The Goodwill Festival between Midgar and the Oriana Kingdom was designed to be the crowning achievement of King Olric's new, terrifyingly precarious, era of peace. It was a grand affair, a week-long celebration of culture, commerce, and diplomatic pleasantries. The Royal Capital was transformed. Colorful banners, bearing both the Midgar rose and the Oriana sunburst, fluttered from every building. Merchants from both kingdoms set up bustling stalls in the main plaza, selling exotic silks, intricate clockwork toys, and a vast array of delicious, artery-clogging street foods.
The official purpose of the festival was to strengthen the alliance between the two powerful nations. The unofficial, and far more critical, purpose was to showcase Midgar's new "stability" to a watching world, to present their "Tempest" not as a wild, destructive force, but as a benevolent, if eccentric, guardian. Saitama was, in essence, the guest of honor, a living, breathing, noodle-loving symbol of Midgar's unassailable might.
Saitama, for his part, was enjoying the festival immensely. For him, it was a week-long, city-wide snack crawl. He wandered through the crowded streets in his 'Mysterious Cloak Guy' disguise (a disguise everyone now recognized, pointing and whispering "It's the Grey Phantom! I hear he loves corn dogs!"), sampling everything from Oriana-style spicy squid skewers to Midgarian honey-glazed boar ribs. He entered an eating contest and won so decisively that the organizers had to declare bankruptcy. He tried his hand at a "test your strength" carnival game, and accidentally launched the bell, the post, and a significant portion of the underlying bedrock into the stratosphere. He was, by all accounts, having a great time.
The political machinations, however, unfolded around him, a complex dance of which he was entirely unaware. The Oriana delegation, led by a shrewd, silver-tongued diplomat named Duke Valois, was all smiles and polite courtesies. Accompanying him was his niece, the kingdom's beloved "Fencing Princess," Rose Oriana. She was celebrated for her beauty, her grace, and her mastery of the Oriana school of swordsmanship. She moved through the festival with a quiet, noble dignity, though those with a keen eye, like Princess Alexia, noticed a faint, almost imperceptible, shadow in her violet eyes, a hint of a deep, inner turmoil.
The first few days of the festival proceeded without a hitch. Saitama was a popular, if baffling, celebrity. The people of Midgar, their memories of the Veridia plague already fading, now cheered for their hero, their curse-breaker. The diplomatic talks between King Olric and Duke Valois were progressing smoothly. A fragile, hopeful peace seemed to be settling over the two kingdoms.
It was the perfect stage for a tragedy.
In his hidden sanctum, the cowled leader of the Cult of Diablos watched the proceedings in his scrying mirror with a cold, patient satisfaction. "The players are in position," he murmured. "The hero is beloved. The victim is adored. The stage is filled with an audience of thousands. Perfect."
He looked at the porcelain-skinned Finger. "Is the artifact resonating with the subject?"
"Perfectly, my Lord," she replied, her voice a dry hiss. "The 'Tear of Diablos,' implanted within her sword's pommel, is fully attuned to her life force. It subtly amplifies her anxieties, twists her sense of duty into paranoia. She believes she is fighting a growing darkness within herself, a righteous struggle. In reality, she is merely… ripening. At your command, the Tear can be activated, overwhelming her will completely, turning her into a vessel for its power."
"And the other preparations?" the leader asked.
"Dr. Vistis's remaining acolytes have distributed the 'Resonance Amplifiers' throughout the plaza's sewer system," she reported. "When the Tear is activated, these devices will capture the surge of chaotic energy and project it outwards, creating a massive, city-wide illusion. It will appear to all onlookers that the 'Tempest' himself is the source of the dark power, that his very presence is what has corrupted the Oriana princess."
The plan was diabolical in its simplicity. They would not attack Saitama. They would make it look like he was the one attacking. They would turn a beloved princess into a rampaging monster, and frame the world's greatest hero for the crime.
"The festival's closing ceremony," the leader said, his voice a low, triumphant whisper. "During the final diplomatic address, in front of both kingdoms, in front of the world. That is when the flower of false hope will be plucked."
The final day of the Goodwill Festival was a grand spectacle. The main plaza was packed with tens of thousands of people, a sea of cheering faces. On a grand, elevated stage, King Olric and Duke Valois were preparing to sign a historic treaty of mutual defense and prosperity. Princess Iris, Princess Alexia, and Princess Rose Oriana stood behind them, symbols of their kingdoms' bright future.
Saitama was also on the stage, a place of honor he had accepted only after being promised a front-row seat and a very large bag of honey-roasted peanuts. He stood off to the side, munching happily, his gaze occasionally wandering over the crowd, looking for interesting food stalls he might have missed.
The speeches began. King Olric spoke of unity, of a new era of cooperation. Duke Valois spoke of shared history, of a future free from the shadows of the past. The crowd cheered. The sun shone. The atmosphere was one of triumphant optimism.
It was then that Princess Rose Oriana, who had been standing silently, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword, suddenly stiffened. A faint, almost invisible, pulse of dark purple energy, visible only to those with the most sensitive arcane senses like Lyraelle (who was watching from a palace balcony), emanated from her sword.
Her violet eyes, which had been filled with a noble seriousness, suddenly widened, a flicker of confusion and pain crossing her face. "No…" she whispered, so softly no one could hear. "I… I won't…"
But it was too late. In the Cult's hidden sanctum, the leader whispered a single word of activation. "Bloom."
The Tear of Diablos erupted.
A wave of raw, chaotic, purple-black energy exploded from Rose's sword, from her very being. Her body convulsed, a scream of pure agony tearing from her throat. Her beautiful features twisted into a mask of rage and despair. Dark, rune-like markings spread across her skin like creeping black vines. Her eyes began to glow with a malevolent, inhuman light.
Simultaneously, the Resonance Amplifiers beneath the plaza activated. The immense surge of dark energy was captured, twisted, and then projected outwards, but not from Rose. The grand illusion took hold, and to every single person in the plaza, the devastating wave of dark power appeared to be erupting from the one person on stage who was not a royal or a diplomat.
From Saitama.
Saitama, who had just finished his peanuts and was looking for a place to put the empty bag, suddenly found himself at the epicenter of a swirling vortex of terrifying (and entirely illusory) purple energy. "Whoa!" he exclaimed. "What's with the spooky light show?"
The crowd, which had been cheering moments before, now screamed in terror. They saw their hero, their "Tempest," suddenly wreathed in the darkest, most terrifying magic imaginable. They saw the beloved Princess Rose of Oriana scream and collapse, seemingly struck down by this sudden, inexplicable betrayal.
"Treachery!" Duke Valois roared, pointing a trembling finger at Saitama. "He has attacked the princess! He is a monster! A demon in hero's clothing!"
King Olric stared in horror, his mind unable to process what was happening. "Saitama? No! It can't be!"
But the evidence of tens of thousands of eyes was irrefutable. The hero had turned. The savior was a curse after all.
Rose Oriana staggered to her feet, her body now a vessel for the artifact's power. She was no longer herself. She was a puppet of rage, a "Fallen Princess," her swordsmanship now amplified and twisted into a storm of pure, destructive fury. She let out another inhuman shriek and lunged, not at Saitama, but at her own uncle, Duke Valois, her sword a blur of dark energy.
The Royal Knights, the Oriana Royal Guard – they all reacted at once, a chaotic mess of drawn steel and panicked shouts. They tried to intercept her, to protect the dignitaries.
But this was all part of the plan.
Saitama, seeing the princess go berserk and start attacking people, did what any hero would do. "Hey! Cut that out!"
He moved to intervene. A simple, straightforward step to get between the "possessed" princess and the terrified Duke.
And in that moment, the trap was sprung.
The moment he moved, the Royal Knights and the Oriana Guard, their minds poisoned by the illusion, saw it as an attack. They saw the "dark hero" moving to finish the job, to attack the fallen princess.
"Protect the princess!" a knight shouted.
"Stop the Tempest!" another roared.
And they all converged. Not on Rose, the true source of the danger, but on Saitama. Dozens of swords, spears, and lances, held by the finest warriors of two kingdoms, turned on the one person who was actually trying to help.
Saitama skidded to a halt, a look of profound, utter confusion on his face. He was surrounded by a wall of hostile steel, by the hateful, terrified faces of the very people he had been honored by moments before. The crowd was screaming, not in adoration, but in terror and rage, their cheers turned to curses. And the princess he was trying to stop was in the background, cutting a swath of destruction through her own guards.
He looked at the knights pointing their swords at him. He looked at the screaming crowd. He looked at the berserk princess. He looked at the illusory dark energy still swirling around him.
"Huh?" was all he could say.
The hero had been framed. The stage was set. And the greatest tragedy, the fall of a hero at the hands of those he sought to protect, was about to begin. The shadow, watching from the darkness, smiled. It was perfect.