Ye Shengtao, Fergio, and Orin shuffled awkwardly back into the old accountant's room. They hadn't exactly planned on a heart-to-heart with the Dark Sect's resident number-cruncher, but Fergio was already steering the conversation with his usual lack of subtlety.
"So... you're really into this whole bookkeeping thing, huh?" Fergio asked, leaning casually against a dusty bookshelf as if they weren't in a death trap full of cultists.
The old man, still hunched over his ledger, paused for a moment, then sighed deeply. "No," he admitted. "I hate it. I always have."
Ye Shengtao raised an eyebrow. "You... hate it? Aren't you, like, one of the higher-ups here?"
"Yes, well," the old man grumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose, "just because you're good at something doesn't mean you enjoy it. Someone has to keep track of all the evil dealings, the cursed items inventory, and the quarterly sacrifices. It's a tedious, thankless job, but no one else will do it."
Orin, who had been quietly perusing the many ledgers on the shelves, chimed in, "Sounds rough. I didn't think being evil required this much paperwork."
The old man gave a tired chuckle. "You have no idea, young man. There's no glory in it, no recognition. Just endless piles of forms and documents. If I'd known what being part of the Dark Sect entailed, I'd never have signed up."
Fergio's face lit up as if he'd just discovered the world's biggest secret. "Wait a second," he said, leaning in closer, "if you hate it so much, why don't you do something else?"
The old man blinked at him, confused. "Do something else? What else could I possibly do? I'm old. This is all I've known for decades."
"Nonsense!" Fergio declared, suddenly brimming with enthusiasm. "You're never too old to follow your dreams! There's always time to chase what you really want in life. What is it you truly want to do?"
The old man opened his mouth to protest but stopped, his eyes clouding over with a faraway look. For a moment, the room fell into a thoughtful silence, broken only by the faint sound of cultists chanting somewhere in the distance.
Finally, the old man muttered, almost to himself, "I... I always wanted to be a pâtissier."
Ye Shengtao's jaw dropped. "A... what?"
"A pâtissier," the old man repeated, a wistful smile creeping across his wrinkled face. "A pastry chef. I used to dream of opening a small bakery, far away from all this darkness. Just a cozy little shop where people could come and enjoy my cakes and pastries."
Orin couldn't contain a small snort of laughter. "You? A pastry chef? In the Dark Sect?"
Fergio, however, was beaming with excitement. "That's amazing! Why didn't you follow that dream?"
The old man sighed again, his shoulders slumping. "I tried, once. A long time ago, before I got mixed up with all this. But life has a way of pushing you down paths you never intended to walk. One bad decision after another, and... well, here I am. An old man, stuck in an evil lair, doing taxes for sorcerers."
Shengtao, despite himself, found that he actually felt a twinge of sympathy for the guy. "That's... unfortunate."
Fergio, however, was undeterred. "No, no, no! You can still do it! It's never too late to become the master pâtissier you were always meant to be!"
The old man chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, please. Who would want pastries from an old Dark Sect accountant?"
"Everyone!" Fergio exclaimed, eyes wide. "I would! I bet your pastries are to die for! Heck, if you can manage all this evil paperwork, baking should be a piece of cake!"
Orin snorted again. "Literally."
Fergio shot Orin a mock-serious look. "I'm not joking! Think about it—people would come from miles around to try your delicacies. You could have a little bakery with pastel walls and those little checkered tablecloths! Maybe even some nice window boxes full of flowers. You could name it something like 'Death by Chocolate' or 'The Dark Confectioner'! You know, something that keeps your edge."
The old man stared at Fergio like he'd lost his mind. "A bakery... with checkered tablecloths?"
"Yes!" Fergio nodded vigorously. "Think about it. You're not just some evil accountant. You've got the skills, the passion, the dream! You could be baking right now instead of dealing with cursed ledger books."
Ye Shengtao, unable to resist chiming in, added dryly, "Plus, no one likes accountants, but everyone loves cake."
The old man's eyes softened, and for the first time in who-knows-how-long, a small, genuine smile crept across his face. "You know," he murmured, "when I was a boy, my grandmother used to bake the most incredible pies. I learned everything from her."
Orin raised an eyebrow. "And now you're making cursed pies?"
The old man laughed, a deep, rusty sound. "I suppose in a way, yes. It's been so long since I even thought about baking. I always told myself I'd return to it after one more year with the Dark Sect. But one year became two, then ten, then... well, now."
Fergio clapped a hand on his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with what he no doubt thought was heroic wisdom. "Listen to me. It's not too late. After we deal with this whole Dark Sect business, you should leave all this behind. Open your bakery. Make your pies. Fulfill your destiny!"
"Destiny?" the old man asked, incredulously.
"Yes!" Fergio bellowed, standing tall. "Your destiny as the greatest pâtissier this world has ever seen!"
Ye Shengtao crossed his arms, watching this spectacle unfold with bemused disbelief.
"You do realize he's working for an evil organization right now, right? The same organization that's been trying to kill us for hours." He whispered.
Fergio shrugged. "Details."
Orin, meanwhile, was still stuck on the bakery idea. "Wait, do you really know how to bake? Like, for real?"
The old man nodded slowly, looking down at his wrinkled hands. "I used to. I made the fluffiest sponge cakes and the lightest éclairs. My family always said I had a gift."
"See!" Fergio exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. "You've got a gift! The world needs to taste that gift."
Ye Shengtao, who had mostly tuned out Fergio's enthusiasm, asked dryly, "And how exactly do you plan to start a bakery after spending years in an evil lair?"
The old man hesitated. "I... I wouldn't even know where to begin."
Fergio grinned and gave the man's shoulder a firm squeeze. "Don't worry. After we take down this place, I'll help you. We'll get you started, build a brand, maybe even franchise it. 'The Pâtisserie of Peril' has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
Orin stifled a giggle while Ye Shengtao rolled his eyes. "You're going to help him start a bakery*? Fergio, we're trying to stop the Dark Sect, not open a pastry shop."
Fergio looked positively determined. "We can do both. Multitasking, Ye Shengtao. It's what heroes do."
The old man, clearly touched by the bizarre support, chuckled softly. "Well, it's certainly an idea. Maybe, just maybe, I'll consider it... after all this chaos ends."
Ye Shengtao, sensing they were reaching the end of this strange conversation, glanced at the old man. "Good luck with the bakery... and the, uh, whole 'being evil' thing."
The old man gave a tired nod. "Thank you, young man. Perhaps one day, you'll taste one of my éclairs."
Fergio grinned from ear to ear. "I can't wait! And remember, follow your dreams!"
As they headed toward the exit, Ye Shengtao shook his head.
This is, without a doubt, the strangest adventure I've ever been on.