The Bad Guy Lost, Plot Armour Win

After what I can only describe as the best and most productive nap of my entire life, I was awoken by a gentle shaking. I opened my eyes to see Eliza looking down at me, her expression a mixture of impatience and academic curiosity.

“Inspector,” she said, her voice a crisp monotone. “Apologies for interrupting your… strategic planning session. But we believe we have formulated a viable method of egress.”

I sat up, stretching my arms with a satisfying groan. Across the room, Rumiri was also being coaxed awake by Catarini, who was promising them a freshly baked honey cake when this was all over. It was a powerful motivator.

“Alright, lay it on me,” I said.

“Based on my analysis of the seal’s energy matrix,” Eliza began, “and Sir Justus’s understanding of its holy components, we believe we have a solution. Rumiri, as the central core of the seal, can exert their will upon it. They cannot break it from the inside, but they should be able to create a temporary, stable passageway to the outside world, precisely at the anchor point where Alistair is conducting his ritual.”

Perfect, I thought, a grin spreading across my face. The final boss is literally our fast-travel point to the other final boss. This is peak JRPG efficiency. I love it when a plan requires me to do absolutely nothing.

It took some convincing, and a solemn vow from me that I would personally ensure Catarini got a royal-grade vegetable patch, but Rumiri finally agreed. They stood up from their sofa, the fluffy blanket still draped over their shoulders like a royal mantle, and closed their golden eyes.

The air in the library grew thick with an ancient, immense power. A shimmering, silver doorway, a perfect mirror showing the chaotic scene outside, tore open in the middle of the room. Through it, we could see the peak of the Great Jura Mountain. Alistair was there, his back to us, pouring energy into the Chalice of Convergence. His four “Holy Champions” stood guard, their ridiculous weapons at the ready.

“Showtime, everyone,” I said, slinging my snack bag over my shoulder. “Try not to get killed.”

We stepped through the portal.

The surprise on Alistair’s face when we materialized directly behind him was, I have to say, a thing of beauty. His jaw dropped. His eyes bulged. He looked like a man who had just seen his own ghost walk in and ask to borrow money.

“Impossible!” he shrieked, spinning around. “How did you get through the seal?!”

I gave him a lazy wave. “The guy on the inside let us in. We had a meeting. He’s very reasonable once you get to know him.”

As if on cue, Rumiri and Catarini stepped through the portal after us. The sight of the living, breathing, and deeply unimpressed Demon King, standing there wrapped in a fluffy blanket, caused the assembled forces of the Slime Dai Maō Karuto to have a collective, faith-shattering panic attack. Their entire religion was based on the idea of this “great evil,” and he looked like a bored teenager who really, really wanted to go back to bed.

“This changes nothing!” Alistair screamed, his fanaticism overriding his shock. “The seal is already at its breaking point! You are too late! Champions! Destroy the heretics and their demon puppet!”

The four walking copyright infringements—Naofuma The Shield Champion, Matayusa The Spear Champion, Itsuku The Bow Champion, and Rin The Sword Champion—charged forward, their weapons glowing with holy light.

This was the part where I was supposed to do something. But before I could even be bothered to sigh, Rumiri, who had found a comfortable-looking rock to sit on, did it for me. They let out a small, tired sigh of their own and lazily waved one hand.

A wave of invisible, crushing force washed over the four “heroes.” It wasn't violent. It was just… absolute. An immense gravitational pressure that slammed them face-first into the rocky ground, their fancy armor groaning in protest. They were pinned, completely and utterly neutralized, by a being who looked like they were putting in less effort than it takes to hail a cab.

With his champions out of the fight, only Alistair was left.

And this was not my fight to win.

Sir Justus stepped forward, his greatsword sliding from its sheath. It did not glow with the borrowed, angry light of the church. It shone with a pure, white brilliance, a light that came from his own, newly forged conviction.

“Alistair!” he called out, his voice ringing across the mountaintop. “My mentor! You taught me of justice, of honor, of the sanctity of our faith! And you betrayed it all for your own twisted ambition!”

“Betrayed it?” Alistair laughed, a high, unhinged sound. “I am its greatest servant! I am doing what must be done to save this world from the sickness of peace! You are the traitor, Justus! A child too weak to understand that true strength is born only from suffering!”

He drew his own weapon, a wicked-looking scepter topped with a holy symbol, and the final battle began.

It was a proper fight. The clash of Alistair’s holy magic against Justus’s sanctified steel was a sight to behold. But the outcome was never in doubt. Alistair was a powerful cleric, a master manipulator, a bureaucrat at heart. But Justus was a warrior. And right now, he was a warrior fighting with the fury of a man who had lost everything and had nothing left but his own, personal sense of justice.

With a final, desperate prayer, Alistair unleashed a blast of holy fire. Justus met it head-on, his sword cleaving the spell in two. He moved in, a blur of white and silver, and with a series of precise, disarming strikes, he shattered the cleric’s scepter, broke his guard, and sent him sprawling to the ground, defeated.

He stood over his former mentor, his sword at the man’s throat. The battle was over. The Slime Dai Maō Karuto, their leaders defeated, began to surrender. The great, violent pillar of light that had been assaulting the seal vanished. The world stopped shaking.

Justus had done it. He had faced his own past, his own faith, and he had won.

I walked over, pulling a slightly squashed rice ball from my bag. I took a bite. “Well,” I said, my voice muffled by the food. “That’s that, then. Good work, Tin Can. You really stuck it to the man.”

The dramatic tension of the moment instantly evaporated. Justus just looked at me, then at his defeated mentor, a complex mixture of grim satisfaction and deep sadness on his face.

And so, the great conspiracy was foiled, I thought, taking another bite. The villainous cleric was defeated. The world was saved. All that's left now is the boring wrap-up. And, most importantly, my long-overdue nap. I can't wait for this story to be over.