The scream came at dawn.
A maid had found Magistrate Hideaki first. She'd entered his chambers to wake him for morning prayers and discovered him cold in his bed, a single wound between his ribs. The blood had long since dried.
Within the hour, four more bodies were discovered.
The capital descended into chaos.
---
Captain Tadashi stood in Magistrate Hideaki's bedchamber, his jaw tight. He'd served in the palace guard for fifteen years. He'd seen battle. He'd seen death. This was different, though.
The wound was precise. Professional. A single thrust through the ribs, angled upward into the heart. No struggle. No defensive wounds. Hideaki had died before he could even reach for a weapon. The killer had been fast. Someone who knew exactly where to strike.
"Shinobi work," said Lieutenant Kaito from the doorway. He was young, barely twenty-five, but he had a good eye. "Has to be."
Tadashi didn't answer immediately. He crouched beside the bed, examining the floor. No footprints. No disturbance. The killer had moved like a ghost through this room, left nothing behind except a corpse.
"The window," Kaito continued. "It was left open."
"Check the other sites." Tadashi straightened. "I want to know if there's a pattern."
Kaito nodded and left.
Tadashi remained in the room, staring at the corpse. Five deaths in one night. All key supporters of the Daimyo. All killed with the same surgical precision. This wasn't random. Someone had planned this, selected targets carefully, executed them without hesitation.
This was a message.
---
The council chamber was packed. Officials crowded around the long table, their voices rising in panic and accusation. Some demanded immediate retaliation. Others called for increased security. A few sat in stunned silence, realizing they might be next.
Shinji sat at the head of the table, his face carved from stone.
He'd received the reports at sunrise. Five dead. All allies. All killed in their sleep by an unseen hand. The methods matched shinobi techniques. The timing was too perfect to be coincidence. Someone wanted him to know this was deliberate, wanted him to feel vulnerable.
And the only shinobi with reason to strike at the Land of Iron were the Kamizuru.
"My lord," said Advisor Hideaki, his voice trembling. "We must assume this was retaliation for the attacks on their camps. The Kamizuru Clan has—"
"The Kamizuru Clan has been our ally," Shinji interrupted. His voice was cold. Controlled. "Why would they betray us now?"
"Because they believe we betrayed them first," said Advisor Takeo. He was older, gray-haired, and one of the few men in the room who didn't seem afraid. "They've lost hundreds of shinobi on our soil. To them, it looks like we allowed it to happen."
"Or orchestrated it," added Hideaki.
Shinji's fingers tightened on the armrest. The wood creaked beneath his grip. "We did not."
"They don't know that," Takeo said. "And now their people are dead. Our people are dead. Trust is collapsing."
Silence fell over the chamber. Heavy and absolute.
Shinji stood slowly. Every eye turned to him. "Increase security around all remaining officials. Double the guard rotations. No one enters or leaves the palace without being searched." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "And send word to the Kamizuru. I want a meeting. Immediately."
Hideaki leaned forward. "My lord, is that wise? If they are responsible—"
"Then we will know soon enough." Shinji's gaze swept the room. "Dismissed."
The councilors filed out, murmuring amongst themselves. Their footsteps echoed against the stone floor, fading into the distance. Only Advisor Takeo remained, standing near the window with his hands clasped behind his back.
"You think it's them," Takeo said quietly.
"I don't know what to think." Shinji returned to his seat, feeling the weight of it press down on him. "But someone wants us to believe it's them."
Takeo considered this. "The mysterious attacker. The one killing Kamizuru shinobi."
"Perhaps." Shinji's eyes were distant, unfocused. "Or perhaps the Kamizuru sent the attacker themselves, and now they're covering their tracks by eliminating our alliance."
"That seems overly complicated."
"Everything about this situation is overly complicated." Shinji closed his eyes. The darkness behind his eyelids offered no comfort. "Which is why I need answers."
---
Three hundred miles away, in the heart of the Kamizuru stronghold, Lord Ishikawa read the report for the third time.
He was a short man, built like a boulder. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a body hardened by decades of combat. His face was weathered and scarred, each mark a story of survival. He was clan leader of the Kamizuru Clan. He'd turned it into one of the strongest shinobi clans in the Land of Earth. And now someone was trying to ruin it.
Two hundred sixteen shinobi. Gone just like that.
The numbers were staggering. Unacceptable. He'd lost people before, of course. War demanded sacrifice. But this was different. This was slaughter. Methodical. Relentless. Someone or something was hunting his people like animals, and he didn't even know who or what it was.
Mu stood across from him, arms folded. "Kurobachi's account is consistent. Six eyes. Regeneration. Immense chakra reserves." He paused. "This isn't a normal opponent."
"It can be a mythical creature. I have heard of them. Beings created purely of chakra. The tailed beasts. But the appearance doesn't match what I have read about the tailed beasts." Ishikawa set the report down. The paper felt thin between his fingers, fragile. "What do we know about the Land of Iron's response?"
"Nothing yet. But I expect we'll hear from them soon."
As if summoned by the words, a messenger appeared in the doorway. He bowed quickly, his movements sharp with urgency. "Lord Ishikawa. Word from the capital of the Land of Iron."
Ishikawa gestured for him to continue.
"Five officials were assassinated last night. All supporters of Daimyo Shinji. The methods suggest shinobi involvement." The messenger hesitated. "The Daimyo is requesting an immediate meeting."
The room went very still.
Mu's eyes narrowed. "Assassinations. The same night Kurobachi returned."
Ishikawa stood slowly. His chair scraped against the stone floor. "They think we did it."
"Or they're trying to frame us." Mu turned to face him fully. "Either way, this is escalating."
Ishikawa felt the anger rising in his chest, hot and sharp. Someone was playing them. Someone wanted the Kamizuru and the Land of Iron to tear each other apart. The question was why.
"Send a delegation," Ishikawa said. "I want answers. And I want to know if Shinji had anything to do with our camps being slaughtered."
"You think he's behind the six-eyed demon?"
"I think someone is playing us against each other." Ishikawa's jaw tightened. "And I intend to find out who."
---
Muzan stood behind the counter of his shop, arranging bolts of fabric with careful precision. The morning light filtered through the window, casting soft shadows across the floor. Each movement was measured, deliberate. The merchant performing his daily rituals.
Outside, the city was in turmoil. Voices shouted in the streets. Guards rushed past in formation, their armor clanking with each step. Customers hurried by with worried expressions, clutching their belongings close to their chests as though expecting thieves at every corner.
The door opened. An elderly woman entered, her face pale beneath the morning light.
"Kanzaki-san," she said breathlessly. "Have you heard?"
Muzan looked up, his expression perfectly concerned. Warm eyes. Gentle features. The kind face of a man who cared. "Heard what?"
"Five officials. Murdered in their homes last night." She clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "They say it was shinobi."
"How terrible." Muzan's voice was soft, sympathetic. He set down the fabric he'd been holding and stepped closer. "Are you safe? Do you need anything?"
"I... I just wanted to see if you were alright. You're always so kind." She smiled weakly. "It's good to know there are still decent people in this city."
"Thank you." Muzan bowed slightly. "Please, be careful on your way home."
She left, still trembling.
The moment the door closed, Muzan's expression vanished. The warmth drained from his eyes like water through cracked stone.
He turned toward the back room. "Did you hear?"
Kokushibo emerged from the shadows. "Yes."
"It's spreading faster than I anticipated." Muzan folded his hands behind his back. "By nightfall, the entire capital will believe the shinobi are attacked them. And the Kamizuru will believe Shinji orchestrated the attacks on their camps."
"Both sides will prepare for conflict."
"Yes." Muzan moved to the window, watching the chaos unfold in the streets below. "And when they meet, the violence will be inevitable."
Kokushibo's six eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light. "What is the next step?"
Muzan was silent for a long moment. Then he smiled. Barely there, but unmistakable.
"Kamizuru delegations should be arriving soon. Your subordinates are ready, correct? Then let Shinji and the Kamizuru destroy each other. And when the dust settles..." He turned, crimson eyes catching the morning light. "I will step forward and restore order."
"As the rightful Daimyo."
"As the only Daimyo." Muzan's voice softened, taking on that deceptive calm. "Shinji stole my throne. I will reclaim it eventually."