The King's Road, as it was grandly called, was less a paved thoroughfare and more a wide, well-maintained dirt track that snaked its way through the rolling hills and sparse woodlands separating the Deepwood's wilder edges from the more cultivated lands surrounding the Royal Capital. It was a lifeline of trade and travel, and now, it was the path carrying an unprecedented anomaly towards the heart of the Midgar Kingdom.
The procession was an odd one. At its core rode Saitama, looking deeply uncomfortable and occasionally swaying precariously on his massive, impatient warhorse, which seemed to resent its unusual burden. He kept trying to engage the horse in one-sided conversations about the weather or the quality of the road surface, much to the warhorse's visible annoyance. Flanking him, and slightly behind, were Gregor, Lyra, and Renn, their exhaustion still evident but tempered by the relative safety of the heavily armed escort and the dawning reality that they were, for now, out of immediate mortal danger. Their expressions were a mixture of weariness, apprehension about their destination, and lingering bewilderment whenever they looked at Saitama.
Surrounding them was a phalanx of Royal Knights, their armor gleaming dully in the morning sun, their movements crisp and disciplined despite the strangeness of their charges. Commander Alaric rode at the head of the column, his posture rigid, his gaze constantly scanning their surroundings. Captain Borin brought up the rear, ensuring the perimeter remained secure. The knights communicated with subtle hand signals, their faces, where visible beneath visors, set in grim, professional lines. They were clearly on high alert, less concerned about external threats and more about the unpredictable entity riding in their midst. Whispers and uneasy glances were exchanged whenever Saitama did something particularly odd, like trying to feed a dandelion to his warhorse or attempting to count the rivets on his saddle.
The journey was, for the most part, uneventful, at least by Deepwood standards. They encountered no monsters, no ambushes, only the occasional startled peasant or merchant caravan hastily pulling aside to let the impressive military procession pass. The sight of so many Royal Knights, escorting such an unusual group – particularly the bald man in the bright yellow suit – drew stares of fear, curiosity, and wild speculation from onlookers.
Saitama, after failing to convince his warhorse to try a canter ("Come on, horsey! Let's go fast! Vroom vroom!"), had mostly resigned himself to the slow, steady pace. His primary concern remained the profound lack of snacks.
"So," he called out to Commander Alaric, who rode resolutely ahead, pointedly not looking back. "This King's Road… does it have any, like, rest stops? With vending machines? Or maybe a drive-thru? I could really go for some fries."
Alaric did not reply, his shoulders visibly tensing. A nearby knight coughed pointedly into his gauntlet.
Gregor, riding beside Lyra, sighed softly. "He's going to drive them mad before we even reach the capital, isn't he?"
Lyra managed a weak smile. "Perhaps that's his secret weapon. Annoyance so profound it shatters enemy morale."
Renn, still jumpy, kept looking around nervously, as if expecting the black-clad operatives or some new horror to materialize from the roadside trees. The normalcy of the King's Road felt almost… too normal, a fragile illusion after the terrors they had faced.
As the day wore on, the landscape began to change. The wild woodlands gave way to cultivated fields, neatly fenced pastures, and the occasional prosperous-looking farmhouse. The road became wider, better maintained, showing signs of more frequent travel. They were drawing closer to the heartlands of the kingdom.
It was during a brief halt to water the horses at a small, clear stream that an incident occurred, highlighting the subtle but pervasive tension surrounding Saitama. He had dismounted, with considerable relief, and was examining a shiny beetle he'd found. A young squire, barely more than a boy, tasked with holding the reins of Saitama's warhorse, accidentally let the reins slip. The warhorse, perhaps sensing an opportunity or simply irritated by its earlier rider, took a few steps away, nudging the squire aside.
The squire, flustered and eager to prove his competence, lunged for the reins. In his haste, he stumbled, his arm brushing against Saitama's back as Saitama bent down to get a closer look at the beetle.
It was the lightest of touches. Accidental. Innocuous.
But the reaction from the nearby knights was instantaneous and disproportionate. Two knights closest to Saitama spun around, their swords half-drawn, their faces pale beneath their helms, their eyes wide with sudden, inexplicable terror, as if the squire had just attempted to assassinate the King himself. Captain Borin, further back, barked a sharp, "Stand fast! Hold!"
Saitama, surprised by the sudden commotion, straightened up, the beetle forgotten. "Huh? What's wrong? Did I drop my wallet?" He patted his non-existent pockets.
The young squire froze, terrified, caught between the glares of the knights and the confused stare of the bald man. He didn't understand what he'd done wrong.
Commander Alaric rode back quickly, his expression thunderous beneath his visor, though his anger seemed directed more at the overreacting knights than the squire. "At ease!" he snapped. "It was an accident! Control yourselves!" He glared at the two knights who had drawn steel. "Have you forgotten your orders? Unnecessary provocation is forbidden!"
The knights slowly, reluctantly, sheathed their swords, their faces still showing traces of fear and confusion. They mumbled apologies, their gaze flicking nervously towards Saitama, who was now trying to help the squire retrieve the warhorse, offering it another imaginary biscuit.
Alaric watched the scene, a muscle working in his jaw. Kristoph's reports, relayed via Elara's urgent magical dispatch, had been… detailed. They had spoken of Saitama's passive repulsion fields, of his seeming invulnerability, of the catastrophic consequences of even minor physical interactions if Saitama perceived them as hostile or annoying. The image of the Chasm Guardian being 'tripped' into oblivion, or the Earth Titan's arm being 'annihilated' by an upward punch, was clearly seared into the minds of every knight in the escort who had been privy to the reports. The fear was palpable. They weren't just escorting a powerful individual; they were escorting a walking, talking natural disaster whose trigger conditions were completely unknown.
The incident passed without further escalation, but it left a lingering unease. The knights became even more cautious, giving Saitama an even wider berth, their movements stiff, almost reverent. Saitama himself seemed oblivious to the undercurrents, mostly just glad to be off the horse for a few minutes.
As they prepared to remount, a lone rider approached from the direction of the capital, galloping hard, his horse lathered. He wore the livery of a Royal Messenger, his face grim and urgent. He reined in sharply before Commander Alaric, saluting hastily.
"Commander Alaric!" the messenger gasped, breathless. "Urgent dispatch from the Royal Council! For your eyes only!" He handed over a sealed scroll.
Alaric took the scroll, broke the seal, and read its contents quickly. His posture, already rigid, seemed to stiffen further. His unseen expression, Gregor guessed, was likely one of deep concern. He read the scroll again, then looked towards Saitama, who was now trying to teach his warhorse how to play fetch with a stick (the horse remained unimpressed).
"Captain Borin," Alaric called out, his voice tight. "New orders. We increase pace. We are to reach the capital by nightfall, no delays. The… situation… has escalated."
"Escalated, Commander?" Borin questioned, riding closer.
Alaric didn't elaborate. He just crushed the scroll in his gauntleted fist. "The echoes of the Titan's fall have reached further, and faster, than anticipated. Other… parties… are taking an interest. We need the Tempest secured within the Royal Palace before they can make their move."
He looked at Saitama again, a complex mixture of dread, necessity, and perhaps a tiny, insane sliver of hope in his unseen gaze. The fate of Midgar might very well rest on keeping this oblivious, snack-obsessed anomaly out of the wrong hands – or perhaps, pointing him vaguely in the right direction if things got truly desperate.
"Mount up!" Alaric commanded, his voice ringing with new urgency. "To Midgar! Ride!"
The procession moved out again, faster now, the horses urged into a steady trot, then a ground-eating canter. Saitama, clinging on for dear life, yelped as his warhorse finally broke into a more enthusiastic pace. "Whoa! Horsey! Too fast! No cup holder! Definitely gonna spill my imaginary soda!"
Gregor, Lyra, and Renn exchanged uneasy glances. 'Escalated'? 'Other parties taking an interest'? It sounded ominous. The brief illusion of peace on the King's Road was fading, replaced by the grim reality that they, and their incomprehensible guardian, were now pieces in a much larger, more dangerous game, heading towards a capital city that was likely already buzzing with rumors and fear of the 'Tempest' from the Deepwood. The whispers on the King's Road were no longer just about their strange appearance; they were about the tremors shaking the foundations of the kingdom itself.