Chapter 81: Well, I've Invited an Ancestor for Myself
The schism tearing through the Hidden Sand Village had brought its already sluggish development to a grinding halt. If the infighting continued, it would inevitably lead to shinobi killing their own comrades. Shamon, the Second Kazekage, was a man of considerable vision. He loved his village and was desperate to see it prosper.
To prevent further internal friction from consuming them all, he devised a plan: find the missing daughter of the former Daimyō. By supporting her rise to power under the banner of righteousness, he could call upon the nobles of the Land of Wind to offer their allegiance. If the former Daimyō's daughter took power, she would, in turn, be indebted to him and support Sunagakure. He never expected the plan to actually succeed.
As a result, Yanakawa Fūka, who had been living a peaceful life in the Land of Hot Springs, was unceremoniously brought to the Land of Wind by the shinobi Shamon had dispatched.
But then, the news leaked. The current Daimyō hired elite assassins to intercept the convoy and eliminate everyone, including Yanakawa Fūka herself.
It was precisely because she had "encountered" that battle that she adopted her current alias, Kazushi. The old servant who had cared for her since childhood had been conveniently killed in the ambush, and with Shamon being the only one who supposedly knew her true identity, no one could blame her for embellishing the details.
A young girl, driven since childhood to avenge her father. A prodigy possessing an extraordinary talent for Wind Release. A woman who, after years of intensive cultivation, had returned to her homeland to reclaim her birthright and punish her parents' murderers. The narrative wasn't too much to ask for, was it? Not at all.
Kazushi remained where she was, going nowhere. She waited for another full day before Shamon finally arrived, his personal guard in tow.
Seeing the girl who looked exactly as the intelligence reports described, Shamon let out a long, quiet sigh of relief. One of his own subordinates, it turned out, had leaked the information to Kawakawa Shō for a pouch of gold, and Kawakawa had dutifully passed it on to the Daimyō. Fortunately, Kazushi was a shinobi herself and had managed to escape the ordeal.
After confirming her identity, he had a carriage prepared.
"Princess Kazushi, it is a blessing that you are safe," Shamon said, his voice laced with practiced gravity. "This way, please. From this moment on, I will personally lead the guard to ensure your protection."
"Then I shall be in your care, Lord Kazekage," Kazushi replied, her voice soft as she settled into the carriage.
Shamon was quite thoughtful, even arranging for two maidservants to attend to her needs. Kazushi decided then and there that she would only sideline the man, not kill him. After all, he was shaping up to be a particularly notable sheep, ripe for the fleecing.
In the days that followed, Shamon escorted Kazushi on a tour of the Land of Wind, visiting the estates of its various nobles. Kazushi played her part to perfection, acting like a beautiful, silent doll. She allowed herself to be led by the hand, standing demurely behind Shamon as he bluffed and cajoled the aristocrats with grand speeches about legitimacy and how Princess Kazushi was the one true heir.
These words were, of course, merely the surface-level theatrics. Behind the scenes, Shamon was bartering, trading future favors and influence.
And where would the rewards for these favors come from, you ask?
Why, once Princess Kazushi took control of the Daimyō's Residence, the coffers would be hers. Those who had supported her ascension would naturally be first in line to carve up the spoils.
Some nobles disagreed. Some remained neutral. And some, smelling opportunity, chose to take a side. Regardless of their stance, they all looked at Kazushi with the same expression—as if they already had the delicate little princess firmly under their thumb.
Only one man, a warrior named Matsumoto Akira, seemed genuinely worried. He was the son of the former captain of the Daimyō's guard, and upon learning of Kazushi's appearance, he had immediately sought her out to offer his protection.
"Princess Kazushi," he whispered to her one evening, his brow furrowed with concern. "The Kazekage brought you back with ill intentions. You must be exceedingly careful, Princess."
"I know," she replied simply. "It's fine."
Seeing Kazushi's placid, unruffled expression, Matsumoto Akira felt a wave of relief wash over him. Since the Princess was so calm, she must have already devised a countermeasure.
The day finally came. Shamon, leading a contingent of his most elite shinobi, escorted Kazushi to the Daimyō's Residence in the capital of the Land of Wind. The air was thick with tension; this was clearly the day of the final showdown.
Upon arriving, they were met with a predictable sight: Kawakawa Shō, standing proudly at the current Daimyō's side. Shamon's face turned thunderously dark. The daimyō of the other Four Great Nations were already little more than figureheads; the era of their absolute rule was destined to fade into history. How could anyone be so foolish as to still tie their fate to a dying institution?
The Daimyō of the Land of Wind, upon seeing Kazushi, put on a hypocritical display, calling out to his "dear niece" with a voice dripping with false sentiment.
Kazushi continued to play the part of a decorative vase, watching impassively as the factions postured. It began as a war of words, but when rhetoric failed, the inevitable clash of steel began.
One shinobi commanded puppets on strings of chakra, their wooden limbs clashing against flesh and bone. Another unleashed torrents of wind, scythes of air screaming through the grand hall. Hidden weapons—kunai and shuriken—flashed through the air from every direction.
Perhaps out of some lingering concern for the Daimyō and her own "fragile" presence, the air was surprisingly free of poison gas or senbon.
The chaotic scene was so utterly pedestrian that Kazushi felt herself begin to doze off.
'Honestly, could they just hurry it up?'she thought, stifling a yawn.'This is painful to watch. A complete waste of time. And Shamon—can't you be a bit more impressive? Use an ultimate move or something and end this quickly. This level of combat power is so much trashier than the First Hokage's.'
"Everyone, stop!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the din.
Unfortunately, no one listened. When they needed her, she was the Princess; when they didn't, she was just part of the background scenery. No need to pay her any mind, right?
A faint, cold smile touched Kazushi's lips as she formed a single hand seal.
"Wind Release: Sky-Rending Blade Net."
In an instant, the air itself seemed to solidify. Countless blades of pure wind materialized, densely packed and interwoven into a massive, shimmering net that filled the entire chamber. A low, ominous hum vibrated through the room as the construct descended upon the brawling crowd.
The range of the jutsu was immense, blanketing the whole hall. Yet, as if guided by an unseen intelligence, the blades wove through the combatants with terrifying precision.
The sounds of battle were replaced by a cacophony of screams, splintering tables, and the shriek of stone walls being sliced open.
When the last of the wind blades dissipated, the hall had fallen silent. A great number of shinobi lay groaning or still upon the floor. The Daimyō, who had been sitting on his high platform as steady as a mountain, now had his head on the floorboards, his eyes wide open in a final, unseeing glare.
A single wind blade had sliced clean through the massive crossbeam above his throne. The heavy timber had fallen, landing squarely on top of him. His corpse rolled gracelessly from the high platform, tumbling down the steps to land in the center of the room.
The survivors stared at the Daimyō's body, suddenly as quiet as cicadas in the dead of winter.
Kazushi's cold smile widened. "Now," she asked, her voice dangerously soft, "can we stop?"
Everyone scrambled back in terror. Only a fool would dare to continue fighting now.
As they retreated, a dawning horror settled upon them. The shinobi belonging to the Daimyō's faction were almost all dead or incapacitated. The majority of those still standing were from Shamon's side.
But Shamon felt no joy. The look he gave Kazushi was one of pure, unadulterated disbelief. The investigation report had stated that she knew Wind Release, yes, but it had failed to mention it was this kind of absurd, monstrous Wind Release.
If he hadn't misidentified it just now... that technique was conceptually similar to the First Hokage's legendary creations. Thinking about it, the First Hokage and the former Daimyō were distant relatives, so it seemed to make sense that the former Daimyō's daughter, the Princess, would be exceptionally gifted... Like hell it did!
Had he invited a puppet Daimyō back for himself?
No. He had invited back a living ancestor, a goddess of destruction he couldn't possibly afford to provoke.
With this kind of strength, who in their right mind would dare to mess with her? He had initially harbored doubts about Yanakawa Fūka's identity, but he had later confirmed she wasn't using a Transformation Technique. Coupled with her appearance being a near-perfect copy of the former Daimyō's wife, the nobles had already accepted her as the legitimate heir.
Now, she was the future Daimyō. It was set in stone.
Shamon could already foresee his miserable life stretching out before him. With Yanakawa Fūka sitting on the Daimyō's throne, he, who couldn't hope to best her in a fight, would be utterly constrained. The impoverished Hidden Sand Village, unable to develop, would see its people become so poor they'd be eating dirt and drinking the north wind.
The thought of these days, with no end in sight, made Shamon shed tears of bitter pain.
'Sunagakure is beyond saving,'he thought, a wave of despair washing over him.'I should just lie flat and give up...'
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