Chapter 15: “The Phoenix’s Fiery Ascent (and the Bandits Who Regretted Everything)

Four weeks. Four blissful, chaotic weeks since Aizen had adopted the alias "Phoenix" and plunged headfirst into the absurd theater of adventuring. In that time, he'd learned three universal truths:

Adventurer guild clerks were all secretly sadists who enjoyed assigning rookies to sewer rat extermination.

Sentient fire magic had the personality of a hyperactive puppy with pyromania.

The fastest way to nobility? Burn everything and call it "public service."

"You're telling me," Aizen drawled, perched atop a smoldering bandit cart, "that your grand plan was to hide in a hot spring valley? The place literally steams? You might as well have hung a sign saying 'Bandits Here, Please Arrest.'"

The bandit chieftain, a hulking man with a beard that defied gravity, spat on the charred ground. "Shut yer mouth, pretty boy! We had a good thing goin'!"

"Had," Aizen corrected, twirling a flame-coated dagger. "Past tense. Also, 'pretty boy'? I'll take it as a compliment, but my ego's already inflated enough."

The chieftain lunged. Aizen sighed, snapped his fingers, and watched as the man's pants caught fire.

"Master, was that necessary?" Vermis asked, its telepathic voice dripping with judgment.

"Yes," Aizen said cheerfully, stepping over the chieftain's flailing form. "He called me 'pretty boy.' That's a hate crime in some kingdoms."

The Rise of "Phoenix"

Becoming a B-rank adventurer in a month wasn't technically cheating. Sure, Aizen had a sentient grimoire feeding him tactical advice and a mask that turned him into a walking inferno, but he liked to think his "can-do attitude" played a role.

His reputation spread faster than a tavern rumor. "Phoenix" was charming (if smug), lethally efficient (if excessive), and ridiculously photogenic. Tavern bards penned ballads about his "smoldering gaze" and "fiery charisma." Children dressed as him for festivals, setting their costumes on fire (accidentally, mostly). Noblewomen sent perfumed letters asking if he'd consider "extinguishing his flames in their chambers."

Vermis found it all hilarious.

"Your fan club has commissioned a statue," the grimoire informed him one morning as Aizen choked down charred toast in a roadside inn. "It's… anatomically ambitious."

Aizen spat out his coffee. "What?"

"The sculptor took creative liberties. You appear to have six abs."

"I'm a teenager in a magic mask! I don't have abs!"

"Correction: Your body doesn't. The mask's illusion does. Enjoy your newfound pectoral fame."

The Hot Spring Valley Debacle

The crown's plea for help had been laughably desperate: Bandits were terrorizing Hot Spring Valley, a tourist hotspot known for its healing waters and "relaxing ambiance" (read: drunk nobles in towels). The king offered a barony to anyone who solved the problem.

Aizen took one look at the mission flyer and cackled. "Vermis, we're getting a fiefdom."

"Master, you don't know how to manage land."

"I'll hire someone. Or set it on fire. Flexibility is key."

The bandits, as predicted, were idiots. They'd set up camp in a valley billowing with steam, their hideout plastered with stolen souvenir banners ("I Heart Hot Springs!"). Aizen strolled in disguised as a lost tourist, let them "capture" him, then burned their weapon stash while humming a tavern jig.

"This isn't a battle," he told the sobbing bandit lieutenant tied to a geyser. "It's a public service. You'll thank me when you're in prison eating three square meals a day."

The Coronation (Sort Of)

King Aldric the "Eccentrically Verbose" received Aizen in a throne room glittering with enough gold to fund a small war. The monarch, a man with a beard braided into tiny dragon shapes, leaned forward with childlike glee.

"Phoenix! Slayer of Bandits! Hero of Hot Spring Valley! How may we reward you?"

Aizen bowed, his mask's flames dimming to a polite flicker. "The land, Your Majesty. And maybe a plaque."

"A plaque?"

"To warn future bandits. 'Phoenix Was Here. Don't.'"

The king bellowed a laugh that shook the chandeliers. "Marvelous! We grant you the Valley, the title of Baron, and… a plaque!"

As the court scribes scrambled to draft the decree, a duchess fainted at Aizen's smoldering half-smile.

"Was that a wink?" Vermis hissed.

"A subtle wink. I'm a baron now. Subtlety is key."

"You set a man's pants on fire three days ago."

"Tactical subtlety."

The New Baron's Priorities

Hot Spring Valley was… damp. Aizen toured his new domain with Vermis floating beside him, dodging eager merchants hawking "Phoenix Brand Hot Towels!" and "Fireproof Robes! (Not Actually Fireproof)."

"Step one," Aizen declared, "rename the valley."

"To?"

"Phoenix Nest. It's punchier."

"Step two?"

"Find a steward who isn't terrified of me."

"Unlikely."

"Step three: Profit."

A hot spring attendant scurried over, bowing so deeply his nose brushed the ground. "M-My Lord! A gift from the villagers!"

He held out a basket. Inside was a hand-knit scarf (already singed), a jar of "fire-resistant" honey (questionable), and a signed petition: Please Don't Burn Down the Valley.

Aizen grinned. "Vermis, cancel step three. We're pivoting to tourism."