The return journey from the Great Sand Sea was different. Saitama was still alone, the landscape was still monotonous, but the oppressive weight of his boredom had been replaced by a new, unfamiliar sensation: a quiet, simmering sense of purpose. The words of the mysterious, dramatic man in the black coat – "Shadow" – echoed in his mind. A rival. An equal. A final, true boss for your lonely game.
It was a preposterous, almost certainly impossible, idea. Saitama had long since resigned himself to the reality that he was the strongest. He had punched aliens who could destroy planets, psychics who could lift cities, monsters who could regenerate from a single cell. They had all been the same. One punch. Over.
But what if? What if this new, strange, magic-filled world was different? What if, somewhere out there, hidden in a shadow or sleeping on a mountaintop, there was someone, or something, that could actually take a "Serious Punch" and get back up? The thought was a spark in the vast, cold emptiness of his power. It was the first genuine flicker of hope for a real fight he'd felt in years.
He no longer wandered aimlessly. He moved with a new, quiet determination, heading back towards the port of Al'Khem. His quest for the Sunstone Pizza was forgotten, a silly footnote. He was now on a new quest. A much more serious one. A quest for a worthy opponent.
His trip back across the desert was swift. He didn't meander or get distracted by cacti. He just… moved. His speed was no longer a jog; it was a steady, ground-eating lope that kicked up a rooster tail of sand behind him, a pace that would have left the fastest horse gasping in minutes. He covered in a single day what had taken him three days of bored wandering to cross.
When he arrived back in Al'Khem, he didn't bother with sightseeing. He went straight to the port. The Salty Siren was gone, of course, having fled his presence with all due haste. But there were other ships. He found the captain of a sturdy-looking cargo vessel bound for Midgar, a gruff woman with a fearsome scar across her face and an eye patch.
"I need a ride," Saitama said simply, walking up to her on the bustling dock.
The captain looked him up and down, taking in the strange yellow suit and the even stranger air of placid confidence. "This ain't a passenger ferry, bald fella. We're hauling Oriana clockwork parts and spiced silks. No room for freeloaders."
"I can pay," Saitama said, suddenly remembering the stipend the King had given him. He fumbled in his snack pouch and pulled out a single, heavy, gold Midgarian coin, a coin worth more than the captain likely made in a month. He tossed it to her.
She caught it with a practiced flick of her wrist, bit it, and her single good eye widened. "Well now," she said, her gruff demeanor softening considerably. "Why didn't you say so? We can always find room for a… distinguished passenger." She pocketed the coin. "Get aboard. Try not to touch anything shiny. Or break anything. Especially not the ship."
The voyage back was, if possible, even more boring than the first one, but Saitama endured it with a new, stoic patience. He spent the long days on deck, not staring aimlessly, but… training. He would stand for hours, just holding a single stance, his eyes closed, his breathing even. He wasn't training his body – that was pointless. He was trying to train his senses, his perception. He was trying to feel the world around him, to sense the flows of energy, the subtle vibrations of power, hoping to somehow, some way, detect the presence of the worthy opponent "Shadow" had spoken of.
The crew, watching him stand motionless on the deck for eight hours straight, through a blistering sun and a sudden squall, without flinching, decided he was even weirder and more terrifying than they had initially thought, and gave him an even wider berth.
His unannounced return to the Royal Capital of Midgar caused a quiet, but significant, ripple of panic. The guards at the main gate, seeing the now-legendary "Bald Cape" simply walk up to them, fumbled for their alarm bells and their protocol manuals. The news of his return shot through the palace like a lightning bolt.
King Olric, who had been enjoying a period of relative peace and manageable paperwork, felt a familiar, cold dread return. He's back. So soon. Did he get bored of his quest already? Did he accidentally sink a continent?
Saitama was escorted (by a very nervous, but now somewhat resigned, Sir Kaelan) directly to the King's study. He found the King, Archmagus Theron, and both princesses waiting for him, their expressions a mixture of relief and deep apprehension.
"Saitama!" the King began, forcing a smile. "You have… returned. We were not expecting you for… well, for quite some time. Was your quest… successful? Did you find the… uh… Glass City?"
Saitama just shook his head. "Nah. The pizza was a lie." He said it with a flat, matter-of-fact finality. "And the calamari probably isn't growing on trees, either." He looked at them, not with anger or disappointment, but with a new, quiet focus. "That's not why I came back."
He walked to the large map of the world that hung on the study wall. "I met someone in the desert," he said, his back to them. "A weird, spooky guy in a black coat. Called himself 'Shadow'."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Kristoph, who had been summoned and was standing silently by the door, stiffened. Iris and Alexia exchanged a sharp, meaningful look. Lyraelle, who was also present, merely watched Saitama, her silver eyes filled with a deep, knowing calm.
"He told me," Saitama continued, his voice quiet but clear, "that there might be someone out there. Someone… strong. A real challenge. An equal." He turned from the map, his gaze sweeping over the powerful, important people in the room. "Is he right? Do you guys know anything about that?"
The King and his council were caught completely off guard. This was a new Saitama. Not the one obsessed with snacks and laundry. This one had a goal. A purpose. And it was a purpose that was, in many ways, far more terrifying than his boredom. A Saitama actively seeking a worthy opponent was a Saitama who was far more likely to get into… "Serious" situations.
"This… 'Shadow'…" Archmagus Theron began, his voice a cautious murmur, "is a figure of considerable mystery, Champion. His words should be… treated with skepticism. He is a known manipulator."
"Maybe," Saitama conceded. "But what he said… it made sense." He looked at his fist. "This power… it's useless if there's nothing to use it on. I need to know. Is there anyone? Anything? The 'True Enemy' you guys are always whispering about? Is he strong? Like, really strong?"
The council exchanged another round of panicked, silent glances. Tell him? Tell him the truth about the ancient, world-ending evil they were trying to fight with subtlety and strategy? What would he do? Would he just leap off the balcony and try to punch his way to the final boss, regardless of the consequences?
It was Lyraelle who finally spoke, her voice a calm anchor in the rising tide of uncertainty. "The one you seek, Saitama," she said, her silver eyes meeting his, "is not a simple foe to be met on a battlefield. His strength is not in his fists, but in his cunning. In his patience. He is a weaver of lies, a master of shadows who has played a game that has spanned millennia."
"So he's sneaky," Saitama summarized. "I hate sneaky."
"Yes," Lyraelle affirmed. "And to find him, to face him, one cannot simply… charge ahead. One must unravel the web he has woven. One must find the heart of his power, the source of his shadow." She looked towards Princess Iris. "That is the purpose of our quest. The final sacred site. The legacy of the First Hero. It is not just a source of power to fight him; it is the key to finding him."
A new resolve dawned on Saitama's face. It wasn't the manic glee of the Regenerator fight. It was a quieter, harder, more determined expression. A hero's resolve. "Okay," he said simply. "I get it. So, to find the really, really strong bad guy… we have to finish the treasure hunt."
He looked at Iris, a new, almost respectful, light in his eyes. "So, Princess. The 'Star-Peaker' place, and then the last one. Right?"
Iris, stunned by this sudden, focused intensity, could only nod. "Yes. The Silent Peak, and then… the Crown of the Heavens."
"Right," Saitama said. He then turned to the King. "I'm back. The fake quests are over. From now on… I'm with them." He jerked a thumb towards Iris and Lyraelle. "Wherever they go, I go. Until we find this… 'True Enemy.' And then…" He clenched his fist. "…then I get to see if he's really as strong as spooky coat guy says he is."
The King could only nod, a profound sense of having lost all control of the situation settling over him. The gilded leash was broken. The Hammer of Truth had returned, no longer interested in petty criminals or culinary delights. He now had a singular, terrifying goal, a goal given to him by the one being in the world who was perhaps even more dangerous and manipulative than the enemy they sought to defeat.
The quiet before the storm was truly over. The final, true quest had begun. And the world held its breath, wondering what would break first: the ancient evil, or the planet itself, under the weight of a hero who had finally found a reason to get serious.