The declaration of the "Great Noodle Quest" sent a wave of sheer, unadulterated panic through the highest echelons of the Midgar Royal Palace. Sir Kaelan, after a moment of frozen terror, had sprinted through the corridors, bypassing all protocol, to deliver the horrifying news directly to Captain Valerius. The report was then relayed, with grim urgency, to the King's Small Council, which was still in session, debating the finer points of how to subtly leak information about a potential Cult of Diablos stronghold to a being who was currently more interested in soup than subterfuge.
"He wants to… what?!" King Olric exclaimed, the words catching in his throat, his carefully crafted gambit crumbling before it had even begun.
"Embark on a 'noodle pilgrimage' to the Oriana Kingdom, Your Majesty," Sir Kaelan reported, his voice trembling slightly, his face pale. "Due to the… depletion… of the royal noodle reserves. He seems… very determined."
A profound silence descended upon the Small Council Chamber. The grave expressions of the kingdom's most powerful men shifted from strategic concern to sheer, slack-jawed disbelief. They had prepared for cosmic horrors, for shadowy cults, for rival kingdoms making power plays. They had not prepared for their greatest asset (and liability) to decide to cross an international border, unannounced and unescorted, in search of instant ramen.
"The diplomatic fallout…" Chancellor Evrard whispered, looking faint. "The Tempest, arriving uninvited in Oriana's capital? They could see it as an act of war! Or worse, try to… recruit him!"
"Recruit him with what?" Lord Valerius snorted, though his own expression was grim. "A better selection of dehydrated soup bases? Given his motivations, it's… not impossible."
Archmagus Theron stroked his beard, a thoughtful, almost horrified look in his ancient eyes. "The Oriana Kingdom is known for its… subtlety. Its intricate political games. They are masters of manipulation. If they were to gain even a modicum of influence over Saitama… by providing him with, say, an unlimited supply of his preferred noodle brand… the balance of power on the continent could shift irrevocably."
The image was terrifying: Saitama, the walking apocalypse, happily pledging his vague, city-leveling allegiance to the Oriana Kingdom in exchange for a lifetime supply of Lightning Broth with extra chili-garlic oil packets.
"This cannot be allowed to happen," King Olric stated, his voice a low, dangerous growl. The fate of his kingdom would not be decided by a flavor packet. "Kaelan! Stall him! Use any means necessary! Promise him anything! A new Pancake Mountain! A solid gold laundry line! A legion of chefs dedicated solely to recreating the noodle flavor from scratch! Just… keep him in the palace."
"I will do my utmost, Your Majesty," Kaelan said, bowing deeply, though he looked as if he were being ordered to single-handedly hold back the tide. He then scurried away to begin the unenviable task of negotiating with a demigod in the throes of a profound snack-based crisis.
King Olric turned to his council. "This… simplifies things. In a terrifying way." He looked at Archmagus Theron and Knight-Commander Kristoph. "Your intelligence on the Cult of Diablos. The nearest suspected stronghold. How quickly can we confirm it?"
"We have strong indications of a major operational base hidden within the old catacombs beneath the abandoned 'Gray Monk's Monastery,' a day's ride north of here, Your Majesty," Kristoph reported crisply. "It is a place of considerable dark energy, long avoided by the populace. We were preparing a more thorough reconnaissance, but…"
"There is no time for thoroughness," the King cut in. "We need a distraction. A significant, monster-filled, undeniably evil distraction. Something to redirect our Tempest's attention from his… culinary pilgrimage." He looked at his advisors, his expression grim. "We are about to play a very, very dangerous game. We are going to point our pet earthquake at a hornets' nest and pray it focuses on the hornets instead of the surrounding countryside."
The plan was audacious, reckless, and born of sheer desperation. They would "discover" evidence of a terrible evil lurking nearby – an evil that was, coincidentally, hoarding vast quantities of rare goods, or perhaps even disrupting the very trade routes that brought Lightning Broth noodles into the kingdom. They would present this "problem" to Saitama, framing it not as a royal command, but as a heroic challenge, an obstacle standing between him and his quest for flavor. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot they had.
Back in the royal suite, Sir Kaelan was attempting to deploy his new orders. He found Saitama trying to pack for his "pilgrimage," which mostly involved attempting to stuff his spare hero suit, several pairs of socks, and the stolen dessert spoon into a silken pillowcase.
"Mister Saitama! A moment!" Kaelan panted, trying to catch his breath. "His Majesty has… considered your plight! And he offers a counter-proposal!"
Saitama paused in his packing. "Counter-proposal? Does it involve noodles?"
"In a manner of speaking, sir!" Kaelan said, thinking fast. "It seems… it has come to the Crown's attention that the recent… noodle shortage… may not be an accident!"
Saitama's eyes narrowed slightly. "Not an accident? You mean… someone is hoarding all the noodles?" The idea seemed to offend his deeply held sense of justice and fairness (at least where snacks were concerned).
"Precisely, sir!" Kaelan leaned into the narrative, his desperation making him a surprisingly effective storyteller. "A… a powerful and nefarious group! An evil noodle-hoarding cult! Yes! They have established a secret base nearby, and it is believed they have… intercepted… all recent shipments of Oriana Lightning Broth noodles, for their own… dark and savory purposes!"
Saitama stared at him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Kaelan was sure he'd overdone it, that Saitama would see right through the flimsy pretext.
Then, Saitama clenched his fist. A low, dangerous aura, the first genuine glimmer of serious intent Kaelan had ever seen from him, seemed to flicker around him for a fraction of a second. "An… evil… noodle-hoarding… cult?" Saitama repeated, each word dripping with a newfound sense of righteous purpose. "They're interfering with the free and fair distribution of delicious, convenient meals? That… that is truly unforgivable. That is… evil."
Kaelan almost fainted with relief. It had worked. The King's insane gambit had actually worked.
"Indeed, sir! A profound evil!" Kaelan continued, pressing his advantage. "They are holed up in an old monastery to the north. A place filled with… with their evil noodle guards, and probably… probably lots of other bad things, too! His Majesty thought that a hero of your caliber might be… interested… in liberating the noodles for the good of the kingdom!"
Saitama's eyes gleamed with a heroic fire Kaelan had never seen before. "Liberating the noodles… for the good of the kingdom…" He nodded slowly, a look of grim determination on his face. "Kaelan. This is no longer a mere pilgrimage. This is a quest. A righteous crusade." He cracked his knuckles, a sound that made the very air in the room seem to crackle. "Where is this… 'Monastery of Malevolent Munchie-Mugging'?"
"The… uh… Gray Monk's Monastery, sir," Kaelan corrected faintly. "To the north. I can… procure a map for you."
"A map!" Saitama declared. "Excellent! We embark at once! Justice – and noodles – will be served! Probably… in a bowl! With hot water!" He abandoned his pillowcase-suitcase and began doing a series of light, limbering-up stretches, a look of profound, almost terrifying, focus on his face.
Sir Kaelan stumbled out of the suite, his heart pounding. He had done it. He had successfully aimed the apocalypse. He felt a dizzying mixture of triumph and sheer, gut-wrenching terror. He leaned against the corridor wall, breathing heavily. What had they unleashed?
Within the hour, the plan was in full motion. Saitama was provided with a detailed (and slightly embellished) map showing the location of the Gray Monk's Monastery, complete with ominous drawings of skulls and crossbones and notes like "Here Be Noodle Hoarders" and "Warning: May Contain Evil Seasoning Packets." He was also given a small, magically enchanted compass that would, coincidentally, lead him directly to the most heavily fortified entrance of the suspected Cult stronghold.
He declined the offer of a royal escort ("They'll just slow me down. And probably complain about all the punching."), and also turned down the offer of a horse ("Walking is better. Good for the glutes."). He simply thanked Sir Kaelan for the map and the breakfast, gave a final, wistful glance at his laundry line, and then, with a casual "See ya later!", he walked to his balcony, crouched slightly, and leaped.
He didn't fly. He just… jumped. North. With enough force to create a sonic boom that shattered every window on the northern face of the Royal Palace and sent a shockwave rippling across the city, causing church bells to ring and nervous pigeons to fall out of the sky. He became a yellow-and-white streak, an man-made meteor, disappearing over the horizon in a matter of seconds, heading directly towards the Gray Monk's Monastery.
King Olric, watching from his study window as the last of his priceless stained-glass shattered, just took another long, slow sip of his wine. The gambit was in play. The lightning had been directed.
Now, all they could do was wait for the thunder. And pray the hornets' nest was sturdy enough to keep him occupied for a little while. The kingdom's headache had just been launched, quite literally, at its enemies.