The descent into the valley of Umbraglen was like stepping into a half-forgotten nightmare. The mist clung to them, cold and damp, visibility reduced to mere feet. The silence was broken only by the drip of unseen water and the distant, mournful howls that seemed to get closer with every step. The Dragon's Tooth Peaks loomed above, jagged black silhouettes against the perpetually bruised sky, Castle Maleficus a dark, malevolent jewel nestled amongst them.
Shadow Garden moved with heightened caution, their senses straining against the oppressive atmosphere. Shadow himself felt a familiar thrill, a frisson of anticipation. This was hostile territory, the domain of a powerful Night Blade. Every shadow could conceal a threat, every rustle of leaves a prelude to an ambush. This is it, Cid thought, his hand resting on the hilt of his ebony blade. The approach to the lair. The tension builds. The true test begins.
Saitama, however, was mostly focused on not tripping over Sir Reginald Fuzzybottom, who had decided that the misty, uneven terrain was perfect for a leisurely, meandering waddle. Mr. Fluffles, perched on Saitama's head, occasionally sneezed from the dampness, tiny, fluffy explosions that made Alpha flinch every time.
"Man, this mist is thick," Saitama commented, peering around. "You think they sell, like, fog-proof sunglasses around here? Or maybe a really big fan?"
Genos, ever prepared, offered, "I can generate a localized vortex to temporarily disperse the mist, Sensei, though it may alert any nearby sentinels to our presence."
"Nah, it's okay," Saitama said. "Just makes it harder to spot that relish village. Hope they have good signage. 'Umbraglen: Home of the Face-Melting Relish – Turn Left at the Spooky, Bloodstained Rock'."
Their path eventually led them to the outskirts of what could only be Umbraglen. It was less a village and more a collection of huddled, dilapidated cottages, cowering in the shadow of the looming mountains. The buildings were constructed from dark, weathered stone, their windows small and shuttered, as if afraid to let in even the meager light. A palpable aura of fear and despair hung over the place, even thicker than the mist.
There were no cheerful villagers, no bustling marketplace. The few figures they saw scurrying between the cottages were gaunt, pale, their eyes downcast, their movements furtive and fearful. They looked like people living under a perpetual, soul-crushing oppression.
"This place… it's suffocating," Epsilon whispered, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her sword. "Valerius's influence is like a blight."
"The villagers are terrified," Beta observed, her voice tight with sympathy. "Their spirits are broken. This is more than just physical domination; it's psychological warfare."
Shadow nodded grimly. "Valerius feeds on fear as much as he feeds on blood. This is his hunting ground, his larder." He surveyed the desolate village. "The Shadowfire Demon-Pepper Relish… if it truly exists here, it is likely a well-guarded secret, a small spark of defiance in a world of darkness." Or, more probably, a ridiculously spicy local delicacy that Saitama is about to turn into an international incident.
As they cautiously entered the village square – a small, muddy patch of ground dominated by a withered, ancient tree and a crumbling well – a few villagers, braver or perhaps more desperate than the rest, peered out from behind their shuttered windows. Their faces were etched with fear and suspicion.
One old woman, her face a roadmap of wrinkles and hardship, slowly opened her door a crack, her eyes darting nervously towards the imposing, black-clad figures of Shadow Garden, and then widening in something akin to terror as she saw Saitama, with his bright yellow suit and his menagerie of increasingly bizarre animal companions.
Saitama, spotting her, offered a friendly wave. "Hey there, Grandma! We're looking for a place that sells really, really spicy relish. Know any good spots?"
The old woman let out a small, terrified squeak and slammed her door shut. The sound echoed in the oppressive silence.
Shadow sighed internally. Subtlety, Saitama-dono. The art of not scaring potential informants half to death with your sheer, unadulterated… Saitama-ness.
Alpha stepped forward, her voice calm and reassuring, a stark contrast to Saitama's booming enthusiasm. "Good people of Umbraglen," she began, projecting her voice just enough to be heard without being threatening. "We are not here to cause harm. We seek information. We are… travelers… who have heard tales of a unique local delicacy."
A few more shutters creaked open. Hesitant faces peered out. There was still fear, but also a flicker of curiosity. Strangers were rare in Umbraglen, especially strangers who didn't look like Valerius's monstrous enforcers.
A burly, bearded man, likely the village blacksmith judging by his leather apron and calloused hands, stepped out from a nearby cottage, a heavy iron poker clutched in his fist. "Travelers, ye say?" His voice was rough, wary. "What business have ye in this cursed place? There's naught here but sorrow and the Count's shadow."
"We seek the Shadowfire Demon-Pepper Relish," Saitama declared, stepping forward again, seemingly oblivious to the blacksmith's defensive posture. "Heard it's so hot it can strip paint. Sounds awesome!"
The blacksmith stared at Saitama, then at the giant fluffy bunny on his head, then at the one-legged raven that was now attempting to steal a button from his apron. He seemed torn between fear, confusion, and a growing suspicion that he was either dreaming or had finally lost his mind.
"The… the Shadowfire Relish?" the blacksmith stammered. "That's… that's an old wives' tale, stranger. Nothin' like that here." His eyes, however, darted nervously towards a specific, even more dilapidated cottage at the edge of the square.
Shadow, Alpha, and Beta all noted the involuntary glance. Got it.
"An old wives' tale, you say?" Shadow interjected smoothly, his voice like velvet over steel. "Curious. For such a tale to travel so far, to our ears… it must have some… spark of truth, wouldn't you agree?" He took a subtle step forward, his presence, even without overt menace, radiating an undeniable authority.
The blacksmith flinched, his grip tightening on the poker. The other villagers who had emerged began to retreat back into their homes.
It was then that a new sound cut through the tense atmosphere – a low, guttural snarl, followed by the heavy tread of booted feet. From a narrow alleyway leading out of the square, three figures emerged. They were tall and gaunt, with pale, almost translucent skin, pointed ears, and eyes that glowed with a faint, crimson light. They wore dark, ragged clothing, and their lips were curled back in predatory snarls, revealing elongated canines.
Vampires. Valerius's enforcers.
"Well, well, well," one of the vampires hissed, his voice a sibilant whisper. "What have we here? Fresh meat, wandering into the larder? How… thoughtless." He licked his lips, his crimson eyes lingering on the softer forms of Alpha and Epsilon.
The villagers who had been outside let out cries of terror and scrambled back into their homes, slamming doors and shuttering windows. The blacksmith, despite his fear, stood his ground, positioning himself protectively in front of his cottage.
"The Count's tax collectors, are we?" Shadow said, his voice devoid of inflection, though his hand tightened on his sword. "Or merely his… scavengers?"
The lead vampire chuckled, a dry, unpleasant sound. "We are the chosen of Lord Valerius, worms. His favored children. And you… you will provide us with an afternoon's amusement. And perhaps… a light snack." He gestured to his companions. "Take them. Leave the bald one for last. He looks… stringy."
Saitama, who had been curiously observing the vampires' pointy teeth, blinked. "Stringy? Hey! I've been working out! Kinda."
The three vampires lunged, their movements unnaturally fast, their claws extended.
Shadow Garden moved to intercept. Alpha's blade flashed, meeting the lead vampire's claws with a shower of sparks. Epsilon and Beta engaged the other two, their movements a blur of deadly grace.
The fight was brief, but brutal. These were not Jervois's mindless puppets. These were true predators, centuries old, skilled in combat, their strength and speed far exceeding that of normal humans.
Alpha, a master swordswoman, found herself hard-pressed by the lead vampire's relentless, savage assault. Epsilon, despite her agility, took a glancing blow from a claw that ripped through her slime armor, drawing a thin trickle of blue-ish blood. Beta, using her analytical skills to predict attack patterns, managed to hold her own, but it was clear these were formidable opponents.
Saitama, meanwhile, had been watching the exchange with a thoughtful expression. The vampires were fast, they were strong, they had pointy teeth. But… they weren't that fast, or that strong. Not compared to, say, a meteor. Or Boros. Or even that crab monster from City Z.
One of the vampires, having momentarily disengaged from Beta, saw Saitama standing there, seemingly unprotected, and decided to go for an easy kill. It snarled and leaped at Saitama, its fangs bared, aiming for his throat.
Saitama didn't even flinch. He just… sighed. It was the sigh of a man who had been hoping for a decent challenge and was, once again, about to be disappointed.
As the vampire was mid-leap, its fangs inches from Saitama's neck, Saitama casually reached out with one hand and… booped it on the nose.
Not a punch. Not a slap. Just a gentle, almost playful, boop.
The vampire, a creature of ancient evil and predatory instinct, froze in mid-air. Its crimson eyes widened in utter, comical disbelief. It then made a sound like a startled cat, a sort of "Mrrrrow?!" before its momentum carried it forward… and it tripped. Over its own feet. It tumbled head over heels, landing in a surprised, undignified heap at Saitama's feet, looking completely dazed.
The other two vampires, witnessing this, faltered in their attacks on Alpha and Epsilon. The lead vampire actually stumbled back, its predatory snarl replaced by an expression of profound, slack-jawed confusion.
"Did… did you just… boop Gregor?" the lead vampire stammered, staring at Saitama as if he had just grown a second head that recited poetry backwards.
Saitama looked at his finger, then at the dazed vampire on the ground. "Yeah. He was getting all up in my personal space. And his breath smelled like old pennies. You guys really need to work on your dental hygiene if you're gonna be biting people."
The remaining two vampires looked at each other, then at Saitama, then at their fallen, nose-booped comrade. A silent, terrified communication seemed to pass between them. They had faced knights, monster hunters, even rival supernatural creatures. They had never, in their centuries of unlife, encountered anything quite like… this.
The lead vampire, a being who had terrorized entire villages, who had reveled in the fear of his victims, suddenly looked… very, very small. "You know what?" he said, his voice trembling slightly. "On second thought… we're not really that hungry. We just remembered… we have a… a very important… dentist appointment. Yes. With Doctor Fang. Very reputable."
He then turned and fled, his companion scrambling after him, their earlier predatory grace replaced by a panicked, undignified scramble. They disappeared back down the alleyway, the sound of their retreating footsteps echoing in the sudden silence.
Gregor, the nose-booped vampire, finally shook his head, managed to get to his feet, looked at Saitama with an expression of pure, unadulterated terror, and then also bolted, tripping over himself twice in his haste to escape.
Shadow Garden stared. The blacksmith stared. The few villagers still peeking from their windows stared.
Alpha slowly sheathed her sword, her expression unreadable. Epsilon was examining the rip in her slime suit, a thoughtful frown on her face. Beta was just… staring at Saitama, her pen forgotten.
Shadow felt a familiar twitch in his eye. A battle against Valerius's feared enforcers, a chance to showcase Shadow Garden's prowess, to instill hope in the oppressed villagers… had just been resolved by a nose-boop. And a subsequent, very sudden, and very urgent, vampire dental emergency.
My entire understanding of conflict resolution is being systematically dismantled by this man, Cid thought, a low, mournful keen echoing in the depths of his soul. There are no epic struggles. There are no desperate last stands. There is only… Saitama. And his inexplicably effective, and deeply humiliating for everyone else, methods of problem-solving.
Saitama, oblivious to the existential crises he was causing, just shrugged. "Well, that was weird. Guess they weren't so tough after all. Just a bit… jumpy." He then looked at the blacksmith, who was still clutching his poker, his jaw practically on the ground. "So! About that relish…"
The blacksmith, a man who had lived his entire life under the shadow of fear, who had seen horrors that would break lesser men, looked at Saitama with a new, dawning emotion in his eyes. It wasn't fear. It wasn't confusion. It was… hope. A fragile, terrified, but undeniably present, spark of hope.
He slowly lowered his poker. "The… the Shadowfire Relish…" he stammered. "It… it is real, stranger. But… it is not for sale. Not anymore. The ingredients… the Demon-Peppers… they grow only in the high crags, near… near the Count's castle. And Old Man Hemlock, the only one who knew the true recipe… Valerius's creatures… they took him, many moons ago." A shadow of pain crossed his face.
Saitama's expression fell. "Oh. So… no relish then?" This was a genuine tragedy.
"But…" the blacksmith continued, his gaze hardening, a flicker of defiance in his eyes as he looked at the man who had made vampires flee by booping them on the nose. "The recipe… Hemlock, he was a stubborn old goat. He might have… hidden it. Before they took him." He pointed a calloused finger towards the dilapidated cottage at the edge of the square, the one his eyes had darted to earlier. "That was Hemlock's cottage. No one's dared go near it since… since he vanished."
A new quest objective had just presented itself. Not the dramatic slaying of a vampire lord, but a treasure hunt for a secret recipe, in a creepy old cottage, in a village terrorized by creatures of the night.
Shadow sighed. Of course. Of course this was how it was going to be.
"Very well," Shadow declared, stepping forward, trying to inject some semblance of Eminence-like gravitas into the situation. "It seems our path to the Count… and perhaps, to a particularly potent condiment… lies through the secrets of Old Man Hemlock." He looked at Saitama. "Are you prepared, Saitama-dono, to face the horrors that may lurk within… a dusty, abandoned cottage?"
Saitama just grinned, his earlier disappointment forgotten. "As long as there are no spiders. And maybe, just maybe, a clue that leads to epic, face-melting deliciousness." He hitched up his hero suit (which was still remarkably clean, despite everything). "Let's go find that recipe!"
The hunt for the Shadowfire Demon-Pepper Relish was becoming more convoluted, more absurd, and more central to the plot than Cid Kagenou could ever have possibly imagined. And as they prepared to investigate Old Man Hemlock's cottage, he had a distinct feeling that the "horrors" they were about to face would be less about ancient evil and more about Saitama accidentally redecorating another priceless, historically significant location. The thrill was definitely taking a backseat to the impending property damage report.