Panic at the Daimyo Residence and Hojo Tokugawa's Cold Sweat

Land of Fire, Kyoto.

Unlike Konoha, which was perpetually shrouded in the clouds of war preparations, this capital city, representing the pinnacle of national power, always presented a scene of song and dance, peace and prosperity. Morning sunlight pierced through the mist, gilding the exquisite pavilions and towers with a warm golden edge. The air was filled with the rich fragrance of premium incense mingled with precious flowers from the courtyards.

At the rear gate of the estate belonging to Hojo Tokugawa, chief elder of the Daimyo Residence, two samurai clad in splendid armor yawned idly.

"Creak—creak—"

An ill-timed sound of wheels grinding against the road drew nearer.

An ordinary, nearly dilapidated carriage rolled up, its body splattered with mud and its horse little more than skin and bones. It stood utterly out of place amid the surrounding luxury. It stopped outside the rear gate, neither advancing nor retreating.

"Hey! Where did this lowlife come from? Do you know what place this is? Get lost!" one samurai barked impatiently, his hand already resting on his sword hilt.

However, the driver in the straw hat merely raised his head in silence, revealing a pair of utterly emotionless eyes as he calmly looked at them.

The samurai's heart inexplicably skipped a beat. Those were not the eyes of a commoner.

Bang.

Without saying a word, the driver jumped down from the carriage, strode to its compartment, and roughly yanked open the door. Then, as though dragging out a bag of trash, he hauled out the "cargo" within and casually tossed it onto the spotless ground paved with white pebbles outside the estate gate.

After finishing all that, the driver climbed back onto the carriage and drove away without looking back, disappearing around the corner as if he had merely come to discard