Hyūga Shigeo's eyes dropped toward the square in front of the castle. There, the false Wuyouhua stood triumphant, her face brimming with ambition and a smug smile.
Meanwhile, beneath the cliff, the city was in chaos—citizens wailing in despair, the whole place descending into madness.
No wonder so many people obeyed her. Shigeo had once thought she relied only on the Mimeng Incense to control others. But now it was clear—there were other drugs, more sinister, that bound them to her will.
Thinking it through, the incense indeed wasn't strong enough to explain everything. When its fumes were thick, it could plunge people into hallucinations or unconsciousness. But when it was weaker, or when someone dazed could be shaken awake, its effects quickly faded.
That meant the real key lay in those pills.
Shigeo raised his eyebrows, still popping peanuts into his mouth with an air of nonchalance.
The second wave of Sky Ninja had launched. Then came the third wave. Yet, while many had returned earlier, now fewer and fewer came back. The last group to depart returned only five in number. As for the Ghost-Hair Puppets and Masked Men that had gone to intercept the Five Great Villages, not a single one made it back—they had all perished, no word sent back.
After a full day of warfare, the city remained blind to the front-line situation. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Wuyouhua's calm cracked.
"What's going on? Why hasn't the last unit returned?" she demanded.
At her side stood a towering man, over two meters tall, square-jawed, his eyes sharp and unyielding.
"Reporting, Castle Lord, this subordinate does not know. However, the medical ninjas have sent word—their stock of ghost-hair bodies has reached one hundred and seventy, yet none have undergone the forbidden awakening. If we delay any longer, the corpses will begin to rot. They are already pressing for action."
His tone was cold, measured, neither servile nor arrogant.
"I understand." The false Wuyouhua turned and walked off.
Shigeo perked up. So this is how they make the Masked Ones? As a medic-nin myself, I've never seen exactly how that impostor produces them. Might as well take a look.
He cast a transformation jutsu, taking the guise of a castle guard, and slipped into the retinue.
But the towering man suddenly noticed—there was one more soldier than before. He turned, halted, and gestured for the others to keep moving.
As Shigeo, disguised, casually drew up beside him, the man seized him by the collar and dragged him into a side alley.
"You're still here?" the man hissed, scanning the surroundings to ensure no eyes were watching. Lowering his voice, he asked urgently.
Shigeo blinked, pointing at his altered adult form. "You… know me?"
"Of course. Those blind eyes of yours—no matter how you disguise yourself, in daylight they never focus."
Shit. Shigeo cursed inwardly. Of all the flaws I thought I'd accounted for… I never imagined this one.
He looked the man over. A giant of over two meters, square-faced, unshaven. For someone serving so close to the false Wuyouhua, he had to be of high rank.
"So what now? You've unmasked me—shouldn't you be raising the alarm? Or are you… letting me go?"
The man said nothing. Instead, he fixed Shigeo with a long stare, then produced a pill from his hand and pressed it into Shigeo's palm.
"This is the poison all of us are forced to take. Only Shennong and Wuyouhua hold the antidote. At first, I never pinned any hope on you, but…"
His gaze flickered with guilt, then hardened with resolve. "But you are the only one she fears—the only one who truly unsettles her. That means you can create a miracle."
Shigeo frowned. "We've never met. Why trust me so blindly?"
"Because you're the one who rescued the young lady and Elder Bu's family. The one who freed the hostages. The one who blew up the altar itself. With power like that… how could I not believe?"
With that, the seven-foot warrior suddenly dropped to his knees.
"Young brother, if you can save Wuwang City, I swear my life to you. For the rest of my days, I'll be your hound and horse, without regret."
For a moment, Shigeo was at a loss. He had pleaded with the townsfolk so many times, yet none believed him. And now, this man—whom he could not even recall meeting—placed absolute trust in him, sealing it with an oath of his life.
Conflicted, Shigeo sighed. "Fine. I'll help again. But…" He rubbed his fingers together with a smirk. "Good deeds alone don't put food on the table. If I stick my neck out, I need something in return."
He didn't need money—what he needed was a reason.
The man's eyes lit up. "If you succeed, my three thousand soldiers will serve under your command. In the South Seas, I have three warships—they'll be yours as well. And my personal fortune, meager though it is, too. If that isn't enough, I'll find more."
Shigeo chuckled. "Now that's a deal. Done. Let's go."
He strode off, and the man hurried after him.
"Subordinate's name is Wu Mang, commander of Wuwang City's guard. I, too, am bound by the witch's poison."
Shigeo nodded, then pointed toward the departing impostor Wuyouhua. "Tell me one thing. She can slip her true body between those ghost-hair husks, dodging every attack. I've watched her all day and found no flaw. Do you know her weak point?"
Wu Mang shook his head. "I do not. That woman was flayed alive and remade by Shennong into a ghost-hair demon. Her flesh and skin have fused as one. As for her… shifting trick, I've only witnessed it during your battles. Where her life's weakness lies—your guess is as good as mine."
Shigeo's eyes narrowed. So the only way forward is to keep probing until I find her fatal flaw.
For now, what troubled him most was the endless army of ghost-hair warriors.
The Masked Ones were mere corpses, puppets she could not inhabit. But those ghost-hair skins—those she could dive into, slip through, even be reborn from.
Even if he slaughtered every husk before him, without striking her true core, she would simply reappear again.
That was the real nightmare.
Following the impostor Wuyouhua, still disguised, Shigeo entered the underground laboratory where the medical ninjas toiled.
Over thirty medics slaved away day and night, eyes bloodshot, faces gaunt, bodies wasting.
Though only two or three days had passed since he last saw them, they were now barely recognizable.
Around the vast chamber's walls floated vats brimming with crimson flesh, steeped in formalin to stave off decay.
And lined against the outer wall stood more than two hundred ghost-hair corpses—each with flowing purple hair, clad in black robes, and masked with eerie grinning visages.
(End of Chapter)
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