Snacking Hero And His Side Kick

The war room was silent, the weight of our suicidal plan settling over us like a shroud. The King’s grand mobilization, the glorious ‘Call to Arms,’ had been officially cancelled. In its place was Operation: Shortcut, a five-person-plus-me mission to teleport directly into the heart of a world-ending cataclysm and… fix it, somehow. I had successfully argued my way out of a long, boring war and into a quick, efficient, and almost certainly fatal commando raid. It was the laziest, and possibly dumbest, decision of my life.

Marie was giving the final briefing, her voice calm and steady as she pointed to a spot on the map of the Great Jura Mountain. “Alistair will be focused on the primary anchor point of the seal, here. Our objective is to bypass his main forces, neutralize him, and find a way to stabilize the seal before it shatters completely. The chances of success are… low. The risks are astronomical. No one is required to go.”

A little late to be asking for volunteers now, isn't it? I thought, trying to calculate if it was too late to fake a sudden, debilitating illness.

But of course, my team of overachievers was having none of it.

Justus, who had been standing silently until now, stepped forward into the center of the room. He drew his greatsword, not with aggression, but with a slow, solemn reverence. He held it aloft, the polished steel glinting in the candlelight.

Oh my god, he’s doing a speech, my internal monologue screamed. A full-on, pre-battle soliloquy. Can't we just get on with it? This is so embarrassing.

“I, Justus,” he began, his voice ringing with a new, profound conviction, “formerly a Paladin of the Grand Order, do hereby renounce my old, misguided oaths. My sword is no longer pledged to a kingdom or a corrupt church, but to this cause, and to the people in this room.”

He looked at each of us in turn, his gaze lingering for a moment on me. “My faith was a shield of lies, but my purpose is now clear. I swear upon my honor that I will see Alistair brought to justice for his heresy, or I will perish on the slopes of the Great Jura Mountain.” He lowered his sword, pointing the tip to the floor, and gave a short, sharp bow. “I follow you, Commander Sukebe, not as a master, but as a comrade in arms. Lead the way.”

The room was thick with dramatic tension. Eliza gave a curt, respectful nod. Edgar looked like he was about to burst into tears of inspiration.

I gave him a thumbs-up. “Cool. Great speech. Very inspiring. Five stars, would be motivated again. Everyone ready to go?”

The heroic atmosphere I had just punctured collapsed in on itself. Justus just blinked, his dramatic moment utterly ruined.

“Ahem,” Eliza cleared her throat. “Our equipment is prepared. Edgar has the necessary recording and analysis tools. Sir Justus is… ready. Princess Marie will be providing remote magical support. What of you, Inspector? What are your preparations?”

They all looked at me. They were expecting me to meditate, to draw a legendary weapon from a pocket dimension, to enter some kind of serious ‘battle mode.’

“Right. My preparations,” I said gravely. “A crucial, often-overlooked aspect of any high-risk mission. Give me five minutes.”

I walked over to a large satchel I had requested from the castle kitchens. They all watched, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and awe, waiting to see what arcane rituals their max-level leader performed before a battle.

I opened the bag and began to methodically stuff it with snacks.

I packed a dozen grilled meat skewers, a box of sweet red-bean cakes, several large rice balls wrapped in seaweed, two flasks of cheap but potent tavern wine, and a slightly squashed comic book I had yet to finish.

The silence in the room was deafening.

“Inspector…” Eliza finally said, her voice strained. “What, precisely, are you doing? We are about to teleport into the heart of a world-ending cataclysm.”

“Exactly,” I said, not looking up from my work as I carefully arranged the skewers to prevent them from getting crushed. “The lines for snacks are going to be a nightmare. A hero fights on his stomach. It’s the first, and most important, rule of heroism. You can’t save the world on an empty stomach. It’s unprofessional.”

Justus just stared at my bag of snacks, a look of profound confusion on his face. “Your foresight is… unconventional, Commander.”

“That’s why I’m in charge,” I said, zipping up the bag and slinging it over my shoulder. “Alright. Preparations complete. Let’s go save the world so I can get back in time for dinner.”

I gathered them in the center of the room. “Okay, everyone huddle up. Put a hand on my shoulder. This might feel a little weird. And by weird, I mean deeply unpleasant. Try not to throw up on my boots; they’re new.”

They complied, their faces a mixture of nervousness and grim resolve. I took a deep breath, focused on the location from the map, and tore a hole in the universe.

The sensation of my teleportation method is not a gentle fade to black. It’s like being shoved into a blender with a strobe light and a thousand screaming ghosts. The world dissolved into a violent, vertigo-inducing vortex of color and sound. It was over in a second.

We rematerialized on a desolate, windswept ridge high in the Great Jura Mountain range.

The change was instantaneous and brutal. The warm, quiet air of the castle was gone, replaced by a howling, freezing wind that smelled of human waste and dark magic. The ground beneath our feet was in a constant, violent tremor. And in the near distance, maybe a mile away, a massive, swirling pillar of orange and white light shot up from a jagged peak, spearing the heavens. It was the seal, being torn apart, and it was a terrifyingly beautiful sight. I could see the dark, ant-like shapes of Alistair’s followers, the Slime Dai Maō Karuto, swarming around its base.

The rest of my team did not take the journey well. Edgar was on his hands and knees, emptying the contents of his stomach onto a blighted patch of rock. Justus was pale, leaning on his sword for support. Even Eliza and Marie looked disoriented, their hands pressed to their temples.

I, on the other hand, was completely fine. I shrugged the satchel off my shoulder, pulled out a still-warm meat skewer, and took a bite.

“Well, we’re here,” I announced to my miserable, nauseous team. “The Great Jura Mountain. A place that's feel like regret, and poor life choices. The world is ending over there, my team looks like they’re about to pass out, and the only thing standing between us and that angry beam of light is a small army of religious fanatics.”

I took another thoughtful bite of my skewer.

“This is going to be a long day. I should have packed more snacks.”