Land of Hot Water.
Inside a small village.
Taiichi handed the cleaned paper back to the old man and asked with feigned curiosity, "Do you know where these pamphlets came from? Or is there anyone in town who particularly worships this 'evil god'?"
The old man shook his head. "No idea where they come from. The wind just blows them everywhere. As for believers… I haven't heard of anyone openly following it. But—"
He glanced left and right, then lowered his voice. "That lazy pockmarked bastard Momotaro over on the east side of town has been acting real strange lately. Keeps muttering crazy shit about 'immortality' and 'sacrifices'…"
Taiichi understood at once. He thanked the old man and headed east.
Deep in a rundown alley cluttered with junk, he found his target. A middle-aged man in ragged clothes with a head full of sores stood facing a crude symbol of the evil god he had scrawled on the wall, muttering feverishly, his eyes vacant and fanatic.
"Immortality… Our Lord… offer up your soul… and never die… hehehe…"
Taiichi appeared behind him without a sound. His fingers flashed out and tapped the base of the man's neck. Momotaro's body went rigid, then his eyes glazed over.
Genjutsu: Mind Reading.
Taiichi's spiritual power flooded into the man's chaotic mind.
Fragmented, deranged images poured in—flickering blood-red candlelight, twisted statues, frenzied chanting, undying bodies… and a gray-robed cultist. Plus the clear impression that their evil god would soon descend.
The evil god's descent? Real or not, Taiichi's interest only sharpened.
Immortal bodies were just the surface. What truly made his soul tremble was that so-called evil god itself.
An ancient existence that had survived from the primordial era of the shinobi world—one of the true transcendent rulers of this land before Kaguya Ōtsutsuki ever descended.
What was their essence?
Where did their power come from?
And why had they fallen into this bloody, twisted state?
The thirst for knowledge, the drive to explore the origins of power, and the caution against a potential threat made Taiichi's blood race.
But first priority: capture this Jashin cult—and maybe even the god that might descend.
---
Northeastern Land of Hot Water. Deep in the mountains. The Jashin cult's nest.
The cavern reeked of thick, unending blood and evil. Candle flames flickered in the damp, cold air, casting the twisted reliefs of the evil god on the walls into a hellish dance of demons.
Layer upon layer of dried dark-red blood covered the altar, each stain a story of extinguished lives.
The mouth of the incinerator yawned black and empty. The fire had long gone out, yet the lingering stench of burned flesh still clawed its way into every nose.
Cult Leader Blood Raven sat upon his stone throne. The wooden crow-patterned mask hid his expression; only those scarlet eyes burned with violence and a barely controlled impatience in the dark.
He had just finished yet another fruitless attempt at communion. The few remaining "sacrifices" on the altar lay limp as discarded rag dolls, eyes empty, breath faint—too drained even to moan in fear.
"Trash! All of you are trash!" Blood Raven's voice cracked with barely restrained rage, echoing through the silent cavern.
"This pathetic fear… these leftover scraps of soul… aren't even enough to make Our Lord glance this way!"
The gray-robed cultists standing below trembled like leaves, terrified the leader's fury would turn on them.
At that moment a cultist responsible for the sacrifice stores came scrambling in on all fours and collapsed beneath the altar, voice shaking. "L-Leader! The stores… empty! The last few… just used them up!"
"What?!" Blood Raven shot to his feet. His crimson robe billowed without wind. An oppressive, murderous aura flooded the entire cavern.
The cultist was crushed nearly flat by the invisible pressure, not daring to lift his head.
"Trash! A pack of worthless trash!" Blood Raven's roar sent pebbles raining from the ceiling. "I told you to conserve them!
Conserve them! Did you treat the sacrifices like food?!"
"L-Leader, please calm down!" An older cultist forced himself to speak, voice quivering. "I-It was the previous large-scale communion rituals… they burned through too many. And with time so short, our stockpile was already low, so—"
Blood Raven's face twisted beneath the mask. His chest heaved.
It was all because of that Matsushita Taiichi. The bastard had completely wrecked his rhythm, forcing him to halt every capture operation.
He glanced at the pathetic remnants still on the altar. These "dregs" were worthless now.
With a sweep of his sleeve, cultists immediately dragged the remaining sacrifices away. The incinerator would be lit again for them soon enough.
"Without new sacrifices, Our Lord will not answer! Without Our Lord's blessing, how are we supposed to create an immortal army?!" Blood Raven's voice dripped with madness and frustration.
After a long moment the frenzied red light in his eyes cooled into cold resolve. He slowly sat back down. His voice dropped to the temperature of the nine hells.
"Pass the order—"
Every cultist pricked up his ears.
"Select a team of the most elite, the ones with the cleanest hands." Blood Raven spoke each word as if grinding it between his teeth.
"Head northwest—to Frostmoon Village, the farthest settlement from the capital, right on the border. The place is remote. News barely reaches it. Even if it vanishes for a day or two, no one will notice right away.
Remember: fast. Clean. Silent. Grab fifty people and pull out immediately. No complications. Anyone who exposes our trail and ruins my plans—"
He paused. Those scarlet eyes swept across every cultist like physical blades. Every man present felt ice crawl over his skin.
"—I will offer him, and his entire family, as living sacrifices to Our Lord. Their souls will scream in eternal torment!"
"Yes, Cult Leader!" The cultists fled as if granted amnesty, scrambling out to carry out the order while trembling with fear.
---
At the same time, deep inside the daimyo's mansion in the capital of the Land of Hot Water. The Crown Prince's secret study.
The lamps had been deliberately dimmed. Heavy curtains shut out every possible prying eye.
A plain-looking middle-aged man in ordinary servant's clothes was delivering his confidential report.
"My lord, urgent news just came through secret channels from Frostmoon Village on the northwestern border." The man's voice was barely above a whisper, yet every word was clear.
"The hidden agent responsible for message relay spotted unidentified suspicious figures moving in the mountain woods outside the village just before nightfall. Their movements were furtive. Numbers unknown, but definitely not ordinary bandits or travelers.
He triggered the emergency warning protocol… and then went completely silent. We still have no further word from the village."
The Crown Prince's heart lurched. His fingers unconsciously tightened on the edge of the desk. "Frostmoon Village… remote location… it has to be them. They couldn't hold back any longer!"
A sharp light exploded in his eyes. "When was the warning sent? How long has contact been lost?"
"The agent's signal went out last evening. We received it and came straight to report." The middle-aged man answered quickly. "By the timeline, if it really is those people… they've already started."
"Damn it!" the Crown Prince cursed under his breath. He shot to his feet and began pacing the narrow space. "Lord Taiichi—"
"Rest assured, Your Highness. The message has already been sent through the emergency channel he left us—using the special chakra mark Lord Taiichi provided." The man's voice was firm. "We simply can't be certain whether Lord Taiichi can arrive in time."
The Crown Prince drew a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "Good. As long as the message is out. Now it depends on Lord Taiichi's ability. The White Reaper… he won't disappoint us."
"Yes!" The mole melted into the shadows like a ghost and vanished.
Alone in the darkened study, the Crown Prince stared out at the misty night of the capital. His fists clenched so hard the knuckles turned white.
The fish… had finally taken the bait.
---
Northwestern border of the Land of Hot Water. Night as thick and black as ink.
The little village called Frostmoon lay deep in peaceful sleep. The sparse lights had long gone out. Only the occasional cry of a night owl broke the mountain silence.
The villagers had no idea that lethal shadows were already creeping out of the pitch-black forest beyond the village.
A team of roughly twenty black figures—ghosts blending into the dark—closed in silently on the outskirts.
They wore identical dark-gray combat gear, faces covered by cloth masks painted with twisted triangular symbols. Their eyes burned with the cold fanaticism of cruelty mixed with numbness. The elite hunting squad of the Jashin cult.
The leader gave a hand signal. The team split into several smaller groups and slipped into the narrow village lanes like venomous snakes.
The operation began.
No battle cries. No warning.
The well-trained cultists moved like the most practiced hunters, using poison-tipped blow darts, potent knockout smoke, and wind-like speed to break open one door after another.
Men, women, children, the elderly—all of them still deep in sleep—never even managed a scream before they were bagged and dragged out unconscious.
A few more alert villagers tried to resist. Short blades and merciless heavy blows answered them. Bodies went limp and were tossed into corners like broken sacks.
The scent of blood began to drift faintly on the cold night wind.
Panic spread through the silence like a plague. Villagers startled awake managed only half a choked cry before hands clamped over their mouths and hauled them into the dark.
The entire Frostmoon Village was being swallowed by a vast, malicious net.
The cultists worked with swift, efficient precision—clearly experts at this process.
There was no pity in their eyes, only the cold calculation of completing the mission and counting "sacrifices."
---
Dozens of miles above Frostmoon Village.
Icy wind howled past, whipping the fringe of hair across Taiichi's forehead. His chakra perception flowed outward like water.
Even for him, the pitch-black night forced him to rely entirely on sensory jutsu to know whether he had already flown past a location.
Suddenly—
An extremely faint, yet unmistakably familiar evil chakra fluctuation hit his perception radar like a stone dropped into still water.
Taiichi's eyes snapped open. He locked onto the source instantly—Frostmoon Village!
"Found you. Good. I'm not too late."
The cold words vanished into the roaring wind. Without the slightest hesitation his chakra wings beat once. The air tore open with a piercing shriek.
Taiichi's figure became a streak of blue lightning that ripped through the night sky, rocketing toward Frostmoon Village. Clouds whipped past beneath his feet. The earth rushed upward in his vision.
---
Inside Frostmoon Village.
The hunt was nearly finished. Most of the villagers had already been herded into the central threshing ground, bound with rough rope, mouths gagged, eyes filled with despairing tears and helpless terror.
The stifled sobs of children, the despairing tremors of women, the furious but powerless struggles of men—together they painted a picture of hell on earth.
Dozens of hemp sacks lay piled to one side, filled with unconscious or already dead villagers. Blood seeped from the sacks, glaring even in the dark.
The cultist in charge of counting signaled the leader. "Boss—sixty-two living, three dead. Over quota. We pull out?"
The leader swept the area with a satisfied glance. A flicker of bloodlust passed through his eyes. He was about to give the withdrawal order—
"Whoosh!"
A piercing sound of something tearing through the air came from far away, impossibly fast.
Before the sound even fully arrived, an unimaginable, mountain-like pressure crashed down. Every sound on the threshing ground died instantly. The air itself seemed to freeze solid.
Every Jashin cultist—including the leader—felt an invisible hand clamp around their hearts. Breathing stopped. A soul-deep terror seized them. They stared upward in absolute horror.
A figure radiating pure azure light hovered above the threshing ground like a god descending from the heavens.
Cold moonlight outlined his young yet utterly imposing silhouette. The twin wings of light behind him looked almost holy under the moon.
It was Matsushita Taiichi.
"Jashin cult?" Taiichi's voice was colder than ice striking the ground, clear in every cultist's ears, plunging them into an abyss. "This ends here."
"I-It's him! The White Reaper! He never left!" the leader's voice cracked into a terrified shriek, shattering the dead silence. "Kill him! Now! Don't let him ruin the sacrifice!"
Survival instinct and fanatical faith instantly overrode terror.
More than twenty elite cultists roared like beasts. Chakra erupted without reservation.
They charged the figure in the sky from every direction without fear of death. Poisoned kunai, shuriken, and chains rained upward like a storm. Several formed seals and unleashed fireballs and water arrows.
Facing the saturation assault, Taiichi's eyes didn't even flicker.
"Overestimating yourselves."
He didn't even bother forming seals.
The wings of light behind him simply gave a gentle beat. A violent gale erupted around him. Countless wind blades spun within the storm, tracing lethal arcs as they scythed downward.
Wind Release: Thousand-Faced Wind Kill.
Pfft-pfft-pfft-pfft-pfft.
The dense sound of slicing was like the whisper of Death himself. Every flying tool that touched the domain of wind blades was shredded into a rain of iron dust.
Fireballs were blown apart and extinguished. Water arrows were diced into spray.
And the cultists who had charged forward met the most merciless baptism.
Armor and clothing tore like paper. Flesh before those absolute wind blades was as soft as tofu.
Severed arms and legs mixed with scalding blood and flew in every direction like harvested wheat. Screams that no longer sounded human ripped through the night sky.
One single breath.
Of the twenty-plus elite cultists, only a handful farther back who managed to throw up hasty defenses at the last instant survived with missing limbs or heavy wounds.
The rest—more than two-thirds—were simply dissected and minced into a rain of blood and flesh inside the raging storm of wind blades.
The thick, nauseating stench of blood instantly drowned out every earlier scent of fear.
The few survivors—including the leader—now lay collapsed in the pool of blood and minced meat like stupefied quail. They stared up at the demonic figure in the sky, eyes filled with nothing but boundless terror and despair.
The power they had taken such pride in looked utterly ridiculous before absolute strength.
The same brutality they had just inflicted on the villagers… had now been returned to them, complete and unfiltered.