Creak…
Creak…
While Yahiko and Konan were still reeling from the horrific sight before them, the massive city gates began to move.
The water cascading beneath the gate suddenly churned in every direction, drawn by the tremendous force created as the gates slowly opened.
“The gates are opening!” Hope flickered in the refugees’ lifeless eyes.
Like corpses stirred back to life, they all turned toward the city and began shuffling forward.
Yahiko’s face lit up.
“They’re opening!” He instinctively took a step toward the bridge— Only for someone to seize him by the collar and yank him back so hard that the breath caught in his throat.
“Cough!
What are you—” Before he could finish, a figure silently appeared in the center of the bridge.
A conical straw hat shielded him from the rain.
He wore standard shinobi attire.
Most striking of all was the forehead protector bearing the symbol of Amegakure—four vertical lines resembling falling rain.
An Amegakure shinobi.
The refugees stopped immediately.
Alongside the numbness and desperate hope in their faces, another emotion surfaced.
Fear.
Their terror of shinobi overwhelmed even their desire to live.
Moments later, two orderly ranks of fully armed samurai marched onto the bridge.
Their polished armor clinked with every step.
Apparently fearing the refugees might try to force their way inside, they silently formed a defensive line and even erected wooden barricades across the bridge.
“Anyone who crosses without permission will be executed!” “Anyone who attempts to breach the gates will be executed!” The refugees instinctively retreated beneath the stern warning.
Then the Amegakure shinobi stepped forward.
He slowly swept his gaze across the crowd.
“You’ve all been hungry for a long time…
haven’t you?” Only after a long silence did a few weak voices answer him.
The shinobi frowned slightly.
“Who turned you into this?” “Who took your homes away?” His voice grew increasingly impassioned.
“Our country continues to weep, yet the weak leader of Amegakure still grovels before the great nations that plunged us into war!” “And what has all that submission earned us?” He paused dramatically.
Seeing every pair of eyes fixed upon him, a smile appeared.
“During the First Great Ninja War, countless small nations were destroyed by the Five Great Nations.” “We survived only because we served as their battlefield.” “And now…” “The Second Great Ninja War approaches.” “Once again, our homeland is becoming their battlefield!” “Everything we have is being taken from us by the great nations!” “As long as that incompetent leader remains in power, this country will never stop crying!” “What we need is a true hero!” “A hero who will lead us against the great nations!” “A hero whose overwhelming strength will finally bring us peace!” “That hero…” “…is Lord Hanzo!” “Lord Hanzo of the Salamander!” The Amegakure shinobi raised his voice.
“Lord Hanzo has generously offered his own food stores to aid everyone here!” “And he hopes that those with courage will join his cause!” His speech ignited something inside the refugees.
Especially after the samurai erected large awnings against the rain and carried out basket after basket of fresh bread.
The crowd erupted into excited whispers.
Then…
Someone shouted.
“Lord Hanzo!” Soon the entire crowd was chanting in unison.
“Lord Hanzo!” “Lord Hanzo!” Rain dripped from the edge of Unkawa’s umbrella like strings of scattered pearls.
Watching the crowd descend into near fanaticism, a faintly amused smile tugged at his lips.
“How painfully boring.” He glanced to one side.
Someone must be advising Hanzo behind the scenes.
Still…
For people burning with righteous passion, this kind of performance works surprisingly well.
Beside him, Yahiko stared fixedly at the scene.
His eyes burned with restless emotion.
The Amegakure shinobi continued speaking.
He praised Hanzo’s strength.
His wisdom.
His compassion.
He denounced the weakness of Amegakure’s current leadership.
He condemned the Five Great Nations for bringing suffering to the Land of Rain.
Only after distributing roughly half the bread did he raise his voice again.
“Today’s relief distribution ends here!” “Lord Hanzo is raising funds to recruit patriots willing to change this weeping nation!” “Any adult man who wishes to join may register now!” The moment those words fell— The crowd broke into heart-wrenching cries.
“Lord Shinobi!” “Can’t women join too?” “I’ll do anything!” “Please don’t leave!” “My child is starving!” “Please…
just one loaf!” Several refugees stumbled toward him.
The smile on the Amegakure shinobi’s face disappeared.
His eyes turned cold.
Ridiculous.
There were thousands of refugees gathered here.
Even the capital couldn’t possibly feed them all.
Handing out enough bread to help a hundred people each day was already more than enough to maintain appearances.
At the end of the day…
They were nothing more than expendable cannon fodder.
The instant one refugee reached toward him— The shinobi lashed out.
“AAAH!” His kick smashed into the back of the man’s knee.
The force bent the leg at an unnatural angle.
The refugee screamed and collapsed onto the muddy ground.
“Don’t push your luck, bastard.” “You should be thanking Lord Hanzo.” “Otherwise I’d have killed you myself.” His icy smile swept over the rest of the crowd.
Once again…
Everyone remembered what shinobi truly were.
Then another samurai stepped forward.
His voice rang across the square.
“By order of the Daimyo!” “The palace is recruiting attendants!” “Girls between twelve and sixteen years of age.” “Those with pleasing appearances will receive priority.” “Their families will be given five loaves of bread.” The crowd erupted again.
Before long, a frail teenage girl stepped forward.
She held the hand of a boy no older than five or six.
“Sir…” “I’m willing to serve the Daimyo.” “But…” “Could I have ten loaves?” “No…” “Seven.” “Seven?” The samurai repeated flatly.
Then he tossed five loaves at her feet.
“A transaction is a transaction.” “No matter who you are…” “You’re worth five.” The girl said nothing more.
She quietly picked up the bread.
Kneeling beside the little boy, she forced a smile.
“Jiyu…” “Big Sister is going somewhere nice.” “Take these home—” Before she could finish— A man burst from the crowd.
He snatched two loaves from her arms with such force that she was dragged to the ground.
Without even looking back, he disappeared into the crowd.
The girl scrambled to her feet.
“Give them back!” She chased after him— Only for someone else in the crowd to deliberately trip her.
She crashed to the ground again.
Laughter erupted.
Cruel.
Jealous.
Malicious.
The refugees had fallen to the very bottom of society.
Constant war.
Constant hunger.
Constant death.
Little by little…
Their humanity had begun to twist.
Neither the samurai nor the Amegakure shinobi made any move to intervene.
Their transaction had already been completed.
Whether the girl could protect the bread afterward…
Was no longer their concern.
“…How…” “…How can this happen…” From a distance, Yahiko stared in disbelief.
His cracked lips trembled.
Fresh blood seeped from them as he whispered hoarsely.
He couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed.
He and Konan had crossed the country clinging to their last hope, surviving on scraps they scavenged from ruins.
Yet what lay before them now…
Was even more hopeless than everything they had endured along the way.
Why?
Why had the capital become like this?
“Because this is the real world.” As though reading Yahiko’s thoughts, Unkawa let out a quiet sigh.
“Reality…” “…is never beautiful.” He slowly raised his eyes.
Without anyone noticing…
Several gaunt figures had quietly surrounded them.
Their sunken eyes were fixed upon the bundle strapped to Unkawa’s back.
Every emaciated face was twisted with naked greed.