The eastern gate of Eldoria stood like a weathered sentinel, its iron portcullis raised to frame a dusty road that snaked toward the forest beyond. The city's walls, built of gray stone pocked with moss and time, loomed high, their battlements dotted with guards clutching spears and peering nervously into the distance. The air carried a faint tang of pine and earth, mingling with the sharper scents of smoke from the blacksmiths and yeast from the bakeries within. Beyond the gate, the forest's edge shimmer10 buzzed with life, its shadows shifting as the wind rustled through the trees. At the heart of that shadow lay the dungeon—a jagged maw of stone and darkness, its entrance framed by gnarled vines that clung like skeletal fingers. It was one of many such portals scattered across Eldoria's borders, each a gateway to chaos and riches, and today, it seemed, the chaos had spilled out.
Duke Prince Kaneki Nohara sauntered toward the gate, his crimson robe trailing behind him like a lazy banner, its gold-threaded hems catching the sunlight. His slippers scuffed the cobblestones, a soft counterpoint to the clanking march of Sir Grumble beside him. The knight's armor gleamed with the polish of a man who took pride in his duty, his broad shoulders squared and his sword hand twitching at his side. Ahead, a crowd of townsfolk had gathered, their voices a rising tide of panic and indignation. Pitchforks and rolling pins waved in the air, wielded by bakers and farmers alike, their faces flushed with anger. At the dungeon's mouth, the culprits scampered—goblins, small and wiry, their green skin glinting like wet moss, their pointed ears twitching as they darted about with stolen loot.
Kaneki yawned, rubbing a hand across his eyes. The sun hung high, its warmth tempting him back to the castle's shaded garden, where a hammock and a pitcher of iced tea awaited. He'd been roused from his throne only minutes ago by Grumble's frantic report of the goblin raid, and the interruption still rankled. The Laid-Back System, that ever-present glow in his mind, had been mid-chime—*"Task: Remain seated for ten minutes. Reward: 15 Relaxation Points"*—when the knight had burst in. Now, as he shuffled forward, the system adjusted with a ping: *"Task: Walk at a leisurely pace. Reward: 5 Relaxation Points."* He smirked, slowing his steps just enough to earn the bonus without Grumble noticing.
"Your Grace!" Grumble's voice cut through the clamor, sharp and urgent. "The goblins have raided the market! They've taken bread, cheese, even old man Harrow's sausages! We must drive them back before they grow bolder!"
Kaneki tilted his head, squinting at the scene. The goblins were a chaotic blur—dozens of them, no taller than a child, with beady black eyes and jagged teeth bared in gleeful snarls. One clutched a loaf of sourdough half its size, tearing off chunks with grubby claws. Another waved a string of sausages like a trophy, dodging a guard's clumsy spear thrust. A third balanced a wheel of cheese on its head, cackling as it teetered under the weight. The townsfolk shouted curses, their makeshift weapons trembling with fury, but the goblins were too quick, too slippery, darting between legs and scampering over crates.
"Looks like they're just hungry," Kaneki mused aloud, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "I mean, dungeons probably don't have snack bars. Can't we just… let them eat and go?"
Grumble's face darkened, a storm cloud brewing behind his stern features. "Hungry? Your Grace, they've stolen Mrs. Pumpernickel's prized sourdough! She's threatening to blockade the castle if we don't act! This is no time for jest!"
Kaneki sighed, picturing the stout baker—apron dusted with flour, eyes blazing with the wrath of a woman scorned. Mrs. Pumpernickel was a force of nature, her bakery the heart of Eldoria's market, her bread a legend among the townsfolk. He'd tasted that sourdough once, slathered with butter, and even he had to admit it was worth a fuss. Still, the idea of marching out there, sword in hand, sweating under the sun—it sounded exhausting. There had to be an easier way.
"Fine, fine," he said, rolling his eyes with theatrical flair. "But let's make it quick. I've got a nap scheduled, and I'm not missing it for some snack thieves."
Grumble's jaw clenched, but he nodded, turning to bark orders at the guards. "Form a line! Push them back to the dungeon! Move, you louts!" The men scrambled into position, their spears lowered, their shields raised in a shaky wall. The townsfolk cheered, sensing action at last, though a few cast doubtful glances at Kaneki, who stood with his hands in his pockets, looking more like a bored spectator than a duke.
He watched the goblins for a moment, their antics almost amusing. One tripped over its own loot, tumbling into a pile of flour that burst in a white cloud. Another gnawed on a sausage, oblivious to the advancing guards. They weren't organized—no leader barking commands, no strategy beyond grab-and-run. Just a pack of gremlins with empty stomachs and sticky fingers. Kaneki's mind drifted to his old life, to vending machines and late-night convenience store runs. He'd been hungry plenty of times, too. Maybe he and the goblins weren't so different.
Then his fingers brushed something in his pocket—a crinkling wrapper, forgotten from yesterday's snack. He pulled it out: a bag of potato chips, half-empty, the foil glinting in the sun. An idea sparked, lazy and brilliant, the kind the Laid-Back System loved. Why fight when you could distract?
"Hold up," he called to Grumble, stepping forward. The knight spun around, exasperation etched in every line of his face. "Your Grace, we must—"
"Watch this," Kaneki interrupted, ripping the bag open with a flourish. The salty scent wafted out, sharp and irresistible, cutting through the dust and sweat of the scene. He tossed the chips into the air, a golden arc scattering across the road. They glittered as they fell, catching the light like tiny treasures, and the goblins froze.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then, as one, the goblins dropped their loot—bread, cheese, sausages tumbling to the ground—and lunged for the chips. Their claws scrabbled, their voices rose in a chorus of grunts and squeals, fighting over every crumb. The guard line faltered, spears dipping as the men gaped. The townsfolk lowered their pitchforks, mouths open in disbelief. Even Grumble stood rooted, his hand hovering over his sword hilt.
Kaneki leaned against the gate's stone arch, fishing a stray chip from his robe and popping it into his mouth. The crunch was satisfying, the salt a perfect bite of comfort. "See? Problem solved," he said, grinning as the goblins rolled in the dirt, oblivious to the world. "No swords, no sweat. Just snacks."
The system chimed, its voice bright in his mind: *"Task: Resolve a conflict with minimal effort. Reward: 20 Relaxation Points."* The tally ticked up, a warm glow spreading through him. Another win, another step closer to some new, gloriously lazy skill. Maybe a self-rocking hammock. He could dream.
Grumble's gauntlet clanged against his helmet as he facepalmed, the sound echoing over the chaos. "Unbelievable," he muttered, his voice a mix of disbelief and grudging awe. "Utterly unbelievable." He turned to the guards, snapping them out of their stupor. "Retrieve the goods! Quickly, before they come to their senses!"
The men moved, hesitant at first, then with growing confidence as they scooped up the abandoned loot. The townsfolk surged forward, reclaiming their bread and sausages, their anger melting into bewildered laughter. Mrs. Pumpernickel herself emerged from the crowd, cradling her sourdough like a lost child, her scowl softening as she glanced at Kaneki. "Well," she huffed, "I suppose that's one way to do it."
Kaneki shrugged, brushing chip dust off his hands. "Easiest way's the best way," he said, already turning back toward the castle. The goblins, still squabbling over the last scraps, paid no mind as the guards herded them toward the dungeon, their retreat more a stumble than a fight. The crisis was over, the market saved, and Kaneki hadn't even broken a sweat.
As he strolled back through the gate, the townsfolk's murmurs followed him—some incredulous, some amused, a few even admiring. "The Laid-Back Duke," someone whispered, and the name rippled through the crowd, sticking like flour to dough. Kaneki didn't care much for titles, but that one? That one he could live with.
Grumble caught up, his boots pounding the cobblestones. "Your Grace, that was… unorthodox," he said, choosing his words with care. "Effective, I'll grant you, but we can't rely on snacks every time."
"Why not?" Kaneki shot back, grinning. "Worked today. Bet it'd work on a dragon, too. Just need a bigger bag."
Grumble groaned, but a flicker of a smile tugged at his lips, quickly smothered. "You'll be the death of me, Your Grace."
"Nah," Kaneki said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're too stubborn to die. Besides, who'd nag me without you?"
The knight shook his head, falling into step beside him as they headed back to the castle. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across Eldoria, and Kaneki's thoughts turned to that nap. The hammock was calling, the tea was chilling, and the Laid-Back System hummed contentedly in his mind. Another day, another victory—without ever lifting a finger more than he had to.
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