CHAPTER 75: THE PAVILION OF PREPOSTEROUS PRIZES

Quest Update: "Survive the Junkyard Jamboree"

Objective: Reach the pavilion of cursed carnival prizes and claim its relic without losing your mind or your dignity.

Reward: A gaudy trinket, maybe a hint of Valthorne’s legacy.

Failure: You’re the lair’s new ringmaster, crowned with eternal embarrassment.

The maze of cursed relics loomed, its rune-carved walls pulsing like a carnival gone feral, casting flickering light on the cluttered, sticky floor. The air reeked of burnt popcorn, sour wine, and the faint stench of a bad life choice, making every step feel like a gamble against a carnie’s curse. I gripped the Heart of Glimmerfen, its loaf-shaped glow throbbing like it was yelling, You’re doomed, Cecil! The Wyrm’s Quill buzzed, flickering like a neon sign on its last spark. In my pocket, the Scone of Secrets pulsed, its raisin-studded warmth humming like it was whispering, You’re so screwed. The Baguette of Boundless Beginnings, Chalice of Cheesy Charms, and Amulet of Awful Allure hung on my belt, feeling like they were judging my soul. My coat was a catastrophe—torn, singed, glittering like a disco ball that had lost a fight with a carnival booth—but I felt a fire, like my old Loafbearer powers were merging with the quill’s chaotic energy. I was Cecil Dreggs, the guy who’d once knocked over a jug and accidentally started a tavern riot that became a local ballad. If I could survive a cursed popcorn cart and outwit a spectral carnie, I could conquer this maze and maybe prove I was more than a walking disaster.

My crew stumbled along, weapons out, looking like they’d rather be at a tavern than dodging enchanted junk. Lilith spun her scythe, red eyes glaring at the runes like they’d stolen her last shot. "Cecil, if you trigger another trap, I’ll tie you to that popcorn cart and let it roll you into a bad joke." Her smirk was sharper than a barmaid’s wit, but her eyes held respect, like she figured I might survive the night.

Vorren hulked forward, his knife gleaming like it was ready to gut the maze. "If we die, I’m taking that orb, scone, baguette, chalice, amulet, your coat, and whatever’s left of your reputation." His growl rumbled like a bouncer ready to toss a drunk, but he stuck close, like he almost believed in me.

Jex, coated in glitter and popcorn, whimpered like a kid in a haunted funhouse. "No snacks, no weapons, just freaky doom! I’m done for!" His voice cracked, echoing CRASH like a dropped jug.

Yvra glided forward, her dress defying the grime like it was beneath her royal status. "Cecil, if you drag us into another fiasco, I’ll exile you to a carnival dungeon and bury you in royal ticket stubs." Her tone was frost, but her eyes lingered on the Heart and amulet, intrigued.

Mister Fog floated above, sipping tea that reeked of burnt dreams and carnie scams. "The relics are linked, Cecil, but your focus wobbles like a juggler with a hangover. Channel it, or we’re all carnival fodder." His calm was maddening, but it kept me grounded.

Sir Thrain, covered in glitter and popcorn, raised his lance. "For the crown’s festive honor!" He charged, tripped over a cracked hoop, and slammed BANG into junk. "Dishonorable rubbish!" he groaned, helmet spinning like a carousel.

Sir Gorrim, his mustache a sticky mess of glitter and cotton candy, waved his broken hilt. "By valor’s grace!" He slipped on a chipped baton, crashing THUD into junk. "Cursed debris!" he wheezed, flailing like a knight in a scrap heap.

I twirled the quill, flashing a grin despite the crew’s groans. "Chill, team! We’ve got the Heart, scone, baguette, chalice, amulet, quill, and my legendary Doughnut Lord swagger. This maze is just a bad date!" The quill buzzed, sparking confidence, though my gut churned like I’d downed a cursed slushie.

Lilith snorted, her scythe scraping a rune SCREECH. "Your ’swagger’ is why we’re dodging popcorn carts, you walking bar fight." Her sarcasm dripped like spilled whiskey, but her eyes softened, like she was betting I’d survive the night.

The maze opened into a circular pavilion, dominated by a platform of junk—piled with chipped hoops, rusty bells, and a gaudy crown that looked like it was stolen from a carnie king. The runes glowed brighter, shaped like cracked mirrors and bent batons, pulsing like they were laughing at my existence. Atop the platform sat a glowing relic—a tacky scepter, encrusted with fake gems, radiating magic like a knockoff royal rod. The Heart throbbed, scone hummed, baguette pulsed, chalice gleamed, amulet sparkled, and the quill buzzed, like they recognized this gaudy prize.

"Whoa," I whispered, quill buzzing. "That’s the Scepter of Silly Sovereignty! Tacky, but powerful." I had no clue if that was its name, but it sounded like something a drunk bard would hype up.

Lilith’s eyes narrowed, her scythe glinting. "Cecil, if that scepter’s a trap, I’ll use it to bash your head in." Her tone was sharp, but her lips twitched, like she was fighting a smirk.

Vorren grunted, sniffing the air. "Smells like a scam. Don’t touch it, Dreggs." His knife twitched, like it wanted to stab the scepter.

Jex’s eyes lit up, hands twitching like he was in a pawn shop. "Can I keep it? It’s shiny!" He reached, but Yvra grabbed his arm, her dagger gleaming.

"Don’t," she snapped, her voice cold. "Cecil, this is your fault. Fix it before we’re buried." Her eyes flicked to the Heart and scepter, curious.

Mister Fog sipped his tea. "The scepter is linked to the relics, Cecil. Be cautious." His warning sent a chill through me.

Thrain raised his lance. "For the crown’s tacky honor!" He tripped, crashing BANG into junk. "Dishonorable rubbish!" he groaned.

Gorrim waved his hilt. "By valor’s grace!" He slipped, crashing THUD into junk. "Cursed debris!" he wheezed.

I stepped toward the platform, clutching the Heart, quill buzzing, scone, baguette, chalice, and amulet pulsing. "Okay, team, let’s grab this scepter and bounce!" The runes flared, and a spectral figure appeared—a ringmaster in ancient robes, holding a glowing whip that cracked SNAP. His eyes glowed like twin lanterns, and his voice boomed RUMBLE. "WHO DARES CLAIM THE SCEPTER OF SILLY SOVEREIGNTY? PROVE YOUR WORTH, OR FACE THE WRATH OF THE CARNIVAL!"

I gulped, quill flaring. "Cecil Dreggs, Doughnut Lord! I’ve got the Heart, scone, baguette, chalice, amulet, and I’m here for answers!" The Heart pulsed, and I felt Valthorne’s power, like it was cheering me on.

The ringmaster’s eyes glowed. "Answer my riddle, or perish! What rules with confidence, yet falls with indecision?"

I blinked, scratching my head. "Uh... a scepter?" The quill flared, and the scone warmed, like I was close.

The ringmaster’s whip cracked SNAP. "Close! Speak truer!" The runes flared, and junk—rusty hoops, chipped batons, glowing bells—flew from the piles, spinning CLANG-CLANG. I ducked, a baton grazing my coat CLINK.

"Junk attack?!" I yelped, quill flaring. I pointed it, and a giant carnival tent appeared WHUMP

, blocking a bell. The crew scattered, dodging trash.

Lilith slashed a hoop CRACKLE. "Cecil, you’re a disaster! Fix this!" Her scythe spun, smashing junk like it had hit on her.

Vorren smashed a baton CRUNCH. "Who builds this garbage? I hate it!" He dodged, nimble for a keg of a man.

Jex caught a bell, sniffing it. "Is this... food?" He ducked CLANG, squealing. "Nope, cursed!" He dove behind a pile, glitter on his face.

Yvra’s dagger pinned a hoop THUNK. "Cecil, end this!" Her glare was deadly, but her lips twitched, like she was fighting a laugh.

Mister Fog sipped his tea. "The quill channels your will, Cecil. Focus, or we’re junk fodder." His calm steadied me.

Thrain swung his lance, shattering a baton SMASH. "For valor!" He tripped, rolling BANG into junk. "Curse this rubbish!" he groaned.

Gorrim flailed, his hilt waving. "By valor’s grace!" He slipped, crashing THUD into junk. "Cursed debris!" he wheezed.

I raised the quill, Heart glowing, scone, baguette, chalice, and amulet pulsing. "Okay, riddle time! A scepter rules with confidence—authority, swagger—but indecision makes it lose its power!" The quill flared, the scone glowed, the Heart pulsed, and the scepter shone brighter. The ringmaster nodded. "Worthy!" The junk stopped, and the platform glowed, revealing a path beyond.

I grabbed the scepter, visions hitting me—Valthorne forging peace with relics, his power in the Heart, scone, baguette, chalice, amulet, and scepter. My power. The path hummed, runes flaring, promising answers or doom.

Lilith slashed a bell CRACKLE. "Cecil, you’re not dead. Shocking."

Vorren smashed a hoop CRUNCH. "Don’t get cocky."

Jex ate a crumb, grinning. "You’re the best, Cecil!"

Yvra’s dagger pinned a baton THUNK. "Absurd, but effective."

Mister Fog sipped his tea. "The relics are one. Be cautious."

Thrain and Gorrim shouted, "For the crown!" and crashed BANGTHUD. "Dishonorable rubbish!" Gorrim wheezed.

The path glowed, runes pulsing. I led the way, clutching the Heart, scone, baguette, chalice, amulet, scepter, and quill, ready for whatever came next. The Doughnut Lord was just getting started.