The notion of a grand tournament, once planted by Shadow, began to take root in the collective consciousness of Midgar's leadership, albeit with varying degrees of enthusiasm and trepidation. General Valerius and the more conservative advisors saw it as an invitation to chaos, a reckless gamble that could bring untold dangers to their already strained kingdom. Iris, while acknowledging the risks, saw the strategic potential Shadow had hinted at – a chance to assess new threats and forge unlikely alliances. Alexia, predictably, was already mentally designing her tournament entrance outfit and practicing her victory poses. Rose Oriana remained cautiously optimistic, hoping such an event could be managed to minimize civilian risk while perhaps revealing more about the burgeoning interdimensional crisis.
Saitama, however, had latched onto the idea with the tenacity of a limpet on a particularly tasty rock. The prospect of "fighting strong guys" and potentially winning "cool prizes" (he was still hoping for a lifetime supply of something, preferably edible or readable) had injected a rare spark of interest into his usually bored demeanor. He'd even stopped trying to teach the palace corgis to fetch his discarded manga volumes and had instead taken to idly punching holes in the clouds above the designated demolition zone, much to the consternation of the Royal Meteorologists.
"So, this tournament thing," Saitama said one afternoon, interrupting a tense strategy session where Iris and General Valerius were debating the logistical nightmares of hosting such an event. He was holding a half-eaten apple, which he'd apparently swiped from the royal fruit bowl. "When's it happening? And do I need to, like, sign up? Is there a form? I hate forms."
General Valerius sputtered, his face turning a shade redder than his ceremonial sash. "Young man, this is not some village brawl! This is a matter of grave international – possibly interdimensional – security! We haven't even confirmed if such a tournament is truly being organized, let alone decided if participating is wise!"
Shadow, who had been observing the debate from his customary corner, his presence as oppressive and inscrutable as ever, chose this moment to interject. "The whispers grow louder, General. My network confirms preparations are indeed underway in the Free Marches, a neutral territory known for its… flexible approach to conflict resolution. The instigator appears to be a shadowy consortium known only as 'The Arbiters of Conflict.' Their motives are… opaque, but their resources are undeniably vast."
'The Arbiters of Conflict,' Cid Kagenou mused internally. 'A suitably grandiose and vaguely menacing name. I quite like it. Perhaps I'll even create a few carefully placed rumors about their mythical power and influence to add to the mystique. Yes, that will do nicely. A shadowy organization pulling the strings of a grand tournament… it mirrors my own aspirations perfectly. Imitation, after all, is the sincerest form of flattery, even if the imitator is… myself, in a different guise.'
"The Free Marches?" Iris frowned. "That's days of travel from here. And a notorious den of mercenaries, smugglers, and… worse."
"Precisely the sort of place where one might find individuals of… unique talent and flexible morals, eager to test their mettle for fame and fortune," Shadow replied, his voice dripping with implication. "And precisely the sort of place where one might learn a great deal about the shifting tides of power in this chaotic era."
Alexia's eyes gleamed. "A den of rogues and warriors! Sounds like my kind of party! We have to go, Iris! Think of the challenge! The glory!"
Saitama, having finished his apple, tossed the core into a nearby waste bin with unerring accuracy (it bounced off the rim and landed on the floor, but he didn't seem to notice). "So, it's like an away game? Cool. Do they have good snacks in the Free Marches? I'm getting kinda tired of dragon raptor. It's good, but a guy needs variety, y'know?"
Genos, ever prepared, produced a small data slate. "According to my preliminary analysis of trade routes and cultural culinary practices in the Free Marches, Master, their diet is heavily reliant on preserved meats, hardy root vegetables, and various fermented beverages. The availability of high-quality instant noodles is… questionable. However, I can synthesize emergency rations if required."
Saitama's face fell. "No good noodles? Aw, man. This tournament better have a really good prize, then. Like, a portal to a dimension made entirely of ramen."
Shadow allowed a faint, almost imperceptible tremor of amusement to run through him. 'His priorities remain… refreshingly consistent. While empires crumble and dimensions collide, his primary concern is the quality of processed wheat products. There is a certain… purity… to his mundane desires, a stark contrast to the convoluted ambitions of mortals and immortals alike. It is almost… zen.'
"The decision to participate, or even merely to observe, rests with the Crown, of course," Shadow said, his gaze sweeping over King Midgar, who had been listening to the exchange with a look of weary resignation. "But I would counsel that ignoring such a significant convergence of power could be… unwise. Knowledge, even of one's potential enemies, is a weapon."
King Midgar sighed, the weight of his kingdom, and now possibly multiple dimensions, resting heavily on his shoulders. "If this tournament is indeed happening, and if it poses a potential threat or offers a strategic advantage… then perhaps a delegation is warranted. Under strict observation, of course. And with a clear objective: gather intelligence, assess threats, and avoid… unnecessary entanglements." His gaze lingered pointedly on Alexia, then shifted uneasily to Saitama.
"Excellent," Shadow purred. "A measured and prudent course of action, Your Majesty." 'And one that aligns perfectly with my own… less overtly stated objectives. The stage is being set. The players are being moved into position. Now, to add a few… signature flourishes to the production.'
Over the next few days, as preparations for a potential journey to the Free Marches began (much to General Valerius's vocal dismay), Shadow subtly began to weave his tendrils of influence. He "leaked" carefully curated fragments of information about "The Arbiters of Conflict" through his shadowy network, painting them as an ancient, almost mythical organization with unfathomable power and a penchant for dramatic, high-stakes contests. He ensured that whispers of legendary warriors and mythical beasts potentially participating in the tournament reached the ears of Midgar's elite, further fueling both apprehension and excitement.
He also paid another "visit" to Sherry Barnett in her chaotic laboratory. The researcher was deeply engrossed in her attempts to "harmonize" with the dimensional rift, surrounded by an even more bewildering array of humming crystals, crackling arcane devices, and chalkboards covered in equations that looked like a drunken spider had staggered across them after dipping its legs in ink.
"Researcher Barnett," Shadow began, his voice startling her out of a deep concentration involving a tuning fork and a levitating orb of what looked like jellied moonlight. "Your progress with the rift… it is… notable."
Sherry whirled around, her eyes wide and bloodshot, but shining with an almost fanatical zeal. "Shadow! Yes! Your suggestion of sympathetic resonance… it was a paradigm shift! I've isolated several dominant energy frequencies within the rift's matrix! It's like… like it's singing, Shadow! A complex, multi-layered symphony of dimensional harmonics! I'm still trying to decipher the melody, but I believe… I believe I am on the verge of understanding its fundamental structure!"
"Indeed," Shadow said, though he privately thought her description of a "symphony" was perhaps overly generous for what mostly sounded like a chorus of dying modems. "And in your… deciphering… have you perhaps detected any… specific resonances? Echoes of other worlds, perhaps? Signatures of… unique individuals?"
Sherry frowned, tapping a stylus against her chin. "Specific signatures? It's difficult to isolate individual waveforms from the overwhelming chaotic noise. The rift is a maelstrom of interdimensional static. But… now that you mention it… there have been… anomalies. Brief, incredibly potent energy spikes, almost like… like someone knocking very loudly on a distant door. They're too fleeting to analyze properly, but they're… distinct. Different from the ambient energies of the rift itself."
Shadow's unseen interest sharpened. 'Knocking on a distant door… yes. That aligns perfectly with my… projections. The call of the tournament, amplified by the rift's unique properties, drawing in those attuned to such grand convocations of power.'
"These… 'knocks,' researcher," Shadow pressed gently. "Could you, perhaps, amplify them? Focus your instruments on these fleeting signatures? Perhaps even… encourage them?"
Sherry looked thoughtful. "Amplify them? It would be risky. Like turning up the volume on a signal you don't fully understand. It could attract… unwanted attention. Or further destabilize the rift."
"All great discoveries involve an element of risk, Researcher Barnett," Shadow said smoothly. "And the potential rewards… the chance to glimpse, however briefly, into other realities, to identify other beings of power who might be drawn to our… current events… could be invaluable." He was subtly nudging her towards becoming an unwitting beacon for his desired tournament participants.
Sherry's eyes began to gleam with that familiar, terrifying, scientific fervor. "Amplify… yes… if I could create a resonant feedback loop, attuned to those specific anomalous frequencies… it might just work! It could give us a clearer signal! Perhaps even a… a glimpse!" She immediately turned back to her instruments, already muttering about "phased arrays" and "quantum entanglement amplification."
Shadow allowed himself another internal smile. 'The pieces fall into place with such gratifying precision. The researcher, driven by her insatiable curiosity, will unwittingly become my interdimensional recruitment officer. The stage will be set, the invitations sent (via trans-reality harmonic resonance, no less – how wonderfully dramatic!), and the players… the players will come.'
His thoughts drifted to the specific "players" he envisioned. Jin Woo, the Shadow Monarch from a world teeming with gates and monsters. His power over shadows would be a fascinating counterpoint – or perhaps, a terrifying complement – to his own. The image of two masters of shadow, one meticulously crafted, the other born of a different, harsher reality, clashing or perhaps even… collaborating… on a grand stage sent a thrill of anticipation through him. That would indeed be a Chapter 20 for the ages.
And then, the more… unconventional additions. Soma Yukihira, the culinary prodigy. How would his skills translate in a world of magic and monsters? Could a perfectly cooked dish truly change the course of a battle, or sway the hearts of kings and demons? The comedic, yet strangely potent, possibilities were endless. Chapter 40 would be a delicious interlude.
And Shinchan… oh, Shinchan and his family. The sheer, unadulterated, awkward chaos they would bring. Their entry in Chapter 60 would be a masterpiece of cringe comedy and unexpected, almost accidental, heroism. The thought of them interacting with the deadly serious warriors and brooding mages of this world, or even with Saitama's deadpan indifference, was almost too delightful to contemplate.
Shadow pulled himself back from his reverie. The future was bright with possibilities, dark with intrigue, and undoubtedly filled with goosebump-inducing moments. For now, he had laid the groundwork. The tournament was no longer just a whisper; it was becoming a tangible, almost inevitable, event. And Saitama, the bored god, the Eminence in Nothingness, was eager for the show to begin.
As he melted back into the shadows of the palace, leaving Sherry to her potentially world-ending (or world-expanding) experiments, Shadow felt a sense of profound satisfaction. He was no longer just reacting to the chaos brought by Saitama's arrival; he was shaping it, guiding it, molding it into a narrative far grander, far more entertaining, than anything he could have conceived alone.
The universe had thrown him a bald, noodle-loving curveball. And the Eminence in Shadow, ever the master strategist, was about to hit it out of the park – or perhaps, out of the dimension. The thrill was exquisite. The goosebumps were practically taking notes for their memoirs. This was going to be fun.