The decision, after much royal hand-wringing and General Valerius's dire warnings about impending doom and the moral decay of the younger generation (aimed squarely at Alexia's enthusiastic war-whoops), was made: a delegation from Midgar would indeed journey to the Free Marches to "observe" the so-called "Tournament of Arbiters." Officially, their mission was intelligence gathering. Unofficially, for Alexia, it was a chance to crack some skulls and test her mettle. For Saitama, it was a vague hope of finding strong opponents and, more pressingly, a decent place that served something other than dragon-raptor or synthesized emergency rations.
The departing party was… eclectic. Iris, ever the responsible leader, took charge, her expression a mixture of grim determination and weary resignation. Alexia practically bounced with excitement, her blade already humming with anticipation. Rose Oriana, armed with her books, amulets, and a surprisingly comprehensive first-aid kit, provided a calming, if somewhat apprehensive, presence. Genos, naturally, accompanied his Master, his cybernetic frame loaded with enough weaponry to level a small city, and a newly compiled database on "Potential Edible Flora and Fauna of the Free Marches (Warning: High Probability of Toxicity/Aggression)."
Saitama, clad in his hero suit, carried a small, worn backpack that Genos had meticulously packed with essentials: spare gloves, a travel-sized bottle of highly concentrated detergent (for stubborn monster-guts stains), several volumes of "Jump" magazine, and, crucially, a multi-pack of "Super Spicy Kimchi Death Wish" brand instant noodles he'd managed to "persuade" the Royal Chef to procure from a very reluctant and terrified black-market spice merchant.
Shadow, of course, did not travel with them in the conventional sense. He had simply… faded from the Royal Palace the evening before their departure, after a final, cryptic pronouncement: "The currents of fate converge upon the arena. Observe well, Princesses. For the true nature of power, and folly, will soon be laid bare. And Caped One… try not to break the continent before the main event." With that, he had dissolved into the gloom, leaving behind only a lingering chill and the faint scent of ancient dust and profound self-satisfaction. He would, naturally, arrive at the Free Marches via his own, far more dramatic and shadowy, means.
Their transport this time was less ostentatious than the Shadow Hound-drawn carriage, but more practical for a potentially hostile journey: a heavily armored, magically reinforced wagon, pulled by four sturdy, if somewhat bad-tempered, Grifforths – hardy, six-legged beasts native to the Midgar highlands, known for their endurance and surprising turn of speed when properly motivated (usually by the threat of Alexia's impatient prodding with the blunt end of her spear).
The journey to the Free Marches was arduous. The roads, once they left the relatively civilized lands directly under Midgar's control, deteriorated rapidly, becoming little more than rutted dirt tracks winding through untamed wilderness and desolate badlands. They encountered bandits (who quickly re-evaluated their life choices after a brief, one-sided encounter with Saitama, who had mistaken their demand for "gold or your lives" as an offer to play a particularly aggressive form of tag), territorial monsters (which Genos dispatched with clinical efficiency before Saitama could get "too bored" and accidentally level a nearby mountain range), and suspicious, heavily armed merchant caravans who gave their strange procession a wide berth.
"Are we there yet?" Saitama asked for approximately the seventeenth time, on the third day of travel. He was trying to balance a pebble on Genos's perfectly still, metallic head. "My butt's asleep again. And these Grifforth things smell kinda like wet dog mixed with old cheese."
Iris, who was poring over a map with Rose, sighed. "We still have several days of travel, Saitama-san. The Free Marches are not exactly next door. And please try not to distract Genos-san; he's currently navigating us through the Whispering Canyon, which is notorious for rockfalls and… other hazards."
Indeed, the Whispering Canyon lived up to its name. A narrow, winding gorge with towering cliffs on either side, it was filled with an eerie, constant sighing wind that seemed to carry faint, unsettling whispers. Loose rocks occasionally skittered down the cliff faces, and strange, unseen creatures rustled in the shadows.
Suddenly, a massive boulder, the size of their wagon, dislodged from high above, plummeting directly towards them with terrifying speed.
"Incoming!" Alexia yelled, drawing her sword. Genos's arm transformed, his incinerator cannon already whining as it charged.
Saitama, however, just looked up, mildly annoyed. "Hey! Watch it up there!" He casually punched upwards. Not a serious punch, just a light jab. The air above them rippled. The massive boulder, instead of crashing down upon them, simply… stopped. Mid-air. It hung there for a moment, suspended by an invisible force, then, with a sound like a deflating balloon, it crumbled into a shower of fine dust that drifted harmlessly away on the whispering wind.
The Grifforths, startled by the sudden cessation of imminent doom, whinnied nervously but continued their plodding pace.
Alexia slowly sheathed her sword, her jaw slightly agape. "Did… did you just tell a mountain to behave… and it listened?"
Saitama shrugged. "Guess it was just loose. Lucky it didn't hit us. Could've scratched the paint on this wagon thingy."
Rose Oriana made a small, choked sound and discreetly made a note in her journal. "Subject S continues to exhibit reality-warping capabilities triggered by mundane inconveniences. Further study… inadvisable without significant hazard pay and possibly a pre-signed waiver absolving the kingdom of responsibility for accidental planetary deconstruction."
Meanwhile, back in Midgar, Sherry Barnett's laboratory was a hive of increasingly frantic activity. Her attempts to "harmonize" with the dimensional rift had yielded… results. Unsettling, unpredictable, but undeniably potent results. The rift itself seemed to be responding to her modulated energy broadcasts, its pulsations becoming more rhythmic, its colors shifting in complex, almost intelligent patterns.
"It's working!" she exclaimed to her two beleaguered Royal Mage assistants, who looked like they hadn't slept in days and were seriously reconsidering their career choices. "The rift is… resonating! I'm getting clearer signals! Distinct energy signatures… almost like… like individual voices trying to break through static!"
On a massive, rune-etched crystal display, flickering symbols and waveforms danced erratically. Suddenly, one particular waveform spiked dramatically, a sharp, clean signal cutting through the background noise for a fleeting moment. It was accompanied by a faint, almost inaudible thrum that vibrated through the very foundations of the lab.
"There!" Sherry shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at the display. "That signature! It's… incredibly powerful! And familiar… I've detected faint echoes of it before, but never this clear! It's… Shadow-aspected, but… different! More primal! More… numerous!"
Before her assistants could react, the rift above the Central Plaza pulsed violently. A shockwave of pure, unadulterated shadow energy washed over the city, not destructive, but deeply, profoundly unsettling. For a moment, all shadows in Midgar seemed to deepen, to writhe with an unseen presence. Then, as quickly as it came, it subsided. The rift returned to its previous, merely nauseating, state.
Sherry stared at her instruments, her face pale but her eyes blazing with an almost terrifying excitement. "Did you feel that? That was… a connection! A momentary, focused resonance! Someone… or something… on the other side… responded!"
What Sherry didn't know, and couldn't possibly comprehend, was that her amplified "harmonic invitation," guided by the subtle, interdimensional weavings of Shadow's will, had just brushed against the reality of a certain Shadow Monarch currently contemplating a particularly stubborn dungeon break. Jin Woo, feeling a strange, fleeting tug, a whisper of a grand convergence of power, had paused, a flicker of interest in his usually stoic eyes. The seed for his eventual, dramatic arrival in Chapter 20 had just been well and truly watered.
Shadow, currently "observing" the Midgar delegation's progress from a vantage point atop a particularly jagged, vulture-occupied crag several miles away (he found the vultures' silent, predatory nature strangely relatable), allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. 'The first echo. The first stirring. My little researcher, in her blundering genius, is proving to be an excellent, if unwitting, interdimensional herald. The stage is being set not just in the Free Marches, but across the boundaries of reality itself. The cast is slowly, but surely, being assembled.'
His thoughts then drifted to another… ingredient… for his grand spectacle. Soma Yukihira. The culinary world was, in its own way, a battlefield of intense rivalries and astonishing skill. How might such a talent fare in a tournament where the stakes were life and death, not just Michelin stars? The thought of a shokugeki potentially deciding the fate of a warrior, or swaying the allegiance of a powerful faction, was deliciously absurd. 'Chapter 40 will require a… different kind of spice,' he mused. 'A culinary interlude amidst the carnage. Yes, that will provide a most refreshing contrast.'
His gaze returned to the plodding wagon far below. Saitama was now attempting to teach the Grifforths a complex handshake, much to their snorting bewilderment and Alexia's exasperated eye-rolls.
"The Free Marches are close now," Shadow murmured to the circling vultures, who seemed to listen with rapt attention. "The air already tastes of blood, ambition, and cheap ale. The perfect breeding ground for conflict. The perfect stage for… introductions."
He anticipated the chaos, the clash of egos, the raw display of power that awaited them. This tournament was more than just a whim; it was a carefully orchestrated experiment. He wanted to see how these disparate elements, these beings of ludicrous power and peculiar motivations, would interact. He wanted to see if Saitama's overwhelming, boring strength could truly be challenged, or if it would simply render the entire concept of a "tournament" moot. He wanted to see if his own, meticulously crafted persona of the Eminence in Shadow could still hold sway, could still pull the strings, in a world increasingly populated by forces that defied all conventional understanding.
The thrill of it, the sheer, audacious scale of his unfolding narrative, was intoxicating. The goosebumps were no longer just a reaction; they were an affirmation. This was his purpose. This was his art. To weave a tapestry of shadow and light, of comedy and tragedy, of overwhelming power and profound, existential boredom, all culminating in a spectacle that would shake the very foundations of reality.
As the sun began to set, casting long, ominous shadows across the desolate landscape, the Midgar delegation finally crested a hill. Below them, nestled in a sprawling, bowl-shaped valley, lay their destination: the Free City of Kord, the unofficial capital of the Free Marches, and the rumored location of the Tournament of Arbiters. It was a chaotic, sprawling settlement of ramshackle buildings, fortified taverns, and a massive, newly constructed arena that dominated the skyline like a brutalist scar on the face of the earth. The air thrummed with a palpable energy – a volatile cocktail of excitement, greed, and bloodlust.
"Well," Alexia said, a predatory grin spreading across her face. "This looks… promising."
Saitama sniffed the air. "Smells like… sweat, desperation, and… is that fried onions? Ooh, maybe they have onion rings here! I could really go for some onion rings."
The stage was set. The players were arriving. And the Eminence in Shadow, watching from afar, felt a surge of anticipation so potent it was almost a physical force. The first act of his grand tournament was about to begin.