"This painting portrays the ancestor of the Ōtsutsuki clan, Ōtsutsuki Hamura-sama, leading the clan in cultivating the moon."
Eh… So the second great-uncle's shakujo had this kind of use?
Gin stared at the image of Hamura in the painting, sweat glistening as he toiled with a rake, and couldn't help but mutter to himself.
"And over here is the sacred tree worshipped by the Ōtsutsuki for generations."
"And this side—"
As he walked leisurely down the palace's lavish hallway, hands tucked behind his head, Gin eyed the detailed murals lining the walls. Seeing the black puppet guide still droning on, his eyes twitched and he abruptly cut in.
"You said the Ōtsutsuki have tons of treasures. So where's the most important one kept?"
"..."
The black puppet paused, blinking its yellow eyes erratically as if performing an internal systems check.
Sigh... So I really can't dig up info on the Tenseigan like this.
Gin turned his head away, disappointed. Guess he'd been too hopeful—what kind of idiot would tell a total stranger the location of their most powerful weapon?
Beep beep beep—the Ōtsutsuki clan's treasure is located there.
Just as Gin was about to leave it be, the puppet—after several seconds of silence—flashed blue in its eyes, extended its mechanical arm toward the window, and spoke in a low, robotic tone.
Stunned, Gin followed its direction and spotted a structure several times more luxurious than the palace he was currently in.
A towering castle rose above all the other floating islands, its gold-trimmed stone walls gleaming. Gigantic stained glass windows decorated its surface, radiating a dazzling glow. One look, and you knew: this was where they stored their most prized possessions.
"What treasure? Come on, spill it."
Gin hadn't expected this change of approach to work so well. The puppet had just exposed their entire vault like a careless NPC.
Truly, life on the moon had dulled the Ōtsutsuki's sense of crisis. As long as certain keywords weren't triggered, you could dig up almost anything from them.
"The treasure... is, naturally, the Ōtsutsuki clan's most—"
Gin quickly leaned in. No true Uchiha would pass up free intel.
"Ah~ Gin~ Onee-chan's back~ Where are you~?"
But just then, a syrupy voice floated over from behind them.
Gin groaned inside.
Of course... This kind of scene-killing interruption couldn't have been more perfectly timed.
"The master is calling. Please follow me back."
The puppet shut its mouth and did a full 180° head twist, its lifeless yellow eyes locking onto Gin as it spoke mechanically.
"Alrighty, I'll be looking forward to your next tour."
Gin clapped politely, playing along. Even though he didn't get the full answer, he did learn the treasure's location—so, not a total loss.
"Gin~ For now, rest up. Once Onee-chan wraps up some work, I'll take you out for a proper tour."
Gin nearly shuddered at the mushy tone of Biluò's voice. Her towering body looked like a Demon King in drag, and her beady green eyes gleamed as she drank him in.
Unable to reconcile "sultry gaze" with that face, Gin instinctively clamped his legs together and feigned polite confusion.
"May I ask when I'll be allowed to return?"
"Hehe, don't worry, little brother~ It's been ages since we've had a guest from the surface. Once we've made proper preparations, we'll hold a grand welcome ceremony for you~"
Her meat trembled with every word, like some eldritch chant.
Even though Gin had built up a bit of resistance to boing-boing trauma, her voice still made his stomach churn.
"Then I'll respectfully comply."
Swallowing back the bile, Gin forced out a stiff smile and nodded obediently.
Seeing him comply, Biluò's eyes swept across him one more time, licking her lips with a grin, before murmuring something to the black puppet and reluctantly waddling away.
Biluò, how could you get distracted by a handsome face now? You still have a plan to draft—a plan that concerns the rise and fall of the Ōtsutsuki clan!
As he watched her leave, Gin's eyes narrowed in thought.
According to the timeline, shouldn't the Ōtsutsuki be busy activating the Tenseigan right about now?
So why were they focusing so much on him, an outsider from Earth?
There was definitely something else going on here—some secret no one had told him yet.
But first things first—he needed to confirm the location of the so-called "treasure." Odds were, it had to be the Tenseigan.
—
Meanwhile…
Deep within a hidden dungeon of the Ōtsutsuki clan.
Under dim torchlight, several emaciated figures lay on the straw-covered stone floor.
Their skin was pale and sickly, limbs bound in heavy shackles, their ragged clothes soaked in dark, oozing blood from torn wounds.
Cough cough cough
One of the younger men struggled to cough, his voice hoarse like a rusty bellows.
"Time's almost up…"
"Save your strength. You're only sixty—still got decades left to endure."
The elder beside him, with hair white as bone, lay still as death. His voice was calm, but completely devoid of will to live.
All around them, the other men were little more than breathing corpses—eyes empty, bodies unmoving. Only the faint rise and fall of their chests proved they still lived.
"Why?! We're Ōtsutsuki too! Why do this to us?!"
The sixty-year-old groaned in pain, voice thick with grief and helplessness. After all these years, he still had to endure dozens of women tending to him daily.
My lower half has already gone... "pineapple pineapple da!"
Creak...
Suddenly, the dungeon door opened.
A massive figure stepped in, face hidden in the flickering torchlight—but soon enough, Biluò's terrifying visage emerged.
She gazed down coldly, her beady green eyes sweeping across the withered men on the floor.
"It's that demon!"
The youngest of the prisoners began shaking uncontrollably, face twisted in horror at the sight of her.
The others didn't scream. Maybe they were used to it. But even so, their trembling bodies betrayed the terror they could no longer voice.
"Tch… hideous."
Biluò, now a connoisseur of all things fine, no longer showed her old savagery.
Looking upon the pile of wrinkled and broken bodies with sheer disdain, she held a handkerchief over her nose and gave a cold order to the puppets beside her:
"These guys are useless now. Send them off to meet the ancestors."
No tortures, no torment. Just a quiet, final order.
The old men blinked in surprise. But their eyes didn't show fear—only relief.
"Quick, quick! I've waited eighty damn years for this day! No more raw kidney stew!"
(End of Chapter)
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