The attack was a whisper in the night. On Uchiha's silent command, Finn moved like a wraith, his knife dispatching one of the sleeping slavers before the man could utter a sound. The faint gurgle was enough to startle the second man awake. He scrambled upright, his eyes wide with panic as he fumbled for the heavy wood-axe beside his bedroll.
He never had a chance. Uchiha moved in, a blur of motion that seemed to drink the moonlight. The slaver swung his axe in a wild, desperate arc. To Uchiha's two-tomoe Sharingan, the man's movements were laughably slow, each panicked flex of muscle telegraphed in perfect clarity. Uchiha sidestepped the clumsy swing with contemptuous ease.
In his terror, the slaver attempted a move born of brawling experience—a low, tricky leg-sweep meant to take an opponent off their feet. Uchiha's eyes widened slightly, not with surprise, but with clinical interest. The two tomoe in each eye spun, capturing the motion, deconstructing it, and committing it to his own muscle memory in an instant.
As the slaver's foot began its sweep, Uchiha performed the exact same maneuver, but with a speed and precision that was inhuman. His foot hooked the slaver's ankle a fraction of a second before the man's own attack could land. The slaver's legs were knocked from under him, and he crashed heavily to the ground. Before he could even register what had happened, Uchiha's sword slid through his ribs in a single, silent, and final thrust. The entire confrontation had lasted less than five seconds.
Brandt and Hake emerged from the shadows, their own weapons unbloodied. They had been positioned to cut off any escape, but their lord's brutal efficiency had rendered them unnecessary.
Uchiha cleaned his blade on the dead man's tunic, his breathing even, his expression placid. He then turned his attention to the cage. He found a large iron key on the first slaver's belt and walked to the cage door. The woman inside did not shrink back. She stood, her back straight and her chin up, watching him with an unbroken, defiant gaze.
Uchiha unlocked the heavy door and swung it open. "You are free," he said, his voice a low monotone.
The woman, Elara, stepped out of the cage, rubbing her chafed wrists. She surveyed the scene—the two dead men, the four armed strangers—and her eyes, filled with wariness, settled on Uchiha. "Rescued by another band of thugs," she said, her voice raspy but laced with sarcasm. "Forgive me if I don't weep with gratitude. Who are you?"
"My name is Uchiha," he replied, ignoring her tone. His crimson eyes flicked down to her hands, then back to her face. "I want your skill."
"My skill?" she scoffed.
"Your hands tell the story," he said. "The calluses, the burn scars. You work a forge. You shape metal. I am building a settlement, a fortress, in this wilderness. I have warriors. I need a master smith who can arm them."
He laid out the situation with the cold, simple logic of a business transaction. "Those men are dead. You can walk into that marsh and die of starvation or become prey within a day. Or, you can come with me. I will provide you with a forge, all the metal you need, protection, and food. In return, you will forge swords, armor, and tools for my people."
Elara's eyes narrowed. "So I am to trade one cage for another? To be your slave?"
"A slave is given a shack and a crust of bread," Uchiha corrected her, his voice devoid of emotion. "I am offering you a workshop and the finest resources I can procure. Whether you see it as a cage is a matter of your perspective. But out there," he gestured with his sword towards the dark, menacing swamp, "is a grave. With me," he gestured to himself, "is a future. The choice is yours, but it is not a difficult one for an intelligent person to make."
She stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time. This wasn't a bandit chief. He was too young, too calm, and his eyes held a terrifying depth. She saw no malice in them, but she saw no kindness either. She saw only purpose, as vast and unforgiving as the marsh itself. He was right. It wasn't a choice. It was an acknowledgement of reality.
With a short, sharp sigh of resignation, Elara gave a stiff nod. "I will build your forge, Uchiha."
"I know you will," he replied simply.
They returned to The Mire as the first hint of dawn painted the eastern sky. Elara walked in their midst, a sullen and silent new addition to their strange, isolated world. Uchiha's men looked at their lord with a new level of reverence. They had seen him as a commander and a warrior. Now they had seen him as a predator and a state-builder, acquiring a vital new asset through swift, decisive violence.
The first civilian had been integrated into his burgeoning nation. The lonely camp of soldiers was one step closer to becoming a village.