"So that's it—that's what you wanted me to see."
Nagato wasn't a fool. Quite the opposite—he was sharp. He immediately grasped Uchiha Yorin's point, then said, "Fitting… very much your style."
Uchiha Yorin: "Exactly. And not just you—all of you." His gaze passed over Pakura, Tsunade, and Mei Terumi in turn.
"If you can, I hope you'll also understand why Akatsuki must exist."
He didn't give the three kunoichi time to mull it over. He simply issued orders:
"Enough talk. Think later—after the fight. Time for our entrance. Mei Terumi."
"Mm—mm~"
Called by name, the red-haired beauty swayed her hips forward half a step, raised a hand to her lips, and parted them lightly.
Water Release: Hiding in Mist Technique.
Akatsuki went in arrogantly—before nightfall. Mei's Hiding in Mist was their cover.
As she moved, the daimyo's entire compound sank into a fog so thick you couldn't see your hand. Chaos erupted within.
The Rain daimyo had his own guard—after all, not everyone who can use chakra becomes a shinobi. Traditional samurai willing to die for a lord, runaway ninja lured by stable pay, even self-taught toughs—none were unheard of.
Against a real village's forces, this kind of unit collapses on contact. But they're more than enough to grind commoners underfoot.
They were Uchiha Yorin's target. If he meant to control the Land of Rain, these men had to be purged.
…
"What the—why the fog?"
The green guards still gaped; the seasoned ones already had steel out, shouting, "Enemies! Protect the Lord!"
A heartbeat later, one such veteran was pinned from head to toe by senbon, shuriken, and kunai—dead before he hit the floor.
Akatsuki—
began.
For the average small fry, this kind of fog blinds everything—no way to fight.
For Akatsuki's Kage-class, sight isn't required. Not even hearing.
"Ke-ke-ke, ke-ke-ke… hee-hee-hee-hee-hee… hahahahaha—"
From the fog came Mei's slightly unhinged laughter. Each time she melted, evaporated, blasted, or crushed an enemy, her laughter grew brighter. At first blush you'd think an Uchiha had joined in.
She was having fun—venting weeks of pent-up frustration.
Don't ask who caused that frustration—just ask whether it's being vented.
Pakura: "Ah… she's getting in sync with Uchiha Yorin."
She thought it as she surged forward.
Unlike Mei's dual-bloodline, multi-vector fighting, Pakura's style was simple: Scorch Release orbs and very, very good kunai. Her kill rate wasn't below Mei's—possibly higher.
Mei dissolved enemies while cackling—Pakura just worked.
Together, they mowed down the outer guard of the daimyo's manor like a field of leeks.
Uchiha Yorin, Tsunade, and Nagato didn't join the slaughter; they moved straight for the keep.
Two beyond-Kage and one Kage walking together—that was more respect than those "elite" guards deserved.
They crushed them as easily as snapping a wafer biscuit.
Almost unhindered, the three reached the audience hall; after dropping the loyalists at the door, they found the Rain daimyo affecting composure—and the rest of the aristocracy shaking.
These nobles—lords of every district—were essentially ninety percent of the country's ruling class.
Ordinarily, a summons from the daimyo wouldn't pull them together so neatly. White silver and little gold bars are very persuasive.
"Who are you people?! Do you think you can violate my dignity and walk away?!"
The daimyo jabbed a finger at them and barked.
He was a soft-looking middle-aged man; big frame drowning in a ridiculous traditional outfit that hung loose. Yorin guessed the man was drained by wine and women.
On another day, Yorin might've pitched him on a bottle of Ryūchi virility powder.
Today, it was pointless:
"You can call me Douglas MacArthur. The gentleman at my side is Walton Harris Walker. And this beauty is Marilyn Monroe."
He introduced himself, Tsunade, and Nagato. Three obvious fakes—and somehow perfect. The daimyo blinked for a few seconds.
He was drawing breath to order them out when one of the grandees leaned in—clearly planning a good-cop routine:
"Gentlemen—and miss—no need to be so radical. If you have demands, we can—"
"Silence."
Yorin cut him off.
He had nothing to say to these men. He hadn't come to bargain.
When the power gap is this vast—when they are slimes and goblins and you are a Predator—why negotiate?
Winner takes all.
"General Walker—your cue." Yorin patted Nagato's shoulder.
Nagato stepped forward.
He didn't get the reference—but he knew what to do next.
"Tremble before the power of a god!"
He dropped the chunni line and opened the Rinnegan's illusion—
A force that can control Tailed Beasts turned a room full of wine-soft nobles into child's play.
In an instant, selves collapsed—souls snared—puppets on Rinnegan strings.
These exalted nobles and daimyo—who fancied themselves rulers—became hollow dolls in a blink. One, two, three—all fell prostrate before Yorin, pledging their loyalty.
"Don't you think this is… ironic?" Yorin said to Tsunade and Nagato.
He didn't wait for guesses; he gave the answer: "As rulers, what they want most is a populace of brainless puppets.
"And now—the puppets are them. Hm? Heh-heh-heh-heh."
Amused by his own thought, Yorin chuckled and strolled past the kneeling nobles—took the daimyo's seat—and sat down casually.
"Ordinary."
Tsunade and Nagato—and Pakura and Mei arriving after finishing outside—looked at the man.
A strange unreality washed over them.
Because from this moment, this too-young shinobi was the true ruler of the Land of Rain.