Beggars' Organization

Land of Fire, Daimyo Estate.

In the main hall of the traditional room, two figures sat across from each other on either side of a low table, atop lavish golden tatami mats.

Between them lay a brand-new shogi board, and one glance revealed the increasingly clear state of the game.

The side holding the "Jade General" had been pushed to the brink, the isolated "Jade General" now besieged by an overwhelming force.

Clearly, this was a match where skill was far from equal, and the ages and appearances of the two players were vastly different.

According to unwritten "custom," if an elder played against a junior, the junior would take the "King General" and move first, while the elder would take the "Jade General" and move second.

In this game, however, it was completely reversed.

The side holding the "Jade General" was a man with a gloomy demeanor, while the side holding the "King General" was a young, dignified boy.

The boy lay casually sideways on the tatami, legs crossed, the back of his head resting on the thighs of a kneeling maid behind him. One hand rested on his knee as he smiled down at the board, while several beautiful maids stood nearby, gently fanning him with round fans.

Before him, the man sat bolt upright like a sturdy pine, expressionless as he stared at the board, so focused that his breathing was barely audible.

Yet, in the same vein, neither of them paused for a moment, continuously moving pieces across the board, their positions committed to memory.

The only sound in the entire room was the soft rustle of pieces being picked up and set down.

Defense, pawn sacrifice, flank attack, lure...

Clack!

"Still trying to make room for the Jade General? Or still selling off pieces to buy time?"

With the final move placed, the boy half-covered his face with a folding fan, his eyes narrowing slightly as he chuckled lightly. "Elder Danzo, you've already lost."

Hearing this, Danzo showed no reaction, only lowering his head to gaze at the board.

After a long moment, he looked up at the boy and asked, "The game isn't over yet, Your Highness. Why do you say I've lost?"

Seeing this, a flicker of dissatisfaction passed through the boy's eyes, but he quickly suppressed it, his eyes curving slightly as if in a smile.

"By the mid-to-late game, you had two Foot Soldiers left on the board. That gave you a big advantage in offense and board control, so you focused all your attention on playing those two soldiers."

"But if I were you, I'd use them as bait, or sacrifice one and keep the other to push deep into enemy territory, coordinating with other pieces to force a kill."

The boy closed his fan and said with a hint of deeper meaning, "Unable to let go, unwilling to part with them—that's why you lost. Broaden your thinking and your horizons, and you'll see further, Elder Danzo."

Danzo narrowed his eyes and was about to speak, but the boy cut him off again.

"Thinking of robbing Peter to pay Paul, using a delaying tactic, hoping I'd make a mistake?" The boy shook his fan. "Sometimes, you just have to admit defeat. Don't dwell too much on winning and losing."

As if catching the hint of warning—or perhaps admonishment—in his words, Danzo ultimately swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue.

"...Yes."

Lowering his head, he stared at the board for a moment, memorizing the game, before slowly resetting the pieces. He let out a sigh. "Your Highness's shogi skills grow more exquisite by the day. Every move I made was within your grasp."

"Oh, well, I've loved shogi since I was three years old. Back then, my older brothers were still playing tea parties and house, so I had no choice but to play with my father. Later... well, it ended up like this?"

The boy covered his face with his fan, only his proudly raised brows visible as he laughed without modesty. "Shogi is one of the few abilities I can truly take pride in."

With that, his tone suddenly shifted, and he sighed. "But a game is just a game. As long as you're good at scheming, good at reading people's hearts and human nature, you can win."

"Unfortunately, the shinobi world is no game. If I had to deploy troops and command formations in war, I'd lose disastrously."

He didn't hide his shortcomings, nor did he need to in front of Danzo.

He excelled at politics, not combat—more like a player moving pieces than a pawn on the board.

And Danzo, though crude in political maneuvering, was far better suited as a blade driven into the enemy's heart.

For the sake of Konoha, everything could be sacrificed. Even betrayal by family would be met with no mercy. He treated not only others as tools but himself as a tool to be used, caring nothing for his own reputation.

As the young Daimyo of the Land of Fire, the boy could roughly discern what was on Danzo's mind.

Perhaps Danzo had always regretted that moment of hesitation when faced with Tobirama-sensei's choice.

Just a single moment of hesitation had cost him the position of Hokage.

Danzo's current decisiveness and ruthlessness were all actions meant to prove his resolve—perhaps to tell Tobirama-sensei that choosing Sarutobi had been a mistake.

Because what he cherished most was always Konoha itself, not Tobirama-sensei or anyone else in the village.

Though he might hesitate when covering his comrades' retreat, he could bear anything for Konoha, even sacrificing himself without a second thought.

"So, Your Highness, did you summon me here this time hoping I would do something?" Danzo asked bluntly.

"Yes and no, because this is something you were going to do anyway." The boy nodded, then shook his head, covering his face with a smile. "War is coming. I want you to keep the battlefield outside the Land of Fire."

"Your Highness means?"

"The Land of Rain."

A cold, fierce expression—one unfitting for his age—appeared on the boy's face as he lowered his voice. "Since they're overestimating themselves and want to resist, then let's drag the flames of war fully into the Land of Rain. Beat them down until they're broken and crippled!"

Hanzo's emergence and the Land of Rain's rebellion had stirred a sense of vigilance in him.

Especially seeing the Daimyo of the Land of Rain beginning to lean toward Hanzo—that made him, as the Daimyo of the Land of Fire, even more wary.

The nobles of the shinobi world had always been united in appearance but divided at heart, sharing an unspoken understanding.

For instance, when the number of shinobi reached a certain threshold, they would even deliberately provoke wars to maintain their own rule.

So if it weren't to preserve a buffer between the great nations, how could the Land of Rain have clung to life until now?

How could one tolerate another sleeping soundly beside their bed?

The Land of Rain was jumping too recklessly; it made his sleep uneasy.

He had to strike the Land of Rain hard and crush its arrogance.

Just like the Grass Country—docilely playing the fence-sitter, turning everyone into "guide dogs."

"I understand." Danzo narrowed his eyes, his voice low. "I'll find a way to make the Land of Rain a target for all the other great nations!"

"Also, regarding Kumogakure, Your Highness need not worry. Orochimaru has already gone there; they'll soon have their hands full."

Orochimaru?

Could he hold back Kumogakure?

Hearing this, the young man raised an eyebrow, recalling that effeminate man in his mind, and nodded casually.

As for how many people would die because of a single light word from him—he didn't care.

In the ninja world, the cheapest thing was human life. Even ninja were just as worthless.

"By the way." As if something occurred to him, the young man raised an eyebrow and said offhandedly, "An organization has recently appeared in the Land of Rain, apparently formed by a bunch of lowlifes. Not worth worrying about, but I've already sent my people there. You can—"

Crack.

"Your, Your Highness!"

Just as he was about to give instructions, a servant suddenly burst through the door, looking panicked, trembling as he held a box in his hands.

It was wrapped in a colorful ribbon, looking quite bright.

"..."

The young man, annoyed at being interrupted, first frowned at the box, then swept his gaze over the servant's face and said coldly, "You'd better have a reasonable explanation."

"Your, Your Highness, the men you sent..." The servant shuddered, his face full of terror, and his hands involuntarily shook.

In an instant, the "gift box" he was holding slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a sickening crack, accompanied by a strange sound like a ball leaking air.

In the eerie silence, black, foul blood slowly seeped from the box, winding along the gaps of the expensive carpet toward Danzo's feet.

The room, once filled with elegant fragrance, was gradually overwhelmed by the stench of blood.

The severed head rolled onto the floor, its unseeing eyes reflecting the young man's horrified expression.