The gang trudged back toward the surface, weary but still covered in flour and remnants of sentient pastry battles. Kazuya had Quackleton perched on his shoulder, the duck looking smug despite nearly ending existence. The faint smell of freshly baked croissants lingered in the air, and Crustopher's bread sword looked slightly chewed at the edges.
"So, what's next?" Kazuya asked, glancing back at the team. "We just saved the world from a bread-pocalypse. Does this mean we get a vacation?"
"Vacation?" Sylvara snorted. "Do you even know us? If history tells us anything, we're probably about to get thrown into another apocalyptic nightmare."
"You could at least let me dream," Kazuya muttered, rubbing his temples.
The Smell of Trouble
As they emerged from the underground bakery ruins, an ominous sight awaited them. The village, once bustling with activity, was eerily quiet. A faint haze hung in the air, and the smell of burnt toast wafted through the streets.
"Uh… why does it smell like breakfast betrayal out here?" Ravynne asked, drawing her rapier and sniffing the air.
Crustopher's eyes widened in horror. "No… it can't be…"
"Spit it out, Bread Boy," Sylvara snapped, her patience already wearing thin.
"It's the Toast Tyrants," Crustopher whispered, his voice trembling. "They've found us."
"The what now?" Kazuya said, raising an eyebrow.
Before anyone could respond, a low, menacing voice echoed through the streets.
"Well, well, well… if it isn't the meddling heroes who destroyed the Pie of Power."
The group spun around to find themselves face-to-face with a new threat: a group of anthropomorphic slices of toast, each wearing battle armor made of melted butter and carrying baguette-shaped spears. Leading them was a particularly burnt slice with a jagged edge and a crown made of croutons.
"I am Sir Crumbwell, High Commander of the Toast Tyrants!" the burnt leader declared, raising his spear. "And you have disrupted the sacred balance of carbs! For this, you must pay!"
The Battle of the Bread Aisle
The Toast Tyrants charged forward, their buttery armor glinting in the sunlight.
"Are you serious right now?!" Kazuya yelled, ducking as a spear sailed past his head.
"This is your fault," Sylvara said, firing off a blast of magic that turned one of the toast soldiers into a pile of croutons.
"My fault?!" Kazuya shouted. "How is this my fault?!"
"You brought the duck!" Sylvara retorted, pointing at Quackleton, who was now watching the chaos with an air of detached amusement.
"Stop fighting and start slicing! They're literally made of bread!" Ravynne shouted, cleaving through a soldier with her rapier. Butter splattered everywhere, making the ground dangerously slippery.
Crustopher, meanwhile, had gone full berserker mode, swinging his bread sword with wild abandon. "FOR THE GLORY OF GLUTEN!"
Quackleton Strikes Again
As the battle raged on, Quackleton flapped his wings and flew into the air, quacking loudly. The toast soldiers looked up, distracted by the sight of the radiant duck.
"Is he… monologuing?" Kazuya asked, watching as Quackleton flapped dramatically.
"More importantly, is it working?" Sylvara muttered.
Quackleton let out a series of loud, commanding quacks, and to everyone's surprise, the Toast Tyrants hesitated. Sir Crumbwell lowered his spear, staring up at the duck with a mix of awe and confusion.
"Could it be?" Sir Crumbwell whispered. "The Chosen Duck of Legend?"
"Wait, what?!" Kazuya shouted. "Since when is that a thing?!"
The Legend of the Chosen Duck
Sir Crumbwell fell to one knee, bowing before Quackleton. "Forgive us, oh Glorious Feathered One! We did not realize we were in the presence of the Chosen Duck, foretold in the Sacred Bread Chronicles!"
"The Sacred Bread Chronicles?!" Ravynne repeated, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "Is this some kind of joke?"
Quackleton puffed out his chest and quacked again, clearly enjoying the attention.
"This… this might actually work in our favor," Sylvara said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.
"You're suggesting we let the duck negotiate with toast soldiers?" Kazuya asked incredulously.
"Do you have a better idea?" Sylvara shot back.
Duck Diplomacy
Quackleton began quacking furiously, flapping his wings and strutting around like he owned the place. The Toast Tyrants nodded solemnly, their expressions growing more reverent with each quack.
"What is even happening right now?" Kazuya muttered, watching the bizarre scene unfold.
"Shh," Sylvara said, holding up a hand. "Let the duck work his magic."
After a few tense moments, Sir Crumbwell stood and addressed the group. "The Chosen Duck has spoken. We shall lay down our weapons and return to the Bread Basket, where we shall await further instructions from our glorious leader."
"Wait, what did he say?" Kazuya asked, utterly baffled.
"You don't speak Duck?" Sylvara teased.
To Be Continued...
As the Toast Tyrants retreated, Kazuya and the gang stood in stunned silence, watching Quackleton bask in his newfound glory.
"Well, that happened," Ravynne said, sheathing her rapier.
"I don't know whether to be relieved or deeply concerned," Kazuya admitted.
"Both," Sylvara said, smirking. "Definitely both."
The group began to make their way back to their camp, Quackleton perched triumphantly on Kazuya's shoulder like a king returning from battle. But as they walked, Kazuya couldn't shake the feeling that their adventures were only going to get weirder from here.