The revelation in the royal audience chamber – or rather, the accumulation of revelations culminating in the physician's horrified pronouncement about the "divinely" nullified altar – had left King Midgar looking like he'd seen a ghost. A very powerful, very bald, and very hungry ghost. The assembled nobles were a sea of pale, bewildered faces. Even the usually stoic Royal Guards seemed to be subtly leaning away from Saitama, as if his sheer, casual omnipotence might be contagious.
Shadow, ever the opportunist, saw a chance to subtly reassert his influence. While Saitama was busy accidentally terrifying the ruling class with his mere existence, Shadow could step in as the interpreter, the one who understood this bizarre new power, thereby maintaining his mystique.
"Indeed, Your Majesty," Shadow said, his voice a soothing, sonorous balm in the tense atmosphere. "Saitama-dono's abilities are… unconventional. He operates on a plane of existence that few can comprehend." Dono? Where did that come from, Cid? Trying to sound respectful to the guy who keeps stealing your thunder? Or just trying to make him sound like some ancient, revered martial arts master instead of a dude looking for a snack? "Consider him less a conventional warrior and more… a force of equilibrium. A natural counter-agent to the escalating chaotic energies that now plague our world."
King Midgar, still clutching his chest, managed a weak nod. "Equilibrium… Yes… I suppose that's one way to put it." He sounded like a man trying to convince himself that a thermonuclear bomb was just a very effective paperweight. "Chancellor Olba, see to it that… Sir Saitama… and his companion… and of course, Lord Shadow and the esteemed Shadow Garden… are provided with our kingdom's finest hospitality. A royal banquet is in order, to… to honor their valor and… discuss our next course of action."
The words "royal banquet" finally seemed to pierce Saitama's bubble of indifference. His head snapped up from his tapestry inspection. "Banquet? As in, like, lots of food? Free food?"
Chancellor Olba, looking slightly terrified but determined to follow royal orders, bowed deeply. "Indeed, Sir Saitama. The finest delicacies Midgar has to offer. As a small token of our immense gratitude."
Saitama's eyes, for the first time since arriving in this dimension, actually seemed to sparkle. "Alright! Now we're talking! Lead the way, Chancellor! My stomach's been staging a rebellion."
And so, the most awkward royal banquet in the history of Midgar commenced.
The grand dining hall of the palace was a sight to behold, with soaring vaulted ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and a long, polished table groaning under the weight of roasted meats, exotic fruits, glistening pastries, and goblets filled with a sparkling, ruby-red liquid. Yet, the atmosphere was less celebratory and more… like a wake where the guest of honor was unexpectedly, and somewhat alarmingly, alive and asking for seconds.
King Midgar sat at the head of the table, picking at his food with a distinct lack of appetite, his gaze frequently darting towards Saitama with a mixture of awe and existential dread. Princess Iris, seated beside him, was openly staring at Saitama with wide, star-struck eyes, occasionally whispering questions to a visibly uncomfortable Alexia, who was trying her best to maintain an air of regal composure while subtly analyzing Saitama's eating habits (which were, to her surprise, remarkably normal, if enthusiastic).
Shadow Garden, seated along one side of the table, maintained their disciplined, enigmatic presence. Alpha ate with quiet grace, her mind clearly still processing the day's events. Beta was discreetly taking notes under the table, presumably for her "Chronicles: Saitama Addendum." Epsilon picked at her food, her perfect features marred by a slight frown of concentration, as if trying to reconcile Saitama's power with his utter lack of… well, anything she considered normal. Delta, seated next to Saitama, was enthusiastically trying to mimic his eating style, occasionally spraying food in her excitement, much to Gamma's quiet horror. Gamma herself was trying to discreetly scan the food for poisons with a miniature device, a habit born more out of paranoia than actual suspicion in this case. Zeta and Eta ate in silence, their expressions unreadable, though their eyes, too, often drifted towards the bald hero.
And Shadow? Shadow sat in a position of honor, exuding an aura of cool, calculated observation. He ate sparingly, his movements precise, his gaze sweeping across the room as if discerning hidden threats and intricate plots within the placement of the silverware. Internally, however, Cid was having a minor crisis. This is… excruciating. I'm supposed to be the mysterious, powerful one, subtly manipulating events from the shadows. And yet, everyone here is either terrified of, or utterly fascinated by, the bald guy who's currently trying to see how many roasted quail he can fit in his mouth at once. (The answer, it turned out, was three.)
The conversation, when it occurred, was stilted and awkward. King Midgar attempted to discuss strategies for dealing with future dimensional incursions, but his suggestions for magical wards and reinforced patrols sounded pathetically inadequate in the face of a being who could casually nullify city-destroying rituals.
"Perhaps… specialized arcane dampening fields?" the King ventured, looking hopefully at Shadow.
Before Shadow could offer a suitably cryptic and impressive-sounding solution, Saitama, mouth full of quail, mumbled, "Or, y'know, I could just punch it if it gets too noisy."
A nervous silence fell over the table. Chancellor Olba choked on his wine.
Shadow cleared his throat. "Saitama-dono's methods, while… direct… are undeniably effective against certain manifestations." He subtly steered the conversation towards the need for intelligence, for understanding the source of the dimensional instability – a classic Eminence in Shadow tactic, focusing on the unseen, the mysterious. "We must uncover the hand that guides these chaotic events. The Cult of Diablos… Xylos mentioned a 'Master'. These are the threads we must pursue."
This, at least, seemed to resonate with the King and his advisors. The idea of a hidden enemy, a shadowy mastermind, was something they could grasp, something that fit their established narratives of good versus evil. It was far more comforting than the idea of a random, bored demigod who just happened to wander into their dimension.
During a lull in the conversation, Princess Iris, unable to contain her curiosity any longer, leaned forward. "Saitama-sama," she began, her voice hesitant but earnest, "the creatures you faced… the Star-Spawn, the clown, the entity Xylos… they were terrifying. Were you… were you not afraid?"
Saitama, who had just polished off a mountain of pastries, paused to consider. "Afraid? Nah. Mostly just annoyed. Especially the clown. His laugh was super grating." He took a large gulp of juice. "Being scared doesn't really help you punch things harder, y'know?"
This simple, honest answer seemed to stun Iris into silence. It was so utterly devoid of the bravado or stoic heroism she expected. It was just… pragmatic.
Alexia, however, chimed in, her voice cool and analytical. "Your strength is undeniable, Sir Saitama. But strength without purpose, without discipline… can be a dangerous thing. What truly drives you? Beyond… finding sales at the supermarket?" There was a hint of challenge in her tone.
Saitama looked at her, then shrugged. "I dunno. I'm a hero for fun. Someone's gotta stop the bad guys, right? And if I can do it, I guess I should. Plus," he grinned, "sometimes you get free food. Like this. This is pretty good." He gestured to the banquet table.
Alexia's perfectly sculpted eyebrow twitched. She was used to ambition, to power plays, to complex motivations. This… this was like trying to analyze a brick wall. A very powerful, very unassuming brick wall.
It was at this point that King Midgar, perhaps emboldened by several goblets of wine, or perhaps just desperate to make sense of the situation, decided to offer what he thought was a fitting tribute.
"Sir Saitama," he began, his voice a little louder now, "the… the entities you dispatched… they threatened to plunge our kingdom into an age of darkness. Xylos, in particular… according to our scholars, he was a harbinger of an ancient, forgotten evil, a being whose return would have signaled the end of days." The King took a shaky breath. "It is… difficult to find the words to express our gratitude. You have, quite literally, saved our world from an unspeakable fate. Perhaps… perhaps a eulogy is in order? For the darkness you have vanquished?"
A "eulogy for the darkness"? Cid perked up. This could be good! A somber, reflective moment. I could offer some profound, philosophical insights on the nature of light and shadow, on the eternal struggle…
Saitama, however, just looked confused. "Eulogy? For those guys? Why? They were jerks."
The King blinked. "Well, yes, but… it is tradition. To acknowledge the passing of a significant… albeit malevolent… force."
"Seems like a waste of time," Saitama said. "They're gone. Good riddance. Can we have more of those little meat pie things instead?" He pointed to a nearby platter.
The awkwardness in the room reached a new, almost palpable level. Chancellor Olba looked like he was about to have an apoplectic fit. Princess Iris looked torn between giggling and looking horrified. Alexia just sighed, a small, almost imperceptible sound of utter defeat.
Shadow, however, saw an opening. A strange, unexpected opening, but an opening nonetheless. The utter, almost childlike simplicity of Saitama's worldview, his complete lack of pretense, his focus on the tangible and the immediate… it was, in its own bizarre way, a form of power. A power that cut through the usual bullshit and ceremony.
And suddenly, Cid Kagenou had an epiphany. A dangerous, exhilarating, and possibly career-ending epiphany if he wasn't careful.
What if… what if I leaned into it?
His entire schtick was about being the mysterious, all-knowing Eminence. But Saitama was an unknowable, unpredictable force that defied all attempts at mystification. Trying to out-cool Saitama was like trying to out-shine the sun with a flashlight. It was futile.
But what if… what if Shadow Garden, and by extension, Shadow himself, adapted? What if they embraced the absurdity? What if their "shadowy machinations" became less about grand, intricate plots and more about… managing the fallout from Saitama's casual reality-breaking, and then taking credit for it in the most deadpan, enigmatic way possible?
It was a terrifying thought. It went against every chuunibyou instinct Cid possessed. But as he looked at the baffled faces of the Midgar royalty, at the stunned reverence of his own Shades, and at Saitama happily munching on a meat pie, completely oblivious to the existential crises he was causing, a new, reckless kind of thrill began to bubble within him.
The old way wasn't working. Saitama was a walking, talking narrative disruption. So, maybe it was time for the Eminence in Shadow to find a new groove. A groove that incorporated… punchlines.
Shadow slowly rose from his seat. The movement drew all eyes. He held up his goblet, the ruby liquid catching the light.
"Indeed," Shadow said, his voice smooth, but with a new, almost imperceptible hint of… something. Amusement? Resignation? It was hard to tell. "Why mourn the darkness when the light – however… unexpectedly bright – has already dawned?" He looked directly at Saitama, who blinked at him, a crumb of pie crust on his chin.
"Xylos, Puddles, the Star-Spawn… they were but fleeting shadows, ultimately insignificant against the… fundamental truths of existence." He paused, letting the words hang. "Their passing requires no eulogy. Only perhaps… a footnote."
He then took a sip from his goblet, his expression unreadable beneath his hood.
The Midgar royalty looked confused, but vaguely relieved. It sounded profound, even if they didn't quite understand it. The Shades looked at their Lord with renewed awe. He had taken Saitama's blunt, almost childish pronouncements and somehow… spun them into something that sounded wise and enigmatic. He was adapting!
Cid, internally, was cringing and exhilarated in equal measure. Footnote?! Did I just call an ancient evil harbinger a footnote?! And did I just imply Saitama is a fundamental truth of existence?! What am I SAYING?! This is either genius, or I'm having a complete mental breakdown!
Saitama, meanwhile, just grinned. "Yeah! Footnotes are way better than long, boring speeches. More time for pie!" He reached for another one.
The banquet continued, still awkward, but with a subtle shift in the dynamic. Shadow, instead of trying to compete with Saitama's overwhelming presence, began to subtly complement it. When Saitama said something blunt and reality-shattering, Shadow would follow up with a cryptic, philosophical statement that somehow reframed it, making it sound like part of some grand, incomprehensible design.
It was a bizarre, improvisational dance, and Cid had no idea where it was leading. But for the first time since Saitama had stumbled out of that portal, he felt a flicker of something other than frustration. He felt… a strange, almost perverse sense of creative freedom.
The Eminence in Shadow was dead. Long live the Eminence in Shadow… and his inexplicably powerful, pie-loving, bald associate. The narrative was no longer his to control. But maybe, just maybe, he could still write some really cool footnotes. And that, in its own absurd way, was a thrill all its own. The chapter was ending, not with a bang, but with the quiet munching of meat pies and the birth of a new, terrifyingly unpredictable, and undeniably entertaining status quo.