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Chapter 186: Blitzing the Daimyo Estate
Yahiko's heart jolted. He followed Matsu's gaze, and in an instant, the fog in his mind cleared.
His eyes reignited, no longer with a flickering hope, but with a searing flame of fury and resolve.
"I understand now, Brother Matsu."
This prosperity didn't appear out of thin air.
Its sustenance was the blood and lives ruthlessly squeezed from small nations like the Land of Rain, the Land of Wind, and the Land of Earth.
Konan watched a girl her own age on the street eating a candied hawthorn skewer. She thought of her peers in Amegakure, scavenging for food scraps in the mud. She silently tightened her grip on the paper flower Matsu had given her.
Concealed behind his hair, Nagato's legendary eyes rippled.
In his vision, a foul miasma of desire, arrogance, and greed floated above this flourishing city. The source of it all converged on the magnificent Daimyo Estate.
"Let's go."
Dragon led the group, merging into the bustling crowd like ghosts.
They drew no attention. To the comfortable residents of the Land of Fire, they were merely travel-worn outsiders. None suspected that these silent "Rain Country hicks" were here to overturn their entire world.
The group crossed the main street and tucked into a secluded corner.
"If the intel is correct, the Daimyo Estate is guarded by rotations of the 'Guardian Shinobi Twelve.' They are elites selected from the major clans, with strength comparable to Jonin," a rain ninja reported in a low voice. "However, most of their main force has been deployed to the front lines with Konoha's troops. Their defenses are at their weakest right now."
Dragon nodded, neither confirming nor denying the report.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted nearby.
A few guards in samurai armor, swords at their waists, were roughly shoving an elderly vegetable farmer. The old man's basket had been overturned, and his fresh produce was scattered across the dusty ground.
"You old fossil! I told you to move your stall. Are you deaf?" the lead samurai barked arrogantly, pointing his scabbard at the old man's nose. "This road is reserved for the Daimyo's procession. A filthy wretch like you doesn't belong here!"
The old man knelt on the ground, bowing repeatedly. "Please, milord, have mercy! I'm leaving, I'm leaving right now..."
His hands trembled as he tried to gather the vegetables—the only livelihood for his family for the month.
"Get lost!"
The samurai kicked the old man's shoulder, sending him sprawling. He then contemptuously ground his boot into the vegetables, crushing them into the dirt.
The surrounding civilians watched with suppressed rage, but quickly looked away, pretending they saw nothing.
Yahiko's body tensed, a surge of fury rushing to his head. He instinctively moved to charge forward.
A hand pressed down on his shoulder.
It was Dragon.
"Brother Matsu?" Yahiko looked back, confused.
"Your anger shouldn't be wasted on small fry like this." Dragon's eyes were as calm as still water. He looked at the posturing samurai as if they were mere buzzing flies.
"Our target is the one sitting at the top, the one who wrote these rules."
Dragon withdrew his hand. His voice was barely a whisper, yet it struck like a thunderclap in the minds of Yahiko, Nagato, and Konan.
"Remember this feeling. Etch the anger, the resentment, and the humiliation into your hearts. They will become your greatest strength when you finally swing your blade."
Yahiko took a deep breath, forcing his impulses down.
He stared fixedly at the retreating backs of the samurai, memorizing their faces, the old man's despair, and the numbness of the crowd.
He understood.
If you strike down one guard, more will take his place.
Only by toppling the throne that breeds this corruption can the root of evil be severed.
The group silently bypassed the main street, moving through the shadows of alleys and rooftops like wraiths. Under Dragon's lead, they easily evaded every patrol and lookout.
Soon, the vast, heavily fortified Daimyo Estate came into view.
Two rows of disciplined samurai stood at the gate, halberds in hand, vigilantly scanning the perimeter. But their vigilance was largely performative.
After all, who would dare attack the Fire Daimyo's estate?
On this continent, the Daimyo was Heaven itself.
"Brother Matsu, I understand!" Yahiko looked up, the confusion gone, replaced by a steady flame. The samurai's arrogance, the farmer's despair, and the "happiness" of the Land of Fire's people wove into a cruel tapestry in his mind. This prosperity was built upon the blood of the Land of Rain.
Konan clutched her paper flower, her small frame trembling slightly. She glanced at the girl on the street again. For a child in Amegakure, simply having a full stomach was a luxury.
Nagato's Rinnegan swirled beneath his hair, capturing the foul aura of greed hovering over the city. Like invisible tentacles, they all reached back to that golden estate.
"Let's go," Dragon said simply, his silhouette blending into the twilight.
They reached the estate gate. The samurai stood tall, their halberds gleaming coldly. Yet, their focus was shallow. They never imagined these "hicks" were here to end their era.
Dragon raised his hand, signaling the group to stop. He didn't act immediately, instead observing the wind direction around the estate.
"Konan."
She nodded, knowing her role. She pulled several neatly folded slips of paper from her robes. With a touch of her finger, they transformed into lifelike paper butterflies. They took flight, drifting soundlessly toward the estate. They slipped through window cracks and over eaves, appearing as nothing more than common decorations.
Yahiko watched with awe. Konan's Paper Ninjutsu had become far more refined than it was in the village.
Nagato closed his eyes, extending his sensory range. His perception compensated for the physical limits of the butterflies, piercing through walls to track the flow of chakra.
In less than fifteen minutes, the butterflies returned, landing softly on Konan's fingertips. As each one unfolded, it revealed a detailed map marked with patrol routes, lookout positions, and the chakra signatures of the guards.
"The Daimyo is in the 'Golden Pavilion' on the east side. It's the most heavily guarded, but most are just ordinary samurai," Konan reported softly, a hint of pride in her voice. "Only two members of the Twelve have strong chakra signatures there."
Dragon took one of the maps, his eyes scanning it.
"The Twelve. Two Jonin-level combatants," he murmured. This matched the intel.
"Brother Matsu, do we move now?" Yahiko couldn't contain his excitement. The anger in his blood was finally finding an outlet.
Dragon didn't answer. He looked up at the sky over the capital, glowing faintly from the city lights.
It wasn't just the Land of Fire. His shadow clones were leading missions in the other four great nations simultaneously. He wouldn't give them time to prepare.
With his current strength, even a simple shadow clone was enough to contend with an average Kage-level opponent.
The Daimyos were arrogant, viewing Amegakure as ants. They never expected that while they dismissively waved their brushes to order the invasion of the Rain, the Reaper's scythe was already hanging over their heads.
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