Hero, Two Meals a Day

While the Moderator was off traveling in dreamland, far from his ammonia-scented room, moonlight bathed a beautiful field in silver glow. A knight in gleaming silver armor smashed skeletons amid the radiant backdrop.

"They just keep coming endlessly. Don't you monsters have any respect for someone else's mealtime?"

Crack! The skull shattered like a cookie. The greatsword swung by the knight pulverized the foe as if it were nothing, light as a feather.

"It was my first taste of such a feast in life. The most satisfying meal in my long existence. How should I deal with you lot who interrupted it?"

The knight's name was Duke Graywarden. Those he'd helped called him the 'Hero'; Gallery users knew him as BaldMountainMadmanGonic, or 'TwoMealsADay'—a nickname hinting at his ironclad resolve to eat exactly two meals a day.

His meals getting interrupted was as routine as breathing. Enemies popped out from behind trees while boiling wild roots foraged from mountains, from underfoot while grilling field-caught mice, from the water while prepping river fish. For him, who sought out corruption hotspots, it was daily life. In fact, for Duke, peacefully enjoying a meal felt unnatural.

When was the last time he'd eaten in peace? If memory served, it was behind some village mountain.

"Boiled roots for broth and a hunted bird... or something? Can't quite recall."

It had been peaceful, but tasteless, it seemed. If it'd been good, the memory wouldn't fade.

Whoosh! The greatsword swept lightly, scattering skeletons like fallen autumn leaves.

The initial horde numbered over a thousand. Now, only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one remained before Duke.

"Right... No answer expected, but will you tell me your master's location?"

Stronger undead gained self-awareness. The weak lacked any ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sense of purpose. But the somewhat strong?

Duke, who knew this trait best, kept talking to provoke it, leaving only the most rattled skeleton on the field.

"Point to your master's location with your hand. If your master blocks it, use your foot. If that's impossible, your gaze will do. Do that, and I'll kill you cleanly."

Cleanly kill you? The offer was so bizarre—even as a threat—that the skeleton tilted its head.

"Refuse, and I'll rip off your head and use it to find your master."

It nodded vigorously in agreement.

The skeleton's hand rose slowly. A chilling grin bloomed on Duke's face. Without the helmet, the skeleton would've recoiled in horror.

"Good. My hunch was right. As promised, an easy end. Offer your head."

Blind to the expression, the skeleton thrust forward its skull obediently.

Whoosh—! Crack! With that sound, it entered eternal rest.

"Hoo..."

Confirming no more threats, Duke removed his helmet. Full plate armor he loathed head to toe—especially the helmet. As always, he ditched it post-battle.

Why? Couldn't eat mid-fight with it on.

This corruption he repelled was mere byproduct of the Outer God's aura. After the goddess's near-suicidal strike, the god hid to recover. What assaulted the continent now? Scraps.

Weak scraps. But overwhelmingly numerous.

That tide herded continent's life into corners, corrupting land, empowering magic beasts, reanimating dead for numbers. Duke's mission: stem it, even a little.

"Gotta eat on the move today. That bread from earlier... there it is."

He retrieved the bread stashed nearby, tucked the helmet under his arm, and headed the way the skeleton pointed.

"Jam on bread. This is delicious. No—boldly, the best."

Savoring strawberry jam, Duke began posting his thoughts on this feast to the Gallery.

Pondering how to convey his feelings to all...

*

"A strong and mighty morning! If you're asking me, it's Moderator time!"

I sprang up and greeted Sora with vigor. Haven't woken this refreshed in ages.

First time for Waldospeak? Sora's response lagged a bit. Can't help if she doesn't know. Still, for me, it was a strong, mighty morning.

"Sora, could you display my remaining points on screen?"

"Kiyaaah-hoo!"

Move-in day! The joyful moving day the adults mentioned? Hand-waving day? Who knows—no calendar anyway.

But pre-move checks aren't zero. Gallery first. Blindly dumping 59,000 points into a move? Jump in excitement, check Gallery, see an urgent spend needed? Dragons'd pay a house call.

"New home wrecked on entry? No way. Obviously."

Post-12-hour crisis, my crisis-aversion leveled up. I logged in.

Main screen changed. Probably tied to rec/upvote feature.

"Sora Sora, updated with last feature add?"

"Thanks for explaining, Sora Sora."

Confirmed. Gallery's thriving—proud sight. No more racing through 5+ pages per read; now shared laughs on highlights. Time to check overnight buzz. Love skimming like this.

'Hero' post got me grinning—heartwarming. Hero's real, huh.

"Mana, dragons, heroes... Maou and gods too?"

Weird stuff keeps popping; now absence'd disappoint. Peeked at Sora chat screen just in case.

As expected. Something's there, super curious, but no way to know. Next featured post.

Warm, wholesome comments. Amid Princess love-fest, one loner got roasted.

"Wondered why no local noble hate in posts."

Got thrashed by Gallery immediately. Hence lurking. Users fine overall. Pages flew by in happiness screams.

"Gallery good, no point spends pending. Check done."

Time finally. Bunker! That thrilling name. Escape from the shithole room.