Chapter 11 — The Birth of the Enemy of All Ninja Villages
"Will the ninja village our lord wants to build become a poison eating away at our Land of Fields?"
"What's really behind this tax?"
"Ninjas aren't saints—maybe they're worse than those nobles!"
The people were loyal, but they weren't fools. And Oda Nobunaga never wanted blind zealots—he wanted a people who could think, so their faith would have meaning.
So when Murata, realizing his own downfall, began fanning fear with his silver tongue, the words found their mark.
Murmurs rose through the dark, restless crowd, and soon countless whispers turned into an uneasy tide.
It hadn't been long since the five great nations of the shinobi world had formed their five hidden villages.
To the elderly who still remembered the early days—the aged Tsuchikage, for instance—the rise of the ninja villages was not an abstract idea.
They had seen with their own eyes the Great Ninja Wars that followed, and the ruin they left behind.
Even here, among the humble people of the Land of Fields, there were those who remembered the stories.
They had seen—or heard of—the horrors of shinobi wars.
And one truth had sunk deep into their hearts:
Ninjas were not human.
They wielded chakra—an energy that ordinary people could neither touch nor comprehend. What else could they be but monsters?
A ninja village, then, was a den of such monsters.
A nest from which bloodthirsty beasts could emerge at any moment to devour the weak.
"Do you see it now, Oda Nobunaga?" Murata's heart bloomed with cruel delight as he raised his voice above the crowd.
He shouted, his tone righteous but dripping with venom:
"We are a small nation—our size cannot possibly sustain a ninja village!
To build one, we must bleed ourselves with taxes.
To feed it, we must bleed even more.
And what will we get in return?
Violence! Brutality!
And the risk of being dragged into the next great ninja war!
You've all been deceived by that child!"
His words spread like wildfire.
To the common folk, the thought of those sky-leaping, fire-breathing beings with chakra—those walking weapons—was terrifying.
In their eyes, a simple farmer or merchant before a ninja was no different from a chicken laid upon a butcher's block.
When the nobles oppressed them, at least rebellion was possible.
But against ninjas—monsters who could vanish into smoke, crush stone with a gesture, and kill with a glance—what hope did they have?
To labor and pay, only to raise a class of superhuman masters who would, in turn, oppress them worse than before—no sane villager would welcome that.
It wasn't an impossible fear.
From an outsider's view, the stories of Konoha's ninjas might seem noble or inspiring.
But if you truly lived here—among the powerless, not the powerful—the view changed entirely.
To a villager, a ninja was not a hero, but a god of death in human skin.
Their fates hung on a whim, their lives as fragile as a paper lantern in a storm.
Who would want to live every day like that—breathing under the shadow of someone else's mercy?
And this was a cruel world already.
"During the Great Ninja Wars, those shinobi slaughtered civilians without mercy!"
"Even in peace, our own country's ninja clans kill whoever they please—what can the government do about it?"
"My aunt's uncle's sister was murdered by one, and the officials couldn't even punish the killer!"
"That's right! If they're dangerous when scattered, what'll happen when they're gathered together?"
"Mark my words—they'll end up worse than the nobles!"
The storm of complaints swelled, echoing through the crowd like a sea of despair and doubt.
Even their faith in Nobunaga began to tremble.
It is human nature—not to fear poverty, but to rage against unfairness.
Just as the people of Konoha once shunned Naruto Uzumaki, whispering that he was the Nine-Tails demon, the people here projected all their anger, fear, and envy upon the unknown.
It was jealousy disguised as morality.
They envied the power they lacked.
They hated that others possessed it.
They loathed themselves for being powerless.
Strength, after all, is just another word for survival.
Everyone wishes for it—
and everyone secretly resents those who already have it.
That is the darkness of humanity.
And now, under Murata's poisonous words, the people of the Land of Fields found that same darkness stirring in their hearts—
a boiling envy, fear, and hatred toward the very idea of ninjas.
Just like how the people of Konoha treated Naruto Uzumaki.
In the end, it looked as though Naruto had gained everyone's recognition—but seen from another angle, wasn't that "acceptance" just the people's surrender to a power they could never resist?
Hah… yes. That's what humanity truly is.
People don't change—they just learn how to bow to what they fear.
Murata smiled with grim satisfaction, watching the crowd grow restless under his words. His eyes gleamed with mockery as he turned toward Oda Nobunaga.
Don't think you're the only one who knows how to sway the hearts of men, his gaze seemed to say. You play with people's faith? So can I.
"Even the daimyō of the Five Great Nations can't truly control their hidden villages," Murata declared, raising his voice for all to hear.
"When the day comes that your precious ninja village challenges your authority, Oda Nobunaga—what will you do then?"
It was a calculated question, heavy with meaning.
Everyone in the shinobi world knew of the long-standing tension between feudal lords and the ninja villages.
The so-called "One Village, One Country" was nothing but a polite fiction to save face—everyone understood that daimyōs didn't command the ninja.
To the ninja villages, the daimyō were nothing more than coin purses—full, fat, and endlessly refillable.
If a village grew strong enough, it could drain its lord dry whenever it pleased.
Compared to that, a daimyō's title was worth less than the wooden plaques hung at a shrine.
"The leader of Otogakure," Nobunaga said quietly, "will be me."
The words were soft—yet they struck like thunder.
The crowd froze. Even Murata was stunned.
"What?" he croaked, his voice cracking with disbelief.
Those wild, untamable shinobi… submitting to a mere boy-lord? Impossible.
"You jest!" he shouted, face contorted with rage and confusion.
But Nobunaga didn't even spare him a glance.
He turned his horse and addressed the people directly—his voice calm, resolute, and resonant.
"The Land of Fields will undergo reform," he began.
"Every child of age who is willing may come to Otogakure and undertake the trials of the shinobi.
Those who pass will enter the academy to learn the arts of ninjutsu.
The nation will bear all costs."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
But Nobunaga's words rolled on, steady as a river.
"Furthermore, the ninja clans will no longer stand apart from our people—they will become part of the Land of Fields.
Otogakure will be responsible for our nation's defense, for purging bandits, quelling injustice, aiding in times of disaster.
And in time, those duties will pass to your sons, your daughters, your grandchildren.
Otogakure will not be a power above the nation, but a shield and strength of the nation."
He paused, sweeping his gaze across the stunned faces before him.
"Ninjas should never be detached from the people.
They were born from the people—and they must serve the people."
It was like a lightning bolt splitting the dark sky.
The murmurs of fear and suspicion evaporated.
No one could find the strength—or the reason—to object anymore.
For the common folk, it had never been about poverty, only fairness.
Even if they themselves would never become ninjas, what about their children? Their grandchildren?
So long as there was a chance, even a fragile, fleeting one—
they would believe. They had to believe.
Murata's face twisted with fury, his voice hoarse as he spat out,
"You're mad! Such a thing can't be done!"
But Nobunaga only smiled faintly as the people bowed before him, their faith rekindled, their eyes shining with hope.
Murata's final shout was half fear, half prophecy:
"You'll make the Land of Fields the enemy of every ninja village in the world!"