While refining the contents of his "Senju Hashirama Threat Theory,"
Uchiha Makoto steadily made his way toward the capital of the Land of Fire.
The journey itself was uneventful—
aside from a few bandits foolish enough to block his path. Left with no other choice, Makoto relieved them of every valuable item they had.
After more than ten days of travel, he finally arrived at his destination.
Filled with anticipation, Makoto gazed upon a city that could only be described as magnificent.
As expected of the most powerful nation in the shinobi world.
The Land of Fire had been engulfed in warfare for a long time now, yet its capital—compared to the towns Makoto had passed along the way—was brimming with vitality, flourishing with life, a true picture of prosperity.
Of course, the world was never purely bright.
For such splendor to exist, someone always had to pay the price.
If you felt as though you were struggling under a heavy burden, then someone else was surely enjoying peace on your behalf.
Makoto didn't linger on such reflections. He didn't even stop to eat before heading straight toward the palace where the Fire Daimyō resided.
The area around the palace was heavily guarded, with elite troops stationed nearby.
These forces weren't meant to defend against shinobi—
they were meant to guard against rebellious civilians.
If a group of starving commoners were to rally under a banner, incite unrest, and swarm toward the capital, the consequences would be catastrophic.
Even if such upheaval were eventually suppressed, the Fire Daimyō cared deeply about appearances.
A sage ruler governed a peaceful realm; the capital was meant to be the pinnacle of order. Allowing unrest under his very nose would be nothing short of a public humiliation.
Other daimyō would seize the chance to ridicule him.
Thus, even though these ordinary soldiers were helpless against ninja, their presence was still necessary.
As for the Daimyō himself—
he was naturally protected by elite shinobi assigned exclusively to him.
Every daimyō stood atop a pyramid of power and wealth. For them, hiring ninja as twenty-four-hour bodyguards was trivial, the cost negligible.
If possible, the daimyō would have preferred to raise ninja of their own.
Though daimyō stood above the shinobi politically and kept them firmly suppressed, there existed a terror buried deep within their souls—
a fear unspoken for a thousand years.
Power was like a king's sword.
And the hilt of that sword was held firmly in the hands of the shinobi, not the daimyō.
Attempts to cultivate loyal ninja forces had been made countless times—
and every single one had failed.
Because the most critical knowledge—secret techniques and clan-exclusive ninjutsu—were treasures ninja clans would rather let rot than ever sell.
No price was high enough.
"Stop right there!"
As Makoto approached the palace complex, a guard barked sharply.
This was royal ground. Ordinary people weren't just forbidden to enter—
they weren't even allowed to get close.
And these guards truly dared to kill.
Makoto briefly considered sneaking in. Against him, these ordinary guards were meaningless.
But he was here to seek sponsorship, not to force an audience.
Meeting the Daimyō like that would hardly be appropriate.
That sort of behavior could wait until the future.
So Makoto obediently presented his letter of introduction.
Under the guards' suspicious gazes, he calmly revealed his Sharingan.
Moments later, terrified screams rang out.
The guards finally confirmed it—
this man was undeniably a member of the Uchiha clan.
The rumors were true. The crimson eyes with spinning tomoe… a single glance was enough to cast one into a genjutsu.
The Uchiha name truly carried weight.
If he had been an ordinary shinobi, he would have been driven away immediately.
A ninja? So what? I'm the Daimyō's—
ahem—the Daimyō's guard.
But the Uchiha were different.
Their reputation in the shinobi world was legendary. Even the Daimyō himself needed to maintain good relations with them.
Everyone knew that, unlike the Senju,
the Uchiha had a habit of producing extreme individuals—
ruthless, decisive, and utterly merciless.
And they truly would attack without hesitation.
The guard scrambled to inform his superior. Soon enough, a plump attendant emerged from the palace gates.
"Uchiha-sama, please follow me."
Under his guidance, Makoto was led into a reception hall and seated.
After waiting roughly half an hour, Makoto finally met his target—
The Fire Daimyō.
"It's been a long time since the Uchiha sent someone to visit,"
the Daimyō said warmly.
"Quick—serve more tea!"
He personally gestured for an attendant to refill Makoto's cup.
"Thank you, Your Excellency," Makoto replied.
After a brief self-introduction and some polite small talk, the two chatted casually.
Seeing that the atmosphere was favorable, the Daimyō soon steered the conversation toward what truly concerned him—
The current situation of the Uchiha clan.
This was something he cared about deeply.
The feud between the Uchiha and the Senju was no secret. Recently, the conflict between the new generation of both clans had escalated to an intense level.
Due to distance and slow communication, the Daimyō had been unable to obtain firsthand information.
Based on what he knew—
Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara, the respective clan heads, had fought repeatedly over the past few years.
But to the Daimyō, neither of them felt… human.
He had seen powerful ninja before—but Hashirama and Madara had surpassed the limits of what any normal shinobi could achieve.
According to reports, their most severe clash had affected an area spanning thousands of kilometers.
From afar, witnesses saw wooden dragons dancing, titanic warriors glaring in fury, blades cleaving mountains apart—
Scenes so exaggerated they defied belief.
The shockwaves alone reduced everything around them to barren wasteland.
When such intelligence reached him, the Daimyō had doubted its authenticity.
Could humans truly wield such power?
It was utterly terrifying.
What level of might was this?
Calling them gods would not be an exaggeration.
Two beings akin to deities had appeared in the shinobi world—
How could the Daimyō, who claimed to rule that world, ever feel at ease?
Hearing the urgency in the Daimyō's questioning,
Makoto smiled.
Time to apply the ointment.
(Author's Note:)
Updates have been slower lately due to experiments.
Graduate students don't get summer breaks.
Sigh… but missing a day or two doesn't mean the story's abandoned!