Madara casually looked around and saw civilians—peasants and nobles alike—scattering in panic, fleeing from both the samurai and Madara himself. His presence was intimidating. He had already manhandled four soldiers—trained killers—using nothing but his body and a single arrow.
Naturally, the soldiers took notice. They had been warned about someone—someone with witch-like red eyes, crimson armor, and long black hair.
An alarm bell began to ring from a nearby tower, signaling the start of chaos.
So, what did Madara do?
He ignored it. The alarm meant nothing to him.
The ringing bells, the shouting guards, the fleeing civilians—none of it threatened him. None of it mattered.
He walked forward calmly, deliberately, as if the chaos had nothing to do with him—as if he hadn't started it. With an arrogant smirk, he muttered,"Do they think mere noise will stop me?"
A squad of elite samurai emerged. The ground trembled slightly—not like thunder or elephants, but just enough to ripple the puddles. This time, they were "prepared." Fully armored from helm to greaves, they wore demon-like face masks that concealed their expressions. They carried katanas, spears, bows, and wakizashi.
They stopped ten meters away, forming a half-moon formation. Twenty of them.
No problem.
Without a word, the samurai raised their weapons and lunged. Madara casually dodged one strike and commented,"Samurai... and your honor. You cling to it like drowning men to straw."
Madara didn't draw a weapon—he didn't have one. He didn't need one. He simply walked forward, effortlessly dodging attacks with superhuman reflexes, as if he were in The Matrix.
He clenched his fists, charged with chakra, and caught a katana aimed at his face—with two fingers. He snapped it with ease, then delivered a straight kick to the attacker, sending him flying, blood gushing from his nose.
At the same time, Madara took the broken blade, ducked low, and impaled another samurai. The sheer force embedded the man in a wall—impaled, dying.
Spears and swords came at him from every side. He dodged all of them. An arrow flew at him—he flicked it back, piercing the archer's throat. Four more well-coordinated strikes came at once. He answered with genjutsu—they froze mid-strike, paralyzed.
Still unarmed, Madara grabbed a katana from the ground while flipping through the air like a phantom. He kept dodging—not because he had to, but because it was fun.
Then, in one elegant motion, he sliced four necks in a single stroke.
Thirteen elite samurai remained. Shaken. But not cowards—yet.
Three spearmen advanced together—one high, one middle, one low. Madara pivoted smoothly, letting their spears pass harmlessly by. With a knife-hand strike, he crushed the nearest man's throat through his mask. As the man gargled blood, Madara used the collapsing body as a shield, causing the other two to impale their comrade.
With cold, focused eyes, Madara leapt into the air, landing with both feet on the second spearman. Organs shattered instantly. He flipped backward just as the third lunged—spinning mid-air and delivering a crushing kick to the man's face, sending him sprawling. A swift snap of the neck finished him.
Behind him came another blade. Madara caught it casually—no dodge needed. He disarmed the attacker and flung the sword away."Good coordination. Good training. But not enough."
In a flash, he appeared before another samurai, punching his jaw so hard it cracked in both directions. He grabbed the man by the collar and flung him into another swordsman, who dodged—only to be struck from behind.
Distraction is distraction.Madara chopped the second samurai's neck, paralyzing him like a lifeless puppet.
With his Sharingan, he traced every steel arc, every strike, in slow motion. He caught a third samurai's wrist, twisting until the blade dropped. The man grabbed it with his other hand and thrust toward Madara's heart.
Madara raised an amused brow and blocked the thrust with his forearm. He then used the disarmed samurai as a human shield for two incoming strikes. The sound of stabbing flesh echoed as the body absorbed the blows. Madara tossed it aside. This was battle—there was no room for dignity.
One samurai, using the Tsubame Gaeshi technique, delivered a horizontal and vertical slash in a single draw, forming an X-shaped wound.
Madara dodged.Then he punched the attacker, disarmed him, and replicated the same exact technique—delivering an X-shaped wound back.
"Is this how you do it?" he murmured.
Another blade came from behind. Madara tilted his head, caught the blade with his fist, and ducked an arrow. A second arrow flew—he dodged. That one struck a samurai behind him in the eye. The man screamed, weapon dropping.
Madara glanced at the archer, who now trembled.
The archer kept firing—four meters, three, two… Madara walked forward calmly, dodging each shot with the barest movement. Finally, he caught one arrow and stabbed it into the archer's throat.
Blood poured. The man collapsed.
Only one samurai remained—a spearman, trembling like a leaf. Nineteen bodies lay around him. Elite samurai. Veterans. All brought down by one man.
No.
A demon.
The samurai's weapon clinked to the floor.
"You… demon! Yokai! Damn it, this can't be!"He turned to run.
Madara appeared in front of him instantly."Not that I blame you," he said—and cracked the man's neck.
The body fell.
Madara vanished into the alleys. He had no more reason to stay. The city was already on alert—his presence was known. But he would return.
Possibly.
Meanwhile…
Deep beneath Kyoto, in a chamber of black lacquered wood and hanging silk...
The vampire noblewoman entered gracefully. Her coven members were already gathered.
With a calm, cold voice, she spoke:"That human... is unlike anything we've ever seen. He clearly has a heartbeat. Blood. Fresh blood. But there's something inside him... something blue. I don't know what it is. Especially those red eyes… with black swirls."
One vampire sneered,"Doesn't matter. We'll ambush him. He's a threat. We strike in the forest—it may be an obvious trap, but judging from his personality... he's arrogant. I think he'll walk right into it."
The noblewoman nodded."That could work. But I don't believe we've seen his full power. He was toying with them. Poison won't work. He's too fast. Venom won't either."
A younger member grinned wickedly."His eyes... they're pretty. Like jewels. I'll carve them out and wear one as a necklace."
"Shut up," the noblewoman hissed.Then added,"I was watching from afar. I think he sensed me. But every time the samurai looked into his eyes… they froze. Like ice. Don't look into his eyes. There's power in them."
The coven nodded without hesitation. Better safe than sorry.
"We must inform the Volturi," she said."They're still expanding in Italy, right?"
"Correct, Leader. In the city of Volterra," one vampire replied.
The noblewoman smirked."Good..."
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