TREVOR KING AND SYSTEM MISADVENTURES

Chapter 3: The Loot Chest and the Laughable Consequences

Trevor stared at the glowing loot chest floating in front of him. “Do I really have to open this?”

“Yes!” GL1TCH chirped, bouncing excitedly. “It could have something amazing inside! Like a legendary sword! Or magical armor!”

“Or another frying pan,” Trevor muttered, crossing his arms.

“Come on, Trevor! What’s the worst that could happen?”

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “Did you forget I just fought a banana-flinging monkey and a cross-dressing Bandit Princess? My bar for ‘worst’ is already pretty low.”

The chest shimmered, as if impatient.

“Fine,” Trevor sighed, reaching for it. He braced himself as he lifted the lid.

A bright light shot out of the chest, nearly blinding him. When it faded, he found himself holding...

A chicken.

Trevor blinked. “It’s a chicken.”

The bird clucked and flapped its wings in annoyance, glaring at him as if offended by the entire situation.

“Correction!” GL1TCH said, zipping around the chicken. “It’s a Heroic Companion Chicken! Look, it even has a name: Sir Clucksalot!”

Trevor stared at the glowing name tag hovering above the chicken’s head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope!” GL1TCH said proudly. “Sir Clucksalot is a rare drop. You’re lucky!”

“Lucky? I was hoping for a sword or something useful! What am I supposed to do with a chicken?” Trevor gestured at Sir Clucksalot, who was now pecking at his boot.

“Heroic companions are super valuable!” GL1TCH said. “They come with special abilities!”

“Oh yeah?” Trevor said, leaning down to glare at the bird. “What’s your special ability, Sir Clucksalot? Looking ridiculous?”

The chicken clucked indignantly, then opened its beak. A small fireball shot out, narrowly missing Trevor’s face and scorching the wall behind him.

Trevor froze. “Did that chicken just breathe fire?”

“Yup!” GL1TCH said cheerfully. “Sir Clucksalot is a Pyrocluck! They’re extremely rare.”

Trevor groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe my life has come to this. I’m stuck in a fantasy world with a fire-breathing chicken as my weapon.”

After the chaotic loot chest incident, Trevor and his new companion exited the tower. The sun was already setting, casting long shadows across the landscape.

“So, what now?” Trevor asked, trying not to trip over Sir Clucksalot as the chicken waddled ahead of him.

“Well,” GL1TCH said, “we should probably head to the nearest town to rest and restock.”

“Restock what? I don’t have anything to restock,” Trevor said, waving his empty inventory list. “Unless you count this useless stick and an expired healing potion.”

“Trust me, the town will have everything you need!”

Trevor sighed. “Great. Lead the way, O Mighty Cube.”

The town, as it turned out, was called Featherfall.

Trevor entered through its wooden gates, half expecting it to be full of majestic knights and bustling markets. Instead, it was... underwhelming.

Most of the houses were small and shabby, with crooked chimneys and faded paint. The “marketplace” was little more than a couple of wooden stalls selling questionable-looking vegetables.

“Featherfall? More like Discount Fantasy Land,” Trevor muttered.

“Don’t judge a town by its cover!” GL1TCH said. “Look, there’s an inn!”

Trevor followed GL1TCH’s gaze to a rickety building with a faded sign that read The Roasted Turnip Inn.

“Fantastic,” Trevor said. “Let me guess, they only accept magical gold coins, and I’m broke?”

GL1TCH hesitated. “Uh... technically, yes.”

“Of course,” Trevor muttered, dragging his feet toward the inn.

Inside, the inn was just as unimpressive as the rest of the town. A few scruffy patrons sat around, nursing mugs of ale. The innkeeper, a middle-aged woman with a perpetual scowl, looked up as Trevor approached.

“Room for the night?” she asked, not even bothering with pleasantries.

“Uh, yeah,” Trevor said, scratching the back of his head. “Thing is, I don’t exactly have any money—”

Before he could finish, Sir Clucksalot leaped onto the counter and clucked loudly.

The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “Is that... a Pyrocluck?”

“Uh, yeah?” Trevor said uncertainly.

The woman leaned forward, her expression suddenly eager. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a room for free... if you let me borrow the chicken for a day.”

Trevor blinked. “You want to borrow my chicken?”

“It’s not just any chicken!” the innkeeper said. “A Pyrocluck’s eggs are said to have magical properties! They’re worth a fortune.”

Trevor looked at Sir Clucksalot, who tilted his head as if to say, Don’t you dare.

“Yeah, no thanks,” Trevor said, scooping the chicken into his arms. “I’m not renting out my fire-breathing bird.”

“Suit yourself,” the innkeeper said, her scowl returning. “No money, no room.”

Trevor groaned. “GL1TCH, any bright ideas?”

“Why not take on a town quest?” GL1TCH said. “You can earn money and help the locals!”

“Sure, because helping random strangers has worked out so well for me so far,” Trevor muttered.

A few minutes later, Trevor found himself staring at a hastily scribbled notice on the town’s bulletin board:

Quest: Rid Featherfall of the Nuisance Goblins

Reward: 50 Gold Coins and a Discount Coupon for the Roasted Turnip Inn

“Goblins? Seriously?” Trevor said. “Why can’t this town have normal problems, like potholes or broken streetlights?”

“Come on, Trevor, it’s easy money!” GL1TCH said. “And you’ve got Sir Clucksalot to help!”

Trevor sighed. “Fine. Let’s go fight some goblins.”

As he walked toward the forest, Sir Clucksalot perched on his shoulder, Trevor couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to end badly.

“Just another day in paradise,” he muttered, clutching his frying pan.