The moment Hyūga Tennin finished reading the report, his jaw locked tight. Then he barked the order that sent half the camp spinning.
"Pass it along. All team captains, assemble immediately!"
In a war where messages usually arrived soaked in blood, the captains didn't waste a second. They filed into the council tent one after another, tension clinging to them like smoke after a fire.
Tennin didn't bother with introductions. "We're here for one thing. The Tōjū Alliance. If my guess is right, they'll surrender soon. And before you ask—yes, this meeting is about how we handle that."
He lifted the message for everyone to see. Raizen's handwriting was unmistakable, sharp and cold as a blade straight from the forge. One character dominated the page:
Kill.
The captains froze. Even hardened shinobi couldn't pretend that didn't hit like a kunai to the ribs.
"It's from Lord Raizen," Tennin said. "So you all understand what comes next."
I wasn't in the tent, but word travels fast in camps like these. Raizen's thoughts drifted bitterly through the currents of gossip. A single kill-order from him was enough to make veteran officers look away, pretending they hadn't just seen something heavy enough to crack a conscience.
Tennin continued, voice flat. "The Tōjū leadership already knows their clans are gone. Lord Raizen has made sure of that. If they surrender, they'll just turn into rebels the moment they see an opening. We end it now before they twist a knife into our backs later."
One captain spoke up, eyes gleaming with ruthless calculation. "If they're surrendering anyway… why not strike then? Hit them after they lower their guard."
Another replied immediately. "We accept their surrender, then finish the job once they can't resist. Clean and simple."
A third frowned. "What about our reputation? If this spreads, who would ever surrender to Konoha again?"
Someone snorted. "Winning comes first. Mercy is a luxury for people who aren't fighting for their clan's survival."
The tent devolved into sharp, overlapping arguments. Tennin let it run for a moment, then shut it all down with a quiet, iron-edged line.
"If we're killing them, the method doesn't matter. Ruthlessness ends wars faster. We accept their surrender… then eliminate them when resistance becomes impossible."
The captains bowed their heads. "Understood."
The plan moved forward like a stone rolling downhill.
Three days later, the Tōjū Alliance finally broke under constant harassment. A negotiator arrived at Konoha's camp, but Tennin dismissed every plea.
"Tell your commander this," Tennin said coldly. "If your men want to live, surrender. Konoha treats prisoners with dignity. Join us, and you won't die pointlessly."
It was a lie. Everyone in earshot knew it.
The envoy returned to his commander, face tight with shame and fury. But rage doesn't stop hunger, or cold, or the memory of seeing your home turn to ash. After three more days of pressure, the Tōjū commander surrendered. Three thousand shinobi laid down their weapons.
Konoha welcomed them in with perfectly practiced calm.
Then the sealing tags came out.
Tōjū shinobi were bound hand and foot with chakra-suppressing formulas, pushed into tight groups like livestock waiting for slaughter. Fear rolled off them in waves.
"Hyūga Tennin… what are you doing?"
One of them asked, voice shaking despite trying to stay proud.
Tennin looked at him the way a butcher looks at a tied-down boar.
"What we must. Your clan resisted Konoha again and again. Now that your homeland is ash, you will join them. The Warring States has no place for survivors who want revenge."
The Tōjū shinobi erupted in panic. Even the dimmest among them understood their fate now.
Tennin raised his hand.
"Konoha shinobi. End them."
What followed wasn't a battle. Battles have back-and-forth, hope, choices.
This was execution.
Blades, wind release, crushed earth, fireballs; all of it poured into the helpless mass of sealed shinobi. Screams tore through the valley, rising and dying like sparks snuffed under a boot.
"You'll pay for this!"
"You demons—Konoha will fall!"
"I'll curse your clan even from the afterlife!"
None of it slowed the slaughter.
This was the Warring States. If you didn't kill your enemy completely, they killed you the moment your back was turned. Mercy wasn't noble here. Mercy was suicide.
When the final voice faded, the air fell quiet except for crackling flames and the drip of cooling blood. Even the soft-hearted among Konoha's ranks held their silence. The ones who trembled did so privately. The ones who shook didn't dare show it.
Because in this era, killing one man or killing a thousand led to the same future:
Survive today, or die tomorrow.