a warm way.' I thought my world was ending because of a font choice. Coming here... it puts things in perspective."

Mei Lin narrowed her eyes, her curiosity piqued. "You often speak of this 'Jakarta' and your life before the thousand-year sleep. You call yourself a 'Graphic Designer.' Is that a title for a specialized scribe? Did you design the seals of the ancient empires?"

Dimas let out a short, dry laugh. "Scribe? Yeah, let’s go with that. I sat in a chair for ten hours a day, staring at a glowing box, trying to make things look pretty for people who didn't know what they wanted. It wasn't exactly 'commanding the elements.'"

"And yet, you seem to miss it," Mei Lin noted, stepping closer. The scent of her—that sharp, cold mountain air and jasmine—swirled around him. "Why? If you were a master of the Void, why would you care about 'fonts' and 'clients'?"

"Because it was simple," Dimas said, looking her in the eye. "I wasn't an Ancestor there. I was just Dimas. I lived in a tiny apartment that smelled like spicy noodles. My biggest worry was my internet connection and whether I could afford the good coffee that week. I didn't have to save anyone. I didn't have to pretend to be a god."

Mei Lin stared at him, her icy composure wavering. She had spent her life around men who boasted of their power, who hid their weaknesses behind layers of spiritual armor. She had never met someone who admitted to being... small.

"Is that why you act the way you do?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The dancing, the jokes... the way you look at me like I’m a person and not just a sword to be used?"

"Maybe," Dimas shrugged, feeling a flush that had nothing to do with the humidity. "I think people take life too seriously, Mei. Especially here. Everyone’s so obsessed with 'realms' and 'cultivation' that they forget to enjoy the fact that the sky is a really nice shade of purple today."

Mei Lin looked up at the sky. "It is a nice shade," she admitted, her voice sounding far younger than her title suggested. "But 'nice shades' don't stop the Iron Claw from ripping your throat out."

"True," Dimas sighed, pushing off the tree. "But if I’m going to get my throat ripped out, I’d rather do it while knowing I made the prettiest General in the world blush at least once."

Mei Lin froze. Her hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword, but she didn't draw it. Instead, her face turned a shade of crimson that put the sunset to shame. "You... you truly have no filter between your brain and your mouth, do you?"

"Zero. It’s part of my 'Drunken Style,'" Dimas joked, though his own heart was hammering. "Come on, General. We’ve got a negotiation to fail at. Let’s go."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the tension between them shifting from 'suspicious' to something far more electric. Mei Lin kept glancing at him, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Dimas?" she said eventually.

"Yeah?"

"What is a 'logo'?"

"Oh, boy. Okay, so imagine you have a brand, right? Like the Cloud-Step Sect. You need a visual identity. Something that says 'We’re peaceful but we’ll kick your butt.' I’d probably go with a minimalist cloud motif, maybe a serif font to show history, but with a modern kerning..."

"I understood approximately three of those words," Mei Lin interrupted, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"That’s okay. I’ll make you a business card when we get back. 'Mei Lin Tan: General, Sword Genius, Expert Finger-Heart Specialist.'"

"If you put that last part on anything, I will burn this forest down with you in it."

"See? That’s the passion I’m looking for! That’s brand identity!"

Dimas was about to launch into a full lecture on brand archetypes when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. It wasn't a System notification. It was a genuine, primal instinct.

"Wait," he whispered, grabbing Mei Lin’s elbow.

She was already still. Her hand was on her hilt, her eyes scanning the dense undergrowth. "I hear them. Six... no, eight. Low-level breath patterns. They’re clumsy."

"Is it the Black Vulture guys?" Dimas hissed, trying to hide behind her shoulder.

"No. Too disorganized," Mei Lin whispered back. "Bandits. They must have seen your glowing pajamas from the trail. You’re basically a walking neon sign for 'Rob me, I’m rich.'"

"I knew I should've worn the gray ones," Dimas groaned.

Suddenly, eight men in mismatched leather armor and carrying rusted scimitars burst from the bushes. They didn't look like cultivators; they looked like guys who hadn't showered since the last imperial dynasty.

"Alright, pretty boy! Hand over the glowing shirt and the girl, and we might let you keep your skin!" the leader yelled, waving a jagged blade. He was a mountain of a man with a missing ear and a very misplaced sense of confidence.

Dimas blinked, his fear momentarily overtaken by genuine offense. "The shirt? Dude, this is polyester. It’ll give you a rash in five minutes. And 'the girl'? You do realize she could turn you into a shish-kebab before you finish that sentence, right?"

"Is he... is he lecturing us?" one of the bandits asked, looking confused.

"He’s the Ancestor!" the leader laughed. "I heard the stories. The 'Golden Dragon' who does the little dances. My grandmother can dance better than you, boy! Now, give us the goods!"

Mei Lin started to step forward, her aura beginning to drop the temperature of the clearing, but Dimas held her back.

"Wait, Mei. Let me handle this," Dimas said, his brain firing at a thousand miles an hour.

"Dimas, they’re just bandits, but they’re armed," she warned. "Don't be a fool."

"Trust me," Dimas whispered. He stepped forward, putting on his best 'mystical' face. He raised a finger, pointing it directly at the leader's nose. "You want the dragon? You want the power of the 'Ja-Kar-Ta' realm?"

The bandits hesitated. The sheer confidence in Dimas’s voice was unnerving.

"Listen closely," Dimas boomed, his voice echoing through the trees. "I am the Master of the Zero Path! I have survived the Hellfire Ramen of the Seventh Circle! If you take one more step, I will unleash a technique so embarrassing, your children’s children will feel the cringe in their marrow!"

"What’s he talking about?" the leader spat. "Get him!"

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: COMBAT MODE ACTIVATED]

[OBJECTIVE: SCAVENGER REPEL]

[SUGGESTED TECHNIQUE: THE 'ORANGE JUSTICE' WAVE.]

"Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me," Dimas muttered. "Not the Orange Justice."

"What was that, Ancestor?" the bandit leader sneered, closing the distance.

"I said..." Dimas took a deep breath, planting his feet in a wide stance. "Get ready to feel the justice! The Orange... Justice!"

Dimas began to swing his arms in a violent, rhythmic arc, his legs pumping in a bizarre, squatting motion. It was fast, it was jerky, and it looked like a man trying to fight off an invisible swarm of bees while simultaneously trying to sit down.

The bandits froze. They didn't attack. They just stared, their mouths hanging open.

"What... what is he doing?" one whispered. "Is it a curse? My eyes... they burn just looking at him."

"It’s a psychological attack!" another cried, shielding his face. "He’s distorting the very concept of dignity!"

Mei Lin stood behind him, her hand over her mouth. She didn't know whether to draw her sword or run away from the sheer secondhand embarrassment. "Dimas... please... stop..."

"I can’t stop, Mei! The justice... it’s too orange!" Dimas yelled, his arms now a blur of polyester.

[CRINGE ENERGY OVERFLOW: 120%]

[EFFECT: MASS CONFUSION]

The bandit leader took a step back, his face pale. "He’s... he’s not human. No human could move like that and still want to live. He’s a demon! A demon of the Uncanny Valley!"

"Run!" the leader screamed, turning tail. "Run before he makes us do it too!"

The eight bandits scrambled into the woods, dropping their rusted weapons in their haste to escape the sight of Dimas’s frantic flailing.

Silence returned to the forest. Dimas stopped, doubled over, and gasped for air. "Did... did it work?"

Mei Lin walked up to him, her expression a mix of horror and profound respect. She reached out and gingerly patted him on the shoulder.

"Dimas," she said softly.

"Yeah?"

"If the Black Vulture Sect sees that... they won't fight you. They’ll simply surrender out of pity."

Dimas grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Hey, a win is a win, Mei. Now, about those LED sneakers..."

"Don't. Just... don't."