"Boss, tell me—doesn't this count as the most miserable thing in the world?"
Shendu looked at Ron with an oddly hopeful expression.
Ron blinked.
Wait… is he reading from the wrong script?
Since walking in, the legendary demon had been polite, quiet—and now he was venting like a tired parent instead of a would-be world-ender.
"Two years!" Shendu slammed back another mouthful of liquor and held up two clawed fingers.
"Two long years in that cursed pit! Do you know what that's like, barkeep?"
"I spent every day fighting my own son—two and a half years of nonstop brawling! No rest, no peace!"
Ron rubbed his chin, realization dawning. Ah… so this Shendu comes from the post-finale timeline—after the "Jackie Chan Adventures" ending.
Which meant the Twelve Talismans should all be fused within him.
"Relax," Ron said evenly. "Fathers and sons fight. It happens."
From the back, Rem's gentle voice chimed in:
"That's right! No matter what happens, family always finds a way to make up."
Ron turned to see the twin maids standing in the doorway in their nightclothes, concern written all over their faces. Shendu's booming voice had clearly ruined their bedtime.
The demon nodded slightly, though his fiery eyes flicked nervously toward the black cat in Ram's arms.
From the moment he entered, he had quietly gauged every aura inside the tavern.
The maids were strong—stronger than ordinary humans—but still mortal.
Ron… was different. His presence was nothing, a void so calm it frightened even demons.
And that cat—just one glance from those golden eyes had made Shendu's soul shudder.
So yes—he was on his best behavior.
"You wouldn't understand a father's pain," Shendu muttered. "My fool of a son blames me for never being there, for always fighting the sorcerers instead of spending time with him. But everything I did—every battle—was to pave a future for him!"
Ron nodded slowly.
He knew enough about Drago to see the point. Without his father's dominance, the younger dragon would've been devoured by stronger devils long ago.
"And in the end," Shendu said bitterly, "my son betrayed me."
"He gathered the eight demon chi, thought himself a god… but in the end, I defeated him—because no one knows my weaknesses better than I do."
He paused, downed the rest of his drink, and continued in a rasp that almost sounded human.
"I wanted to save him afterward, I really did. But when I reached for him, he tried to drag me back down into the abyss with him."
"So I told him—'Fine! Then let's die together, father and son, united in hell!'"
The red in his eyes wavered, softening with a sheen of unfallen tears. But demons didn't cry.
Ron spoke quietly.
"There's no feud a father and son can't settle. Talk it out—someday you'll see him again."
Shendu sighed heavily, about to answer—when both of them caught the same sound outside.
Hooves.
Boots.
Laughter.
Through the window, they saw a burly, hairy man approaching with three crewmates and a half-starved horse. Pistols gleamed at his belt, and a crooked grin split his face.
Marshall D. Teach—Blackbeard.
Ron's eyes narrowed.
"You look a bit… intimidating for business hours," he said to Shendu. "Mind changing appearances?"
Shendu nodded. The Monkey Talisman flared, and in a shimmer of energy the towering dragon became an unremarkable middle-aged man—someone you'd never notice in a crowd.
Moments later, the door burst open.
"Zehahahahaha! Didn't expect to find a tavern out here!" Blackbeard boomed.
"No Marines in sight," Burgess added cheerfully. "Drink up, boys—the captain's paying!"
Ron's gaze followed Teach's line of sight—and saw it stop dead on the wall display.
The blade hanging there shimmered faintly in the lamplight.
Roger's saber, "Ace."
Teach's pupils contracted. Greed flared in his smile.
He didn't act—yet. He just gave his men a subtle nod and swaggered to the bar.
"Welcome," Ron greeted with his usual calm. "What'll it be?"
"We're pirates," Teach grinned, teeth flashing. "So bring out the strongest liquor—and the prettiest women!"
Ron sighed inwardly. Every time they say that word, the whole world loses a little dignity.
Still, he fetched four bottles and set them on the counter.
"Here. Strong enough to melt your bones. I'd sip it slow, though."
The pirates stared.
Slow?
Teach snorted.
"Zehaha—kid, I've drunk rum that could strip paint! Come on, boys!"
He raised the bottle.
"May we live through the storm ahead—and may the dead stay forgotten!"
They clinked, tilted back the bottles—
—and instantly, four pairs of eyes went wide.
The liquor scorched down their throats like molten fire, burning through chest and gut as if razors were carving them open.
"Cough—cough! What kind of hellfire is this?!" Teach wheezed, voice raw.
Ron shrugged.
"I did warn you."
"You could've warned us twice!" Teach rasped, a sly glint flickering behind his pain.
"Now look—we're hurt, our throats are scorched. How do you plan to compensate us?"
Van Augur quietly raised his rifle, the barrel gleaming as it lined up with Ron's forehead.
One command from the captain—and the tavern keeper would be gone.
Ron's smile didn't falter.
"Are you trying to extort me?"
Burgess barked a laugh.
"Exactly! Hand over that blade on the wall, and we'll call it even."
To punctuate his threat, he lashed out with a kick—sending the disguised Shendu crashing to the floor.
Bang!
The bottle shattered, liquor splashing across the boards.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then a voice, low and guttural:
"Why… did you kick me?"
A wave of killing intent erupted from the "ordinary man," thick and suffocating, locking onto the four pirates like chains of flame.
The tavern's temperature plunged.
Even Blackbeard's grin faltered.
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