Chapter 449: First Meeting

"You are an Overtime Boss! You deserve to be slandered!"

"I am a visionary," Yan Zhaoge corrected smoothly, tucking his hands back into his purple silk robes, looking utterly pleased with himself. "And I will make sure that you, little Chef, are going to spend the next two weeks learning exactly how a proper, industrial-grade kitchen operates. I hope you brought your heat-resistant gloves and other materials properly."

In the back of the yacht, the Vanguard Retinue had finally managed to properly dress themselves in their formal, starched white robes and be happy.

They looked up just in time to see the mysterious, overpowered purple-robed stranger casually pinch their terrifying, untouchable Vanguard Leader’s ear, and the Vanguard Leader aggressively swat his hand away while bickering with him like an equal.

Lu Jianheng’s jaw dropped.

Gu Zhiwei’s eyes widened in horror.

"Who... who is that man?" Wen Shiru whispered, his glasses slipping down his nose. "He touched the Chef. He physically disciplined the Iron Wok Demon, and a spatula didn’t immediately pulverize him. The geopolitical implications of this dynamic are terrifying."

"He is a rival," Xie Wangchen hissed softly, stepping to the front of the group, his pristine white robes immaculate, though his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. "But the Chef despises him. He is merely an annoyance she tolerates for the mission’s sake. Do not interfere."

The heavily reinforced iron gates of the Iron-Stone Monastery suddenly loomed directly ahead.

The monastery was not built onto the mountain; it was carved directly into the caldera of an active volcano.

Rivers of glowing, viscous magma flowed down channels of black obsidian, illuminating the dark desert night.

The heat radiating from the walls was intense enough to warp the air, creating shimmering mirages around the towering, militaristic watchtowers.

As the palm-leaf yacht crossed the perimeter, navigating through the invisible, deadly Ashen-Wake Crucible Array thanks to Yan Zhaoge’s silent guidance, the massive iron gates groaned open.

Waiting on the expansive, basalt landing pad was the welcoming committee of the Iron-Stone Monastery.

They were a stark, terrifying contrast to the Azure Dragon poison-masters.

The elders of the Iron-Stone sect were scarred men and women wearing thick, heat-resistant aprons over their dark red robes.

At the head of the committee stood Elder Ignis, the Chief Forgemaster.

He was a towering brute of a man with a thick beard and eyes that burned with literal, internal fire.

He watched the floating palm-leaf yacht descend with a look of rigid orthodox skepticism.

"The Celestial Sword Vanguard arrives," Elder Ignis rumbled, his voice like grinding tectonic plates.

He looked at the soft, woven palm fronds. He looked at the delicate, refined, silver-haired beauty standing at the helm. "They look incredibly soft. I wager three of them pass out from heatstroke before we reach the guest barracks."

The palm-leaf yacht touched down on the basalt pad with a soft thud.

Lin Ji’an did not wait for an invitation to disembark.

She stepped off the leaf, her silver hair blowing in the superheated thermal updrafts. She didn’t look soft. She looked utterly exhausted, annoyed, and ready to murder the next person who gave her a headache.

"Listen up, you pyromaniacs," Ji’an announced, her voice echoing across the landing pad with the sharp, commanding authority of a Head Chef taking over a new kitchen. She pointed her heavy cast-iron spatula directly at Elder Ignis. "I am the Vanguard Leader. My retinue is currently nursing broken bones, emotional trauma, and extreme dehydration. If you try to haze us, put us in a sauna, or force us to hit anvils before we have had eight hours of sleep and a carbohydrate-heavy meal, I am going to sabotage your thermal arrays and turn this volcano into a giant, lukewarm soup pot."

The Iron-Stone elders stared at her, completely stunned by the hostility of the opening diplomatic greeting.

And then, stepping off the yacht directly behind her, looking too smug, was their Sovereign.

"Do exactly as he says, Ignis," Yan Zhaoge drawled casually, adjusting his purple robes, flashing a brilliant, terrifying smile at his subordinates. "The Chef is in a terrible mood. I pinched his ear, and I fear he may poison the breakfast buffet if he is not appeased."

The elders’ jaws collectively hit the basalt floor.

Their Sovereign, the elusive, unpredictable Ashen Lord, had returned from the desert... and he was casually bantering with a silver-haired teenage diplomat from a rival sect.

"Welcome to the Forge, Vanguard," Yan Zhaoge announced, spreading his arms wide. "Try not to melt."

The heavy, suffocating silence that descended upon the basalt landing pad was absolute.

It was the kind of thick, terrifying quiet that usually preceded a massive, sectarian bloodbath.

The intense, warping heat of the active volcano seemed to amplify the tension, baking the obsidian walls and casting long, flickering shadows across the faces of the Iron-Stone Monastery’s welcoming committee.

Lin Ji’an stood at the helm of her hovering palm-leaf yacht, her heavy cast-iron spatula pointed directly at the chest of Elder Ignis, the Chief Forgemaster.

She had just aggressively, openly threatened to sabotage the thermal arrays of the most militaristic, heavily armed sect in the Azure Empire if they didn’t immediately provide her exhausted retinue with carbohydrates and a proper nap.

Behind her, the Vanguard Retinue boys were preparing to meet their ancestors.

Lu Jianheng gripped Autumn Shine, his knuckles white, mentally calculating how many blacksmiths he could freeze before they were all beaten to death with hammers.

Gu Zhiwei began desperately praying to the Holy Light, asking for a swift and merciful end.

Even Xie Wangchen’s aura began to flare aggressively, the Ice Demon fully prepared to drop a glacier on the volcano to protect his Chef from the inevitable, furious retaliation of the host sect.

Elder Ignis stared at the delicate, silver-haired beauty brandishing the kitchen utensil.

The Chief Forgemaster was a behemoth of a man, standing seven feet tall, his bare, heavily scarred arms thicker than tree trunks, a massive iron forging hammer resting casually on his shoulder.

His beard was singed, his eyes burned with literal internal fire, and his expression was completely unreadable.

For five agonizing seconds, no one moved.

And then, Elder Ignis’s chest began to rumble.

It started as a low, deep vibration, like the tectonic plates shifting beneath the magma chamber.

The rumble rose through his throat, echoing louder and louder, until the Chief Forgemaster threw his head back and let out a booming, earth-shattering roar of laughter.

"BWAHAHAHAHA!"

The sound was deafening.

It wasn’t a mocking laugh. It was a hearty, full-bellied, completely delighted bellow that caused the glowing embers in the air to dance.

The moment Elder Ignis broke the silence, the rest of the intimidating, heavily scarred blacksmith elders flanking him completely dropped their stern, militaristic postures.

They burst into boisterous, raucous laughter, slapping each other on their massive backs and leaning on their forging tongs, wiping tears of mirth from their eyes.

Ji’an blinked, her spatula faltering slightly.

The Vanguard boys behind her completely short-circuited, unable to process the reaction.

In the orthodox sects, such blatant disrespect to a host elder would result in an immediate duel to the death.

"A spatula!" Elder Ignis roared happily, wiping a tear from his eye with the back of his calloused hand. He pointed a thick, sausage-like finger at Ji’an’s weapon of choice. "By the molten core of the earth, she threatens to turn our caldera into a soup pot! With a cast-iron spatula! Oh, Sovereign, you did not exaggerate!"

Yan Zhaoge, lounging comfortably in the bamboo chair behind Ji’an, offered a smug, lazy, deeply satisfied smirk, taking another sip of his plum wine. "I told you, Ignis. He has no patience for pageantry."

Elder Ignis slammed his massive hammer down onto the basalt pad with a resounding CLANG, leaning forward, his fiery eyes crinkling with genuine, overwhelming affection.

"Brother!" Ignis boomed, abandoning all orthodox honorifics and sectarian titles in a single breath. "You speak the true language of the forge! The Azure Dragon cowards hide behind their poison fog and polite tea ceremonies! The Celestial Sword snobs hide behind their dusty scrolls and elegant sword dances! But here? At the Iron-Stone Monastery?"

Ignis reached behind his back. He didn’t pull a weapon.

He pulled out a colossal, two-handed, solid steel soup ladle that was roughly the size of a shovel.

"Here, we believe in the absolute, undisputed supremacy of blunt force and high temperatures!"