The Grand Arena, which had just weathered a storm of magic, steel, and existential crisis, was now engulfed in a tempest of accusation and political fury. Sid's perfectly timed, expertly delivered "revelations" had acted as a lit match in a powder keg of raw emotion. The shame-faced Midgar crowd, desperate for a clear villain to absolve them of their own folly, turned their full-throated rage upon the Oriana delegation. The Oriana guards, in turn, formed a protective ring around their sputtering Duke, their hands on their swords, their expressions a mixture of outrage and genuine confusion.
"This is a preposterous fabrication!" Duke Valois roared, his face a mask of purple indignation. "A transparent attempt by Midgar to shift blame for the incompetence of its own security! We are the victims here! Our princess was attacked!"
King Olric, caught in the middle, felt the situation spiraling out of his control. His own knights were bristling, their earlier shame replaced by a renewed, righteous anger. The crowd was on the verge of a riot. He looked at the unknown student – Sid – who stood there, looking earnest and brave, the very picture of a truth-teller. The boy's evidence was… plausible, if incendiary. Oriana was known for its advanced, sometimes morally ambiguous, technological research. And the timing of the attack on Rose was, to say the least, politically convenient for anyone wishing to destabilize the new treaty.
"Seize that boy!" Duke Valois shrieked at his guards. "He is a slanderer and a spy!"
Before the Oriana guards could move, Lord Valerius and a contingent of Midgar's Royal Knights stepped forward, their swords drawn. "He is a citizen of Midgar, on Midgar soil, Your Grace," Valerius said, his voice cold as iron. "He will not be touched."
The two phalanxes of elite warriors faced off in the center of the arena, a hair's breadth away from sparking an international incident that would make the tournament's chaos look like a polite disagreement.
Saitama watched this new, developing mess with a profound sense of weariness. "Seriously?" he mumbled to Lyraelle, who had quietly moved to stand beside him, a silent, watchful presence. "They were all trying to fight me, like, five minutes ago. Now they're gonna fight each other over… a robot part and a magic radio?"
Lyraelle's silver eyes were not on the standoff between the knights. They were fixed, with a new, sharp, analytical intensity, on the unassuming brown-haired student who had started it all. She felt… nothing from him. A perfect, calculated, almost aggressively mundane blankness. It was a different kind of void from Saitama's, not one of overwhelming power, but of meticulous, deliberate concealment. Her ancient senses, attuned to the subtle flows of power and intent, screamed that this boy, this simple "student," was infinitely more dangerous than any of the shouting nobles or posturing knights. He was a shadow, and he was playing a game none of the others even knew they were in.
"That one…" Lyraelle whispered, so softly only Saitama could hear, "…is not what he appears to be."
Saitama glanced at Sid. "The kid? He seems okay. A bit dramatic. But he found the clue, right?" He shrugged. "Seems like a good detective. Maybe he can help me find that legendary skewer stand."
The situation on the arena floor was reaching a breaking point. King Olric knew he had to de-escalate, and fast. "Enough!" he thundered, his voice imbued with the full force of his royal authority. "There will be no bloodshed here! Duke Valois, your delegation is under my protection, and you have my solemn vow that this matter will be investigated. Thoroughly. And you, young man," he said, turning to Sid, "you will be taken into protective custody for your own safety, and to provide a full account of your findings to the Royal Magi."
Sid bowed perfectly, an expression of humble, civic duty on his face. "Of course, Your Majesty. I seek only the truth." It was the perfect exit, casting him as both a protected witness and a hero, while ensuring he would be at the very heart of the kingdom's intelligence apparatus, perfectly positioned to observe, and influence, the unfolding investigation. His gambit had succeeded on every level.
As Royal Knights, under Kristoph's direct command, moved to escort both the fuming Oriana delegation and the "brave" student away, Saitama sighed. The immediate prospect of a giant, pointless brawl seemed to have passed. "Well, that was a lot of yelling," he said. "Can we go now? I think the palace chefs were making a victory cake. And I haven't had my slice yet."
King Olric looked at the oblivious hero, the one who had saved the day and was now primarily concerned with dessert, and felt a sudden, profound, and utterly insane idea begin to form in his weary mind. It was a reckless, desperate, and probably suicidal idea. But in a world with beings like Saitama, and shadowy manipulators like the one who had just set his kingdom on a diplomatic collision course, perhaps only a truly insane idea could work.
He looked at Saitama, at the simple, direct, overwhelming power that saw through all the lies and intrigue, not with cunning, but with a profound indifference to them. He looked at the chaos, the suspicion, the impending shadow war. And he made a decision.
"Saitama," the King said, his voice quiet but firm, drawing the hero's attention away from his thoughts of cake. "You are correct. This… yelling… this is not how problems should be solved." He took a deep breath. "The Goodwill Festival is over. The treaty is in jeopardy. My kingdom, and the Kingdom of Oriana, are on the brink of a conflict based on whispers and accusations."
He looked Saitama directly in the eye. "I need… a diplomat."
Saitama blinked. "A what?"
"A diplomat," the King repeated, a strange, almost manic light in his eyes. "An envoy. Someone to travel to the Oriana Kingdom, to speak directly with their King, to clear the air, to get to the bottom of this deception, and to restore the peace." He gestured towards Saitama. "Someone whose intentions are so clear, whose spirit is so… unambiguous… that they cannot possibly be misunderstood. Someone who will, in the most direct way possible, get to the truth."
There was a stunned silence. Archmagus Theron's eyes widened in horror. Lord Valerius looked as if he was about to have a stroke. Princess Iris looked utterly aghast.
Saitama, as the kingdom's official ambassador to a rival, potentially hostile, nation? The idea was beyond madness. It was a declaration of war on the very concept of diplomacy itself.
Saitama just stared at the King. "A diplomat? Me? But… I'm not good at talking to people. I'm good at punching them. And you guys just told me not to punch people anymore."
"Your very presence is a statement, Saitama," the King insisted, his insane idea now taking on a terrifying momentum. "Your reputation precedes you. No one would dare lie to your face." (He hoped.) "You will be… Midgar's fist of peace. Our hammer of truth."
"Hammer of truth?" Saitama repeated, liking the sound of that a bit more. "Does that mean I get to hit people if they lie?"
"Ideally, no," the King said hastily. "But your… presence… will ensure honesty. Princess Iris will accompany you, to handle the… formal protocols. And Lyraelle, as a neutral party of immense wisdom, will act as an advisor. You will be a Royal Delegation. Tasked with preventing a war."
Saitama considered this. A trip to another kingdom. Oriana. The place where the Lightning Broth noodles came from. His eyes lit up with a new, profound sense of purpose.
"The noodle kingdom," he whispered to himself. He looked at the King, a look of grim, heroic determination on his face. "Okay, King guy. I'll do it. I'll be your… dip-lo-mat. For international peace. And noodles. And to find out if they have any other cool flavors."
And so, the aftermath of one crisis, expertly manipulated by a hidden shadow, gave birth to a new, even more unpredictable, and potentially far more chaotic, one. Saitama, the hero for fun, the Titan-slayer, the eater of pancakes, was about to be unleashed upon the delicate, intricate world of international diplomacy.
Sid, watching from the shadows as his "witness" testimony was being taken, overheard the King's new, insane plan. A slow, delighted smile spread across his face. Oh, this was even better than he could have hoped. Sending the Tempest to the heart of the Oriana Kingdom, a nation known for its schemes, its hidden technologies, and its own deep connections to the Cult of Diablos?
It wasn't just kicking a hornets' nest anymore. It was throwing the ultimate, oblivious, reality-breaking honey badger into the middle of it. The chaos, the opportunities, the sheer, beautiful entertainment… it would be glorious.
The stage was no longer just Midgar. The entire world was about to become Saitama's playground. And the shadows had never been deeper, or more full of delighted anticipation.