The once-glorious festival square had become a graveyard of ash and ruin. The entire capital was now a sealed fortress. Massive barricades blocked every road in and out.
Civilians had been forcibly evacuated to the outer districts.
Only the Royal Army remained — the elite force personally trained to protect the Daimyo. They moved with cold, disciplined efficiency through the smoke-choked ruins.
Teams of soldiers formed hand seals in unison.
"Water Style: Great Waterfall Jutsu!"
Powerful torrents erupted from their mouths and palms, hissing violently as they met the raging flames. Steam exploded upward in thick, blinding clouds.
The fire that had devoured the stage and surrounding buildings began to die, but it fought back viciously.
Every time one section was extinguished, another flare-up erupted from smoldering debris or spilled festival oils. The heat was still brutal. Soldiers worked in shifts, their armor slick with sweat and soot, lungs burning from smoke.
Rubble-clearing teams worked without pause. Massive wooden beams and chunks of stone were lifted by raw strength and reinforced with earth-style jutsu. The ground groaned and shifted dangerously.
Every few minutes someone would shout, "It's moving! Pull back!" as another section threatened to collapse.
The first to be pulled from the outer layers of debris were the soldiers who had been standing guard around the stage. Many were alive but badly injured — broken bones, burns, smoke inhalation. They were carried away on stretchers to the field medics.
Then came the concubines.
Miko was dragged free first. The left side of her once-beautiful face was a horrific mess of charred skin and blisters. Her hair was singed to the scalp in patches. She was only semi-conscious, whimpering in agony.
"It burns… it burns…" A medic immediately pressed a cooling salve to her face and rushed her toward the treatment tents.
Hana and Yumi followed soon after — battered, covered in cuts and bruises, coughing up black phlegm, but alive. All three were taken straight to the medics.
Deeper in the rubble, near where Eiko had been standing when the blast hit, a team of four soldiers worked with grim focus.
"There! I see fabric — it's her!"
They carefully shifted a heavy wooden beam. Beneath it lay Eiko.
A thick wooden pole from the collapsing stage structure had fallen directly across her left shoulder and upper back.
The wood had been smoldering from the fire. It had pressed down with crushing weight while burning, searing deep into her flesh.
Her skin in that area was completely ruined — blackened, blistered, and in places the flesh had been cooked away.
The combination of the intense heat and the crushing pressure had caused catastrophic damage. Parts of her sheer crimson outfit had been burned or torn away, leaving the horrific injury exposed.
"Careful! Don't let the pole shift — it'll tear the wound worse!" one soldier barked.
They used levers and coordinated lifts. Inch by inch the heavy pole was raised. As the weight came off, Eiko's eyes flew open. A raw, agonized scream tore from her throat.
"Harada—! My children—!"
Her body arched violently. Fresh blood mixed with clear fluid from the severe burn. The skin around the injury was destroyed, the muscle underneath damaged. She was in pure torment.
"Hold her still! Medics — now!"
A team of medics swarmed in. They applied thick cooling salves directly to the charred flesh, wrapped the shoulder and back in clean bandages, and stabilized her as best they could. Eiko's breathing came in ragged gasps. Tears carved clean tracks through the soot on her face.
"P-please… my babies…" she whispered before the pain and exhaustion pulled her under again.
She was lifted onto a stretcher and rushed toward the medical area with the other injured.
The work continued for what felt like hours. The fire was finally beaten back to scattered pockets. More rubble was shifted. The tension in the air was suffocating. Every creak of shifting wood made soldiers freeze. One young soldier was nearly crushed when a beam gave way; his comrades dragged him clear just in time.
Finally, in the deepest section — the exact spot where the Daimyo had been standing when the explosion tore through the stage — they found what they had been searching for.
Two elite guards lay sprawled over a single protected space. Their armor was cracked and blackened. Their bodies had been crushed and burned almost beyond recognition.
They had thrown themselves directly on top of their lord the instant the blast hit, using their own flesh and armor as a living shield against the falling debris and flames. They had died in the process — their sacrifice absolute.
Beneath them, the Daimyo lay unconscious.
He had no life-threatening injuries. Some bruises, a shallow cut across his forehead, and minor burns on his forearms where he had instinctively tried to protect his face. But he was alive. The two guards had taken the full force of the collapse and fire.
Captain Takeshi, the man responsible for the Daimyo's security, dropped to his knees beside the bodies. His face was pale beneath the soot.
For the last several hours he had lived in pure terror — if the Daimyo had died, the punishment would have been swift and total.
Execution for Takeshi himself, and likely for his entire family. He had imagined his wife and children dragged from their home, their lives ended because of his failure.
But the Daimyo was breathing.
Takeshi placed a hand on each fallen guard's shoulder, his voice rough with emotion.
"You saved him. And by saving him… you saved me and my family. I will never forget this debt. Your names will be honored. Your families will want for nothing. Rest now, warriors."
The Daimyo was carefully lifted free and placed on a reinforced stretcher. He was rushed to the largest medical tent, where the best healers in the army immediately began treatment — cleaning wounds, applying salves, and using medical ninjutsu to stabilize him.
After nearly an hour, the Daimyo's eyes slowly opened.
He coughed, wincing as pain lanced through his body. Captain Takeshi was at his side instantly, relief flooding his features so strongly his hands trembled.
"My lord… you're awake. Thank the gods."
The Daimyo's gaze was sharp even through the pain and exhaustion. He looked around at the ruined medical tent, the smoke still drifting outside, the sounds of distant moans and orders.
"What happened?" His voice was hoarse but steady. "The blast… Eiko… where is she?"
Takeshi quickly reported everything — the coordinated attack, the casualties, the lockdown of the capital, the rescue efforts, and the two guards who had given their lives to shield him.
The Daimyo was silent for a long moment, his expression darkening with cold fury.
"They will pay for this," he said quietly, but with iron in every word.
"Every last traitor. This was no random act of desperation. Someone planned this… and they will regret ever drawing breath against me."
He pushed himself up slightly despite the medics' protests.
"Bring Eiko to me when she is stable enough to move. She was with me when it happened. And I want a full report on every rebel captured… and every name connected to this attack."
Outside the tent, the fires were finally dying. The Royal Army continued their grim work — recovering the dead, treating the wounded, and securing the devastated square.
But far beyond the capital walls, in the shadows of the outer districts, a different kind of fire was beginning to spread.
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