(grinning) I still wanna fight monsters. But… I get it now. Even the small work matters. It’s all one big adventure — just different tools.
I’d rather fight the Lich in flip-flops. ACT TWO: THE COMPOST PITS (The Royal Compost Facility — a vast, steaming pit of rotting fruit, sentient banana peels, and grumbling fungi.)
That’s not the point! The point is—work. Hard work. Sweat equity. You know?
(Jake stretches his ear into a telephone receiver, then his mouth into a speaker.)
(a gentle, ancient voice made of rustling leaves and bubble sounds) Heeeero. You turned me. You sweated. You did not use magic. That is the oldest kind of work. Thank you.