Since the establishment of the ten Broodmothers, the southern half of the Land of Tea had become Aburame Tetsumaru's personal domain. The miners technically belonged to the Hidden Leaf and the Daimyo of Tea, but the farmers and fishermen? They belonged to Tetsumaru.
And since when could any random stray dog just slaughter his property?
Was there no law? Was there no justice?
Fine, in this godforsaken corner of the world, there truly was neither.
But Tetsumaru had fists the size of sandbags, and those were a hell of a lot more effective than any legal code.
Without hesitation, he dropped all work and set out, radiating a murderous aura. Before leaving, he didn't forget to tell the few reporting farmers to hurry home.
The farmers bowed and scraped, retreating in a state of terrified reverence.
Once they were out of earshot, they began to discuss the encounter in excited, staccato bursts. They spoke with thick accents and through missing teeth, making it hard to decipher their words, but it all boiled down to one sentiment: Our Lord is a bit strange, but he's a truly good man.
Tetsumaru's kindness toward those under his rule was an instinctive reflex; the foundations laid by his past-life education were difficult to shake.
Of course, he had other motivations now. Although he was gradually moving toward a "Swarm Civilization," the future was unpredictable.
Once he broke through the boundaries of the Shinobi World, achieved genuine immortality, and stepped onto the grand path of a Sovereign of Civilization, his demand for resources would only grow. It was hard to say what material resources he would need—technology and the direction of civilization would dictate that.
But the demand for intellectual resources? That would never go out of style. As the saying goes: "What's the most important thing in the 21st century? Talent. Talent. And goddammit, it's still talent!"
These farmers and fishermen were already his assets. Protecting the intellectual resources he already possessed was only logical.
Tetsumaru had even planned it out: in a few years, around Year 45 of Konoha, he would roll out three years of compulsory education in his territory and start building a standard heavy industrial system.
On one hand, the output of heavy industry was substantial enough to be a vital supplement to the Swarm's productivity—far better than just offering up fish, shrimp, and seaweed.
On the other hand, heavy industry itself was a powerful educational tool. It would significantly raise the intelligence of the next generation of his subjects. Perhaps—just perhaps—"bright" souls would be of great use in the future.
But regardless of his long-term plans, if someone wanted to kill people on his turf, they first had to be able to handle him—and his Swarm.
Tetsumaru arrived at Awaji Village. The fishy tang of the sea breeze was tainted by a faint, sickly-sweet rot: the smell of corpses.
After nine years of war, Tetsumaru knew that smell intimately. Especially during those years in the Land of Rain—the scent of wet rust mixed with rotting flesh was etched into his brain.
Where did this bastard come from? Such sloppy work.
The fire in Tetsumaru's heart began to burn. Back in the Land of Rain, he had watched ninjas come and go, leaving countless civilian casualties in their wake. He had been suppressing a dark, frantic rage for a long time.
But that was war. That was a battlefield. He had been a clay bodhisattva crossing a river—barely able to save himself, let alone others. He'd had to cover his eyes and pretend not to see until he became numb.
Later, he fought in the Land of Rivers and the Land of Wind, but those battles took place in desolate wilderness, ninja killing ninja.
When he returned to the Land of Rain the second time, the country was so dead it was indistinguishable from the wild.
Then came the Land of Earth—nothing but mountains. The civilians in the valleys had been evacuated by the Iwa ninja long before the fighting started.
Tetsumaru hadn't encountered a civilian massacre in years. Between the busyness of his research and the thrill of his breakthroughs, that dark rage had been buried deep.
He didn't expect that a single whiff of that familiar scent would drag it all back up. Stirred by years of suppression, his killing intent became uncontrollable.
There would be no new "research materials" collected today.
The scene was bloody. Most of the victims had been hacked in two, but the wounds were jagged and torn. The murder weapon was massive and incredibly dull.
Tetsumaru narrowed his eyes and looked out at the sea facing the fishing village. In that direction lay... Kirigakure. Were Mist ninja responsible for this?
Mist ninja, you are courting death.
The killer was arrogant. He hadn't bothered to hide his tracks; the trail leaving the village was blatant, lacking even a shred of shinobi caution.
He had barely cleared a single mountain—less than two kilometers away—when the Swarm found the target. Through his Domain Field Barrier, Tetsumaru saw the man: a rogue wearing a filthy cloak, his matted hair tied in a messy topknot. His Mist headband bore a deep, jagged horizontal scratch.
But what struck Tetsumaru most was the massive blade thrust into the ground beside him. The Executioner's Blade.
This thing is already out in the world?
The thought flickered for a second before being drowned by bloodlust. It didn't matter who he was. He was going down.
"Heh... this killing intent. Impressive, but truly stupid." The rogue ninja put down his food and stood up, pulling the massive blade from the earth. With a casual flick, he shook the sand from the steel. "Bringing such obvious bloodlust into a fight with a Mist ninja? You're asking to die."
Ninja Art: Hidden Mist Jutsu!
The rogue exhaled a thick, white fog. It surged forward, swallowing the approaching Tetsumaru in an instant.
Inside the dense mist, it was impossible to see one's own hand. Even sound became muffled. Only the rogue's ethereal, drifting voice reached his ears:
"You can't see anything in the mist, can you? Can you even find me? My greatest pride is the Mist's Silent Killing. I move without a sound, and any noise you hear is guaranteed to be a decoy."
"You can't find my location, but I can see you perfectly. Your vitals are so deliciously exposed."
"I'm moving now. It only takes one strike to send you to the Pure Land."
"The heart, the liver, the spleen, the kidneys, the throat, the spine... so many fatal spots. Where should I start?"
Is the quality of Mist ninja really this low now?
Tetsumaru stood atop a large rock just outside the perimeter of the fog. He let out a weary sigh. "Don't you hear anything?"
"What?"
Clack-clack. Clack-clack.
"What is that sound?"
"The sound of insects walking. The sound of their joints clicking and their feet hitting the earth," Tetsumaru explained tonelessly. "And now, the sound of them running."
RUMBLE—!
"You're lying! That noise... it's too loud to be bugs!"
"It seems the Mist's isolation is worse than I thought. You don't even know the news. Let's end this."
"Bastard! What can a few bugs do?" the rogue roared. "Can they fight a ninja? Can they find me? Silent Killing is invincible!"
"AAAAAAAGH—!"
"Heh." Tetsumaru let out a disdainful scoff. The Hidden Mist Jutsu lived up to its reputation; even the insects' senses were being interfered with. Through his link with the Swarm, the barrier showed nothing but a sea of white. He truly couldn't pinpoint the rogue's location.
However, he wasn't in the mist. A quick glance and a bit of mental math told him the fog only covered a radius of about five hundred meters.
Did a "Swarm Master" like Aburame Tetsumaru really need to step inside to search?
If he did that, the Sand ninja he'd buried would crawl out of their graves just to die of shame again.
Tetsumaru commanded a thousand Scythe-Mantises following him to split into groups of four hundred. Then, they charged in, shoulder-to-shoulder. These were giants—3.3 meters tall, 5 meters long, and 2 meters wide.
Four hundred giant insects standing wing-to-wing were wider than the entire fog zone. A simple, brutal phalanx sweep was all it took to flatten everything inside the mist.
The fog dissipated quickly, leaving behind nothing but a landscape of trampled earth and insect tracks. Half-buried in the churned dirt was a mangled body. The Mist rogue was drawing his final, rattling breaths.
Tetsumaru walked over and casually picked up the Executioner's Blade. His expression was dark. The victory had been too easy; his killing intent hadn't found its release. He raised the massive blade, intent on taking the man's head.
Suddenly, a flash of white light streaked through the air, aimed directly at Tetsumaru's throat to stop his hand.
A typical ninja in the stories would have abandoned the execution to dodge and retreat. But Tetsumaru saw no need. As a high-agility ninja, dodging and decapitating were not mutually exclusive.
Tetsumaru's legs coiled as he sprang forward in a front flip. He evaded the flying projectile while the massive blade in his hand continued its downward arc, severing the rogue's head with a clean thwack.
With a flick of the blade's tip, the severed head popped into the air, dodging three more incoming projectiles before landing at Tetsumaru's feet. He pulled out a sealing scroll. Anyone who could use more projectiles to try and destroy the evidence of their own kill was worth something; this head's value just went up.
As he wove a one-handed seal for the Object Sealing Technique, he held the Executioner's Blade vertically in front of him like a shield.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Three more projectiles struck the steel, shattering into a fine mist of ice crystals.
Seven projectiles total, all made of ice. An Ice Release user. Now that was rare.
A Mist ANBU wearing a mask appeared before Tetsumaru. Despite the mask, the slender, porcelain fingers, the silky black ponytail, and the undeniably elegant, lithe frame projected an aura like a lonely orchid in a valley.
Yes, it was the most terrifying clan of the Mist—the Ice Release users of the Yuki Clan. The primary culprits behind male ninjas questioning their sexuality and the subsequent drop in birth rates wherever they went.
Wait, a girl?
Nonsense. The women of the Yuki clan didn't usually serve as field agents. Any "beauty" out here harvesting heads was almost certainly a very dangerous boy.
The Mist ANBU had no desire for conversation. With a flick of his wrists, a flurry of ice senbon was unleashed. His hands then blurred into seals, and he held them to his mouth, exhaling softly.
Ice Release: Swallow Snow!
A dense swarm of ice shuriken followed the senbon, screaming toward Tetsumaru.
Normally, Tetsumaru would have countered with Wind Style: Great Breakthrough or used cold-resistant mantises as a shield before ending it with Fire or Lightning Style.
But today was different. Tetsumaru's blood was up. The rogue with the giant sword had died too easily; his hunger for slaughter was unsatisfied.
Tetsumaru crossed his arms to shield his face and charged straight through the barrage. The ice projectiles struck his Armor Beetles with a frantic, metallic ping-ping-ping.
The Mist ANBU's eyes widened behind his mask. He cut the jutsu short, using a Body Flicker to evade the head-on collision.
But the moment he reappeared, he found Tetsumaru right on his heels, a sandbag-sized fist already mid-swing.
BOOM! Dust filled the air, but there was no "hit" sensation. Tetsumaru's hand felt something too hard, too cold. He hadn't hit a living person.
Through his Domain Field Barrier, he detected movement forty-one meters to his right. He lunged, closing the distance instantly. He saw a startled, delicate face and threw a punch—only for it to shatter another Ice Clone.
This clone was a trap; it was frozen solid to the earth, providing massive resistance. The recoil left Tetsumaru's wrist stinging.
He shook out his hand and charged again, giving the Ice ninja no room to breathe. He shattered five more solid ice clones in a row.
Finally, on the sixth evasion, the Ice ninja made a fatal error. He hadn't dodged far enough. After Tetsumaru violently pulverized the clone, a shard of exploding ice jaggedly sliced into the ninja's left leg.
The Ice ninja glanced down at his wound. Facing the charging Tetsumaru, he stopped running. Instead, his hands moved with suicidal speed, weaving a final, desperate jutsu.
The sheer intensity of the chakra made Tetsumaru's skin crawl, but he was past the point of no return. The arrow had been loosed.
The jutsu was unfamiliar, but Tetsumaru could tell it involved deep freezing. He didn't know how to defend against it.
And even if he did, it was too late. Mid-charge, there was no time for a complex response. He could only flood his Armor Beetles with chakra, praying they could weather the storm.
His final act was to pour every ounce of strength into his own strike. He didn't expect to cancel the jutsu; he only hoped to crush the enemy so they couldn't sustain it.
BOOM!
The Ice ninja's body was sent spiraling into the air, contorted by the impact. Simultaneously, a burst of frost erupted, encasing Tetsumaru in a block of ghastly white ice.
As the mangled corpse hit the frost-covered ground, the battlefield fell silent. Aside from the whistling wind, there was only the faint, crystalline crackle of ice spreading across the earth.
Five minutes later, the ice block encasing Tetsumaru thawed. He collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air in ragged, desperate lunges.
The Ice ninja's final explosion had been far beyond his expectations. That instant of total freezing had been the most dangerous moment of his life—possibly even more dangerous than facing the Raikage.
When he fought the Raikage, he had been prepared. He had estimated the danger and handled the crisis with total focus.
This time, he had been arrogant. He hadn't deployed the Swarm, hadn't used his Shadow Clones, hadn't woven any jutsu, and hadn't even summoned Bio-Armor Unit 1. Because he felt he had the absolute advantage, he'd tried to win with his fists and his passive beetle armor.
If the freezing hadn't instinctively triggered the Fire Style Runes on his Grand Chakra Circulation, he truly would have been frozen to death.
It was a profound, bitter lesson. The ancients were right: A general should not launch an army out of anger.
He could never again allow his emotions to dictate a battle. It was a betrayal of his own survival.
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