Chapter 40: Chapter 40 The Juice Moment
"Brother Damien, you came alone this time. Please, join me for breakfast. We have much to discuss today."
A sharp, echoing peal of laughter rang down from the sky in response.
Suddenly, the enormous white cloud shaped like a lounging elephant scattered into wisps, revealing a dashing young man descending gracefully. He wore a thick, majestic coat fashioned from the hide of some ferocious beast. His golden, beastlike eyes glinted with amusement, and the white lion tattoo emblazoned across his forehead radiated authority.
It was Damien—the second-in-command of the Three Fangs Kingdom.
He floated down and landed effortlessly on a thick branch beside the mockingbird.
John gave the lion-eyed youth a side glance. Damien’s appearance was as majestic as ever, and John couldn’t help but feel a pang of avian inferiority.
"Damn, why does being a bird mean sacrificing all aesthetic appeal?" he grumbled inwardly.
With a chirp, he said, "Wait here a moment," and fluttered into the cavern.
Damien remained where he stood, his smile not fading as his gaze swept over the clearing below. The birds were still immersed in their various training routines—flying drills, elemental control, and even what appeared to be claw combat. Primitive and unsophisticated... but oddly effective.
He clicked his tongue.
"There’s no way these birds were simply taught... No, they’re bound to him. Every word that bird chirps turns into law for them."
Meanwhile, inside the cavern, John muttered curses under his breath as he flew toward a stone shelf and reached out with his talons to grab a thick, weathered leather diary.
As soon as his claws touched the cover, a familiar arc of silver electricity zapped through him.
"AGHHH, DAMN YOU—!"
Sparks danced off his feathers as he struggled to open the book, bearing the lashings like a true martyr of bureaucracy.
But he had no time to waste.
Gritting his beak, he concentrated hard, picturing a figure in his mind: a tall, lean young man with sharp features, slicked-back hair, and a golden mockingbird tattoo on his forehead.
In the next moment, a subtle morphing ripple passed through his body. His feathers shimmered and twisted—until standing in the cavern was a well-dressed young man radiating confidence and mystery.
"Bubble!" he called out sharply.
Outside, the meditating sparrow blinked and flew into the cavern immediately.
"Master, anything I can assist with?" the sparrow asked, tone crisp and dutiful like a seasoned butler.
"Yes. I need you to use your bubble technique to create a mirror."
"Mirror?" the sparrow blinked. "That’s a new one..."
John rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I get it. You’ve never seen one. Just do as I say and I’ll show you what it’s for."
Bubble nodded, and without further question, began conjuring.
Under John’s guidance, the sparrow shaped a shimmering, stable bubble with a reflective surface. John stepped before it, examining his new form.
"Ah—perfecto! This is it! Look at that jawline. That posture. This is what a proper clan founder looks like!"
He tried different poses—arms folded, hand on chin, one eyebrow arched in imperial superiority.
"Now this is the kind of face I can negotiate with. Handsome, wise, mysterious—an image worthy of the Sky Dominating Clan!"
With full confidence and just the right amount of theatrical flair, John strutted out of the cave. His laughter echoed down the hillside as his polished shoes—well, feet—clicked lightly on the wooden deck leading to the towering tree.
"Join me here, Brother Damien," he called out with a grin. "Today, we’re having mango juice for refreshments."
He clapped twice, and immediately, all the parrots of Parrot Hall stopped their training mid-flight and zipped into the cavern like an organized flash mob.
Soon after, a polished wooden bench appeared—crafted, of course, by the ever-diligent Woodie. John and Damien took their seats across from each other, with a round table between them. Polished mango-wood, maybe. Fitting.
Parrots returned with grace, each holding trays carrying carved leaf-cups filled with bright golden juice. They served the two guests with practiced elegance before fluttering aside like professional waiters trained in a five-star hotel in bird form.
John and Damien relaxed, sipping their drinks under the shade of the great tree, laughing and reminiscing about food, flavors, and the strange delicacies from their lives as humans. It was a rare, quiet moment between two individuals carrying too much on their shoulders.
Eventually, Damien cleared his throat, placing his half-empty cup aside. "Ah, I almost forgot, with how good your clan’s hospitality is. I’m here to give you this—as we agreed."
He reached into his overcoat and pulled out a thick bundle of scrolls, neatly rolled and tied, all made from animal hide.
"Papers..." John’s voice softened with nostalgia. "I’ve missed them."
Damien chuckled. "Spent all night writing these. Starts from the basics of the Gaelic tongue, to our cultural norms and civilization from back home, to this world’s cultivation systems and techniques. Thankfully, cultivation logic here runs the same as it did in our last world. At least something’s consistent."
John reached out and flicked through the scrolls with care, his fingers gliding across the surfaces like a musician testing new strings.
"I can add more later if you need advanced knowledge," Damien added. "We of the Three Fangs Kingdom don’t hoard literature. Knowledge should be shared."
"Much appreciated." John gave a genuine nod. "As per our agreement, you can take the ape with you. Oh, and take your nephew too while you’re at it."
Damien stood up and stretched his arms, his golden eyes glittering. "Nah, leave him here. I’ve some urgent matters to attend to elsewhere."
He raised his hand, and with a flick of the wrist, the unconscious ape hovering nearby was pulled into his grasp with ease.
"Well then, I’ll be seeing you at the next meeting. Hopefully you’ll be the one entertaining me next time." He grinned, gave a lazy wave, and then launched into the sky with a gust of wind swirling in his wake.
John watched him vanish into the clouds, his mango juice half-finished, the scrolls stacked neatly beside him.