The return of the Midgar Delegation from the Oriana Kingdom was a triumphant affair. They arrived not as petitioners, but as the architects of a new, powerful alliance. The news of the "Oriana Confession" and the united front against the Cult of Diablos spread through the capital, replacing the earlier fear and suspicion with a surge of patriotic fervor and renewed faith in the Crown. And at the center of it all, once again, was Saitama.
He was no longer just the "Tempest" or the "Hero of Veridia." He was now "Saitama the Diplomat," the "Hammer of Truth," the hero whose simple, direct nature had apparently shattered a web of international intrigue (the court minstrels were having a field day with the ballads). The fact that his diplomatic success was largely a side effect of his quest for authentic noodles was a detail that was conveniently omitted from the official histories.
For Saitama, the best part of the whole trip was the "Lifetime Platinum Noodle Stipend" scroll, which he had framed and now hung in a place of honor in his suite, right next to his balcony laundry line. He had also, after much negotiation, convinced the Oriana Royal Engineers to build him a small, portable, clockwork-powered ice cream maker, which he now tinkered with constantly, much to Sir Kaelan's unending terror.
A period of strange, almost unnatural, calm settled over the two kingdoms. With Midgar and Oriana now sharing intelligence, their combined forces began to systematically dismantle the Cult's network. Elite knightly orders, working with intelligence provided by Lyraelle and now, covertly, from Oriana's own spy network, launched a series of swift, coordinated raids on suspected Cult bases. They found strongholds abandoned, research notes hastily burned, assets already liquidated. The Cult, it seemed, was in full retreat, pulling its tendrils back from the light, unwilling to risk another direct confrontation with the forces of the newly allied kingdoms, and certainly unwilling to risk attracting the attention of the hero who was currently trying to invent a bacon-flavored ice cream.
This quiet was, as Lyraelle had predicted, deeply unsettling. It was the silence of a predator gathering its strength, the calm before a far greater storm.
"They are conceding the outer board," she explained to the King's council, her voice a low, somber hum. "They are sacrificing their pawns, their minor strongholds, to lull us into a false sense of security. They are consolidating their power, drawing all their resources to a single point, for a single, decisive blow."
"The final sacred site," King Olric stated, his gaze fixed on the celestial map Lyraelle and Theron had been studying. "The 'Crown of the Heavens,' the place where Aethel was said to have ascended."
"Indeed," Archmagus Theron confirmed, his ancient face grim. "It is the most powerful arcane nexus on the continent. If they perform their ritual for the 'Heart of the Abyss' there… the resulting cataclysm could permanently scar the world, a wound that would bleed dark energy for a thousand years, a perfect gateway for their Master."
The stakes had never been higher. The final confrontation was inevitable. All that was left was to prepare.
The preparations were twofold.
First, there was the "official" preparation. The combined armies of Midgar and Oriana began to secretly mobilize, preparing for a massive military campaign. Princess Iris, now recognized as the true wielder of Anathema (even if she couldn't make it glow like Saitama could), was given joint command of the elite vanguard, a symbol of the two kingdoms' unity. Lyraelle acted as her primary strategic advisor, her ancient knowledge of the True Enemy's tactics proving invaluable. They studied maps, planned supply lines, and prepared for a conventional, if epic, war.
Second, there was the "Saitama" preparation. This was far more delicate. The King, taking his new policy of "honesty" to heart, explained the situation to Saitama.
"So," Saitama summarized, after the King had laid out the entire terrifying scenario of the Heart of the Abyss and the world-ending cataclysm, "basically, there's one last big bad guy, the real head honcho, and he's hiding at this 'Crown of the Heavens' place with all his remaining minions. And he's gonna do a super-evil magic thing that's gonna mess everything up."
"That is a… distressingly accurate summary, yes," the King conceded.
"And you guys are gonna go fight him with a big army and swords and stuff," Saitama continued.
"We must," Iris stated, her voice filled with conviction. "It is our duty."
Saitama looked at them, then scratched his head. "Okay. Seems like a lot of work." He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Why don't I just… go over there and punch him now?"
The entire council froze.
"I mean," Saitama elaborated, "I can just leap over there, find the main bad guy, punch him, and then we can all go have lunch. It'd probably only take, like, ten minutes, tops. Way faster than marching a whole army."
Archmagus Theron was the first to find his voice, which was trembling slightly. "Champion Saitama… with all due respect… the level of arcane power concentrated at that site… the nature of the ritual… a direct, unsupported assault, even for one of your… capabilities… could be catastrophic. The energies are unstable. A single, misplaced blow could trigger the ritual prematurely, causing the very cataclysm we seek to prevent!" It was a lie, of course, a desperate, hastily concocted piece of technobabble, but it was the only thing they could think of to prevent him from trying to solve their epic fantasy war with a five-minute errand.
"Oh," Saitama said, looking disappointed. "So I have to be careful not to break the planet. Bummer. That's the hard part." He sighed. "Fine. I'll go with the army. But if there's a lot of boring walking involved, I'm gonna complain. A lot."
And so, the stage was set. The great armies of the allied kingdoms would march on the Crown of the Heavens. Saitama, the ultimate trump card, would accompany them, his role to act as the final, decisive blow against the Cult's leader once the ritual had been "stabilized" (i.e., once the main army had sufficiently softened up the defenses). It was a sound, logical military plan.
It was also exactly what the Cult, and another, even more subtle, player wanted.
In his hidden headquarters, the young man known as Sid smiled. He reviewed the intelligence gathered by Shadow Garden, his expression one of perfect, satisfied calm. The King of Midgar was marching his armies, and his pet god, into a trap.
"The Cult's leader, the 'Lord of the Abyss'… he is not at the Crown of the Heavens," Sid murmured to himself, tracing a line on his own, more accurate, map. "That is merely where the ritual for the Heart is to be performed. A stage. The true master is far more clever than that."
His own intelligence, gathered by Alpha and the others, had revealed the truth. The entire affair at the Crown of the Heavens was a grand diversion. The ritual was real, the threat was real, but the Cult's true leadership would be elsewhere, using the chaos of the final battle to achieve their real objective.
"While the world watches the heroes fight the decoy army at the mountain," Sid continued, his voice a low, excited whisper, "the true leaders of the Cult will be here." His finger landed on a different location on the map: the Royal Capital of Midgar. Specifically, the deepest, most ancient catacombs beneath the Royal Palace itself. "They will use the energy backlash from the failing ritual to shatter the final, hidden seal. The one Lyraelle has forgotten. The one that contains… the true essence. The source of Diablos's power."
It was a brilliant, multi-layered deception. They would sacrifice their own army, their own grand ritual, just to create a big enough distraction to achieve their ultimate goal in the one place no one would be looking.
Sid's smile widened. But they had not accounted for him. They had not accounted for an Eminence in Shadow.
"Let them have their grand, heroic war," he said, standing, his own dark, slime-forged coat materializing around him. "Let the Tempest have his 'final boss'. It will be the perfect cover."
He turned to the shadows in the corner of the room, where the seven leaders of his Garden knelt in silent anticipation.
"Alpha. Gamma. Delta," he commanded, his voice now the cool, resonant baritone of Shadow. "You will accompany me. The rest of you, maintain surveillance on all other fronts. The King of Midgar thinks today is the day he saves his kingdom. The Cult thinks today is the day they achieve their ambition."
He drew his ebony blade, its darkness seeming to drink the very light from the room. A faint, almost imperceptible, purple aura began to radiate from him, the manifestation of his perfectly controlled, exquisitely refined power.
"They are both wrong," he declared, his voice filled with the pure, unadulterated joy of a protagonist who has finally reached the climax of his own, perfectly crafted story. "Today… is the day they all bear witness to the true power of the shadow."
The quiet before the storm was over. The pieces were in place. The final, epic confrontation was about to begin on two separate, equally world-shattering fronts, with the fate of the kingdom hanging precariously in the balance. And the two most powerful beings in the world were finally, unknowingly, on a collision course with destiny itself.