Autumn leaves drifted over Eldoria, a golden cascade that whispered of change on the wind. The city basked in the season's glow, its cobblestone streets carpeted with amber and crimson, crunching softly underfoot as townsfolk ambled through their days. The rooftops gleamed with a faint sheen of morning frost, melting under a sun that hung low and lazy in a sky streaked with wispy clouds. The air carried the crisp bite of fall, laced with the smoky sweetness of burning leaves and the earthy scent of apples ripening along the Eldorian River's banks. Pumpkins lined doorsteps, their orange hues a quiet nod to the harvest, while the forest beyond the walls shimmered in a patchwork of gold, red, and fading green. It was a time for slowing down, for savoring the world's gentle yawn, and Duke Prince Kaneki Nohara embraced it fully.
He lounged in the castle garden, sprawled across a hammock strung between two oaks, their branches heavy with leaves that fluttered down like nature's confetti. His crimson robe draped over the hammock's edges, its gold-threaded hems tangled in the grass, and a chipped mug of warm cider rested on his chest, steam curling lazily into the air. His dark hair fanned out, a messy halo against a pillow stained with juice from past naps, and his slippers dangled from his toes, one already lost to the undergrowth. The hammock swayed with the breeze, a slow, hypnotic rhythm that matched the drowsy hum of crickets hiding in the bushes. Around him, his crew lounged in their own pockets of ease: Hana sprawled on a blanket, her staff propped against a tree, nibbling an apple with half-closed eyes; the goblins nestled in a pile of leaves, munching stale chips and giggling sleepily; the devil slumped against a boulder, sipping cider from a jug, its tail twitching like a metronome; the chimera dozed by the gate, its pillow buried under its lion head, snores rustling the foliage; and Lirien floated above, his lute plucking a soft, meandering tune that drifted like the leaves themselves. The Laid-Back System glowed in Kaneki's mind, its voice a mellow chime: *"Task: Bask in autumn's calm with a warm drink. Reward: 20 Relaxation Points."* He sipped the cider, its spiced warmth seeping into his bones, and let out a contented sigh. This was perfection—no rush, no fuss, just the world taking a nap alongside him.
The garden was a sanctuary of lazy decay—ivy sagged over the stone walls, roses drooped with fading petals, and a cracked fountain gurgled faintly, its water murky with fallen leaves. A squirrel scampered across the trellis, dropping an acorn that bounced off Kaneki's mug with a soft *plink*, and he smirked, too relaxed to care. His Eternal Ease Aura pulsed gently, a golden warmth that blanketed the space, softening the edges of everything it touched. The crew felt it too—Hana's chewing slowed, the goblins' giggles faded to murmurs, and even the devil's tail stilled, curling into a loose coil. Kaneki's eyes drifted half-closed, his mind wandering to his old life—rainy afternoons with a book, the hum of a heater, the bliss of doing nothing. This world was better, he decided, especially with autumn painting it gold.
The gate creaked open, a slow groan that barely stirred him, and Sir Grumble shuffled in, his tunic rumpled, his sword sheathed for once. His beard was flecked with leaf bits, and his boots crunched the carpet of fallen foliage, but his face carried a tension that clashed with the garden's vibe. Behind him trailed a figure—a traveler, cloaked in dusty brown, his face weathered and lined, a satchel slung over one shoulder. His eyes darted, wide with urgency, and his breath puffed in the cool air as he stopped before the hammock.
"Your Grace," Grumble said, his voice low but insistent, "we've got trouble. This man's from the eastern plains—says a warlord's stirring, eyeing Eldoria. Name's Tarkus, got an army twice Reginald's size. Could be here in weeks."
Kaneki cracked an eye, the mug tilting slightly. "Weeks? That's, like, forever away. Can't he wait till spring? I'm cozy here."
Hana chuckled, tossing her apple core into the leaves. "You're hopeless, bro. Warlord, huh? Sounds intense—let's nap him out like the rest."
The traveler stepped forward, his cloak shedding dust. "I'm Jorin, m'lord," he said, voice rough. "Tarkus ain't like your last foes—he's ruthless. Burned three villages already, wants your city for its river trade. Heard you're… unconventional, but this ain't no goblin raid."
The system pinged: *"Bonus Task: Dismiss a threat with nonchalance. Reward: 15 Relaxation Points."* Kaneki sighed, a long, languid exhale that rustled the leaves above, and swung his legs over the hammock's edge, mug still in hand. "Burning's loud," he muttered, standing with a stretch that cracked his spine like autumn twigs. "Fine, I'll deal—but no rushing. We're doing this lazy."
Grumble's brow furrowed, but a flicker of trust softened his glare. "Your way's worked before, Your Grace. What's the plan?"
"Road trip," Kaneki said, yawning. "We'll go to him—nice and slow. Talk him down, nap him out, whatever. Crew's coming." He glanced at his gang, sprawled like autumn leaves themselves. "You lot in?"
Hana grinned, hopping up. "Duh—road naps sound fun." The goblins chirped, spilling chips as they scrambled to their feet, and the devil grunted, draining its jug. "More cider after," it rumbled. Lirien's lute twanged agreement, and the chimera yawned, lumbering upright, pillow clutched in its jaws.
Jorin gaped. "You're… taking *them*? To face Tarkus?"
"Best squad around," Kaneki said, slipping on his lone slipper. "Grumble, grab a wagon—something comfy. We're rolling easy."
The journey began at a snail's pace, the wagon creaking along a dirt road flanked by golden fields and skeletal trees. Kaneki sprawled in the back, a pile of blankets and pillows cushioning him, cider mug refilled from a barrel strapped to the side. Hana drove, whistling off-key, her staff wedged beside her, while Grumble sat upfront, reins loose in his hands, muttering about dignity. The goblins dangled off the sides, kicking leaves, and the devil lounged beside Kaneki, snoring softly. Lirien floated ahead, his lute a dreamy guide, and the chimera plodded behind, its snores blending with the wagon's groans. Jorin perched near Kaneki, clutching his satchel, his nerves clashing with the crew's lethargy.
The plains stretched wide, a sea of swaying grass dotted with crumbling ruins—old towers and walls overtaken by vines, their stones warmed by the sun. Crows cawed overhead, their shadows flitting across the road, and the wind carried a faint tang of smoke, a hint of Tarkus's path. Kaneki sipped his cider, eyes half-lidded, letting the wagon's sway lull him. "Nice day," he mumbled. "Good for napping."
Jorin fidgeted. "M'lord, Tarkus's camp's a day off. He's got scouts—could spot us any time."
"Let 'em," Kaneki said, stretching. "Saves us the walk."
By dusk, they reached a grove of twisted trees, their branches heavy with orange leaves that glowed in the fading light. The wagon rolled to a stop, and Kaneki flopped out, aura pulsing as he sank onto a blanket Hana spread. "Camp here," he said, yawning. "Nice and slow tomorrow." The crew sprawled—goblins in a leaf pile, devil against a trunk, chimera curling up, Lirien strumming overhead. Grumble built a fire, grumbling, but joined them, sipping cider Jorin passed around.
Morning brought scouts—rough men in leather, swords drawn, creeping through the grove. Kaneki, half-asleep, waved lazily. "Hey, guys. Tell Tarkus we're here—peaceful, chill. Bring snacks if he's got 'em." Lirien's lute softened their glares, and they retreated, bewildered.
By noon, Tarkus arrived—a hulking figure in spiked armor, his face scarred, his black hair tied back, a war axe slung over his shoulder. His army camped behind, a sprawl of tents and smoke, but he strode forward alone, eyes narrowed. "You're the duke?" he growled, voice like gravel. "Heard you're a sloth."
"Yep," Kaneki said, lounging on his blanket, aura glowing. "Kaneki. This is my crew. Want some cider?"
Tarkus blinked, axe lowering. "Cider? I came to conquer, not drink."
"Conquering's loud," Kaneki said, tossing him a mug. "Try this—quieter." The devil lumbered over, offering a scone, and the goblins chirped, dropping chips at his feet. Hana grinned, tossing an apple, and Lirien's lute wove a sleepy tune. The chimera snored, a bassline to the peace.
Tarkus caught the mug, sniffed it, and sipped, his scowl softening. "Huh. Not bad." He sat, armor creaking, and took the scone, chewing slowly. "You're mad—bringing this lot."
"Lazy mad," Kaneki said, aura flaring. "War's work. Chill with us instead—Eldoria's got room."
The warlord paused, the crew's ease seeping in—goblins napping, devil yawning, Lirien's song lulling. His army watched, tense, but Tarkus waved them off, sinking into the grass. "Maybe… a break," he muttered, eyes drooping. "Just a day."
The system chimed: *"Task: Turn a foe to a friend with laziness. Reward: 70 Relaxation Points."* Kaneki grinned, closing his eyes. "Deal."
They rolled home days later, Tarkus trailing with a smaller crew, won over by naps and snacks. Eldoria welcomed them with cider and quiet, the horizon lazy once more.
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