The journey back to the Dragon's Tooth Mountains was different. The army was gone, replaced by the small, focused procession of the Royal Pilgrimage. Their path was now one of grim purpose, not of military conquest. And they were, as Lyraelle had noted, not alone. A fact that was becoming increasingly, unnervingly, obvious.
They would make camp, and in the morning, find a perimeter of slain nocturnal beasts, killed by silent, unseen blades. They would be about to walk into a Cultist ambush, only for a "convenient" rockslide to occur, sealing the path and forcing the ambushers to reveal themselves prematurely, allowing the Royal Knights to easily dispatch them. Small, helpful "coincidences" began to mount, too numerous to be mere chance.
"Someone is clearing a path for us," Kristoph observed one evening, examining the body of a Cultist assassin who had apparently been killed by a single, impossibly fast thrown weapon before he could trigger his trap. "Or… they are managing the threats we face. Culling the weaker ones, allowing only the… more significant… challenges to reach us."
"Shadow Garden," Alexia stated with certainty. She was not on the pilgrimage herself but was monitoring it through a long-range communication amulet, a direct link to Iris. Her voice was a crisp whisper in her sister's ear. "The silent swordsman you spoke of, the other power in the city… this is their work. They have an interest in your quest. And in Saitama."
Iris, standing beside Kristoph, relayed this information. "My sister believes we are being shadowed by another clandestine group, one hostile to the Cult."
Lyraelle just nodded, her silver eyes scanning the surrounding shadows. "The shadows that follow shadows," she murmured. "Their purpose is… unclear. They help, yet they hide. They are not allies, but… fellow travelers on a different, darker road."
Saitama, as usual, was oblivious to these subtle machinations. He just knew that the journey was "less annoying" this time, with fewer "weak monster interruptions." He spent most of his time trying to teach the Royal Knights how to play rock-paper-scissors, with limited success. ("No, no, Kaelan, paper beats rock! It's not about which one is harder, it's about… uh… the rules! Just follow the rules!")
They finally reached the high plateau that Saitama's "Serious Scenery Adjustment" had created. It was a vast, unnaturally flat expanse of smooth stone, a stark and silent monument to his power. The wind howled across it, a lonely, mournful sound.
"Okay," Saitama said, looking around. "We're back at the flat place. Now what? Is the bad guy just gonna pop out of a rock and say 'boo'?"
"The 'Crown of the Heavens' was not just the summit, Saitama," Lyraelle explained, her voice soft but clear against the wind. "It was a gateway. A place where the veil between worlds is thin. Your… 'adjustment'… did not destroy the gateway. It merely… exposed it. The final sacred site is not a place on this mountain, but through it."
She walked to the center of the plateau, her silver hair whipping around her. She held her hand out, and a soft, silver light began to emanate from her palm. She placed her hand on the smooth stone floor. "The First Hero did not build his final sanctuary in the world of men," she said, her voice taking on a resonant, ancient quality. "He built it in an echo. A pocket dimension, hidden from the eyes of gods and demons alike. A place of perfect stillness, where his final legacy could wait, undisturbed."
The stone beneath her hand began to glow, intricate silver runes, invisible moments before, now flaring to life, spreading outwards from her touch, forming a vast, complex circle that covered the entire plateau. The air shimmered, the world seemed to warp, and the solid stone floor began to turn translucent, revealing a swirling, star-filled void beneath their feet.
"Whoa!" Saitama exclaimed. "A secret magic floor! Cool! Is it bouncy?" He took a small hop. It was not bouncy.
"This is the true gateway," Lyraelle announced. "It requires a key of both heroic blood and celestial power to open. Iris… your sword. My light. Together."
Iris stepped forward, her face a mask of determined awe. She drew Anathema, its golden light now pure and strong. She stood beside Lyraelle, and together, they plunged the holy sword into the center of the glowing circle, as Lyraelle poured her own silver energy into the hilt.
The result was spectacular. A column of swirling gold and silver light erupted from the ground, soaring into the heavens. The star-filled void beneath their feet solidified into a shimmering, ethereal staircase, descending into a realm of soft light and impossible geometry. The way was open.
"We must be quick," Lyraelle urged. "Opening the way like this… it is a beacon that all who seek this place will see."
As if on cue, a new group of figures appeared at the edge of the plateau. Not Cultists. Not Shadow Garden. They were the black-clad operatives of the "Benefactor," the ones from the forest and the marketplace, their visored helms reflecting the ethereal light, their advanced, rifle-like weapons raised. And at their head stood their commander, his metallic voice cutting through the wind.
"The legacy of the heroes," the commander stated, his tone one of cold, clinical interest. "A prize we cannot allow the Cult… or anyone else… to claim. Surrender the gateway, Princess."
Sir Kaelan and his knights immediately formed a defensive line, their swords drawn. "You are too late!" Iris cried. "The path is open! And we will not let you defile it!"
The commander just raised his weapon. "A regrettable but necessary course of action."
But before he could give the order to fire, a new, even more surprising, group arrived. From the shadows on the opposite side of the plateau, a dozen figures in dark, slime-forged bodysuits materialized, led by a golden-haired elf whose beauty was as sharp and as cold as her drawn blade.
Alpha and the elite of Shadow Garden had arrived.
"The Cult's puppets," Alpha said, her voice dripping with contempt as she faced the Benefactor's operatives. "And the King's pawns." Her gaze flickered to Iris's party. "This place… is under the protection of Shadow Garden. None shall pass."
Three factions. The Royal Pilgrimage, the Benefactor's assassins, and Shadow Garden's elite, all in a tense, three-way standoff on a magical gateway at the top of the world.
Saitama, who had been watching all this unfold, just sighed. "More people?" he grumbled. "This is getting really crowded. Can't we just have a system? Like, take a number?"
He looked at the black-clad robot-looking guys. He looked at the other black-clad ninja-looking guys (and girls). He looked at his own group. Everyone was just standing there, posturing, making dramatic speeches. It was, he decided, incredibly boring.
"Okay," he announced, his voice cutting through the tense standoff. Everyone turned to look at him. "You guys can stand here and have your big, dramatic staredown. I'm gonna go check out the secret magic place. The last one to the bottom is a rotten egg!"
And with that, before anyone could react, he simply turned and started walking down the ethereal staircase, disappearing into the shimmering, star-filled void below.
A moment of stunned silence followed his departure.
The operative commander was the first to react. "He's going for the legacy! Stop him! Forget the princess, secure the gateway!" he roared to his troops.
Alpha was equally decisive. "The anomaly is secondary! The legacy is the prize! Engage the puppets, secure the path!" she commanded her Shadows.
The plateau erupted into a chaotic, three-way battle. The Benefactor's agents unleashed blasts of energy from their advanced weapons. Shadow Garden moved like blurs, their blades clashing with the operatives' in a shower of sparks. And the Royal Knights, caught in the middle, fought desperately to defend the gateway and the princesses from both sides.
It was a beautiful, chaotic, and utterly pointless battle. Because the prize they were all fighting and dying for… was currently being subjected to a very thorough, and very confusing, inspection by a bored hero for fun.
Saitama ambled down the star-lit staircase. The pocket dimension of the First Hero was a place of profound peace. It was a single, vast, crystalline chamber, floating in a sea of silent, swirling nebulae. In the center of the chamber, on a simple stone pedestal, was not a weapon, not a treasure, but a book. A large, leather-bound tome, its pages filled with the elegant, powerful script of the First Hero, Aethel.
This was his legacy. Not a source of ultimate power, but of ultimate knowledge. The complete, unvarnished history of the Great Betrayal, the true name and nature of the Enemy, his weaknesses, his plans, and the final, desperate strategy Aethel had devised to defeat him. It was the single most important document in the history of the world.
Saitama walked up to it. "A book?" he said, disappointed. "That's the big treasure? I was hoping for, like, a giant magic robot I could pilot. Or at least a really good sandwich."
He picked it up. It was heavy. He opened it to a random page. It was filled with dense, complicated writing about "celestial alignments," "soul-forging," and "the resonance of despair."
"Man," he said, flipping through the pages. "Lots of big words. No pictures." He sighed. This was even more boring than the fight upstairs.
He was about to put the book down and see if there was a back exit when he heard a new voice. A voice that was not a voice, but a thought, projected into his mind. A voice that was old, tired, but immensely powerful.
**
Saitama looked around. "Hello? Is that you, Mr. Book? Are you a talking book?"
A faint, shimmering image began to coalesce in the air before him. The spectral, golden-hued form of a tall, noble-looking warrior with kind, weary eyes and a faint, sad smile. It was the spirit of Aethel, the First Hero, his echo bound to his final testament.
** ** the spirit said. **
Saitama just looked at the ghost. "Weight of purpose? Mostly I was just looking for snacks. And a good fight." He held up the book. "So, this is your diary? Is it a good read? Any cool fight scenes? Or is it all just… feelings and stuff?"
Aethel's spirit seemed taken aback. **
"Right, the big bad guy," Saitama said, nodding. "The one Lyraelle is always talking about. Is he really strong?"
**
Saitama frowned. "Doubt my purpose? My purpose is being a hero for fun. Not much to doubt there." He paused. "But is he strong? Like, can he take a real punch?"
The spirit of the greatest hero in history just stared at the being before him, a being who was less concerned with the enemy's insidious deceptions and more with his raw physical durability.
**
The hero's legacy had just met the hero's singular, all-important question. And for the first time in millennia, the ancient, wise spirit of the First Hero was utterly, completely, stumped.