The Immortal Coward: Path of the Aegis Cauldron

Chapter 2: The Iron Cauldron Brigade

"My name is Grog. And in the Kitchen Department of the Heaven's Peak Sect, if you don't work, you don't eat. If you don't eat, you die. Understand?"

Zarox nodded stiffly, following Grog's wide strides through the jade gates. His eyes darted wildly at his surroundings. Other disciples passed by in shimmering silk robes, holding flying swords that emitted neon lights.

Zarox compared himself to them; he wore only coarse cotton clothes that were torn here and there, his face still deathly pale. 

"The kitchen?" Zarox asked with a trembling voice, trying to keep up with Grog's brisk pace. "You mean... I'm going to be a chef? Is there a risk of burns? What about toxic gas from the furnaces? Is there workplace accident insurance here?"

Grog stopped abruptly and spun around, staring at Zarox with bulging eyes. "A chef? You're just a lowly servant, boy! Your job is to wash cauldrons, chop spiritual vegetables that might bite your fingers off, and haul firewood from the Black Snake Forest! If you die from a plant bite or get crushed by a log, that's not the sect's business. That's your own problem!"

Zarox gulped. The Black Snake Forest? The name alone sounded like a place that was extremely unfriendly to one's health.

They arrived at a massive complex of buildings emitting billowing plumes of bright green smoke. A strange cooking aroma—a mixture of grass, earth, and roasted meat—stung his nose. This was the Sky Peak Sect Kitchen. The place where thousands of disciples absorbed spiritual energy through food every day.

"Over there, clean those cauldrons in the corner!" Grog pointed toward a pile of rusted iron in a damp corner of the room. "And don't you dare try to taste the inner disciples' rations. If I see you swallow even a single grain of rice, I'll drag you to the spiritual piranha pond!"

Zarox immediately ran toward the corner of the kitchen. He didn't care about Grog's insults; all that was on his mind was how to survive in this place full of superpowered people. He grabbed a coarse brush and began scrubbing the largest iron cauldron. Rust dust flew everywhere, making Zarox sneeze repeatedly.

"Damn, this dust could cause a respiratory infection," he grumbled while continuing to scrub. "I have to stay healthy. I have to stay alive."

As he scrubbed the underside of the cauldron, his finger was sliced by a sharp piece of metal. Fresh blood dripped, hitting the rusted surface of the cauldron. Suddenly, the cauldron vibrated violently. An ancient pattern in the shape of a golden shield began to glow behind the thick layer of rust. Zarox lunged backward, nearly falling into a pile of kitchen waste.

"Huh? What is this? Is this thing possessed?" Zarox panicked, clutching his pounding chest. He glanced toward Grog, but the man was busy scolding another servant.

The shield pattern glowed brighter, and instantly, the cauldron that had looked like scrap metal transformed, becoming as shiny as a mirror. Zarox felt a strange pull of energy. It was as if the cauldron was 'eating' the dirt and rust around it and converting it into pure energy. Zarox stepped closer, touching the inside. It felt warm, not from fire, but from a soothing flow of energy.

"This... this is no ordinary cauldron," Zarox whispered, his eyes wide. He picked up a handful of leftover spiritual rice that had been left on a tray near the cauldron—scraps that were supposed to be discarded by other disciples because the energy quality was considered low.

Zarox tossed the rice into the cauldron. Within seconds, the cauldron vibrated, emitting a melodious chiming sound. The once pale rice now glowed faintly with a golden hue. Zarox picked it up with trembling hands. His instinct told him that this was the key to the immortality he sought.

He looked left and right, making sure Grog wasn't watching. "Just one bite. For the sake of my survival."

Zarox swallowed the rice. 

An explosion of heat energy surged from his stomach through all his blood vessels. It felt as if a thousand ants were scurrying under his skin, but the pain was quickly replaced by a sensation of extraordinary comfort. His bones felt lighter, and his sense of hearing suddenly became incredibly sharp. He could hear the heartbeat of a mouse behind the wooden kitchen wall, and he could even hear the whispers of disciples outside.

"This... this is incredible!" Zarox whispered, his eyes sparkling. 

Suddenly, heavy footsteps approached. Grog appeared from behind a spice cabinet, his face flushed red. 

"Zarox! What are you doing there? You're not stealing food rations, are you?!" Grog gripped his reed broom, preparing to strike. 

Zarox jumped in shock. His heart nearly leaped out of his chest. However, before he could answer, the sound of a small explosion echoed from the direction of the main storage room. Black smoke billowed high, accompanied by the hysterical screams of disciples.

"Disaster! The main cauldron in the Core Disciple Hall exploded due to an overload of spiritual energy!" shouted a servant who came running into the kitchen, his face covered in soot. 

Grog turned toward the source of the sound, then looked back at Zarox with a suspicious glare. "Don't move from there, you damn brat! Don't you dare run off before I check your pockets!"

Grog ran toward the chaos, leaving Zarox alone in the dark corner. Zarox held his magic cauldron, his breath coming in gasps. The flow of energy in his body was becoming uncontrollable. He felt as if he could smash through the wooden kitchen wall with a single shove of his shoulder. 

However, just as he tried to calm himself down, a cold hand suddenly throttled his neck from behind.

"Who are you exactly, and why are you carrying that forbidden artifact?" whispered a smooth yet deadly voice right in his ear.

Zarox froze. His breath caught in his throat. He tried to scream, but the hand pressed harder, making his world slowly go dark. Was his adventure toward immortality ending here, in this foul-smelling kitchen corner? Zarox tried to struggle, but the grip felt like an iron shackle that was impossible to break. He closed his eyes, thinking about how unfortunate it would be if he had to die now before even getting a taste of the sect's best fried chicken. "Let go..." he moaned, but all he heard was a cold, soft laugh from the figure behind him.