venerable_amon

Meet Amon, a self-proclaimed disaster with a title to match: "Amon, the Calamity." At 17, he’s a walking embodiment of mediocrity in a world brimming with prodigies. Amon can barely cook rice without committing culinary manslaughter.

But Amon isn’t giving up. With dreams of power, fame, and maybe even proving everyone wrong, he devises a master plan. Along the way, he’s armed with a sharp tongue, questionable morals, and just enough delusion to keep going.

Will he rise above his title, or will his chaotic antics make the world regret underestimating him? Either way, it’s going to be a hilarious ride.



https://www.royalroad.com/profile/633230/fictions

Amon: The Lowest Tier Disciple of Sanctity Sect

When I arrived at Elder Hurky's quarters, I realized two things:

1-The place smelled like burnt herbs and wet dog.

2-The door was slightly ajar, creaking ominously like the entry to some forbidden dungeon.

"Elder Hurky?" I called out, stepping inside. The interior was cluttered with jars, scrolls, and what looked like pickled... was that a lizard head? The man himself was hunched over a table, furiously grinding something in a mortar and pestle.

Without looking up, he waved me over. "Water," he grunted.

I placed the bucket on the table, careful not to knock over any of his questionable experiments. Elder Hurky finally looked up, his face smeared with green powder that did not look like it belonged on anyone's skin. He squinted at me, then at the bucket.

"That's it? Took you long enough. You were probably daydreaming the whole time, weren't you?"

"Uh..." I opened my mouth to deny it but decided against it. "Maybe a little."

He snorted, grabbing the bucket and pouring some water into a bowl filled with roots. The liquid fizzed, turning a murky brown. He sniffed it, grimaced, and then shoved the bowl into my hands.

"Here. Take this to the Alchemy Hall. Don't spill it."

"Wait, what is this?" I asked, eyeing the bowl like it might explode.

"An elixir," he said, already turning back to his work. "The kind that melts your face if you're careless. Now go!"

Great. First, I fetch water, now I'm delivering face-melting soup. Truly, the path to greatness is paved with ridiculous errands.

On my way to the Alchemy Hall, I tried to keep my steps steady, but every bump in the road felt like a potential disaster. My mind wandered to the old man in the courtyard. Who was he? Why did he vanish like that? And most importantly, why was he almost naked?

I arrived at the Alchemy Hall without incident—thank the heavens—and handed over the bowl to a stern-looking woman who barely acknowledged my existence.

"Put it on the counter," she said, not bothering to look up from her own bubbling cauldron.

I obeyed, backing away like the thing might come alive and attack me. Before I could leave, she glanced up and said, "You're the new Rank 1, right?"

"Good." She nodded, then went back to her work. "Don't screw up next time."

As I left the hall, I couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of pride. Sure, it wasn't glamorous, but I had completed my first mission. Rank F might be the bottom, but every mountain starts at the base, right?

Or maybe this was just the start of a very, very long and humiliating climb. Either way, I'd survived day one. That counted for something. Right?

A new task