Intimidation! Terror Among the Muggle Factions!

The following night was rainy, and a grave atmosphere hung over the main hall of the Uchiha Clan compound.

In this lofty Japanese-style hall, faded ukiyo-e paintings on the dark beams and pillars told stories of the past.

Several bronze magical lamps cast a bleak, cold light, making the area around the main seat glaringly bright while the surrounding corners sank into deeper gloom.

Upon the throne.

Uchiha Madara sat upright on a broad throne carved from obsidian.

On its backrest, the crest that had once belonged to the Yagyu Family had been brutally slashed through by a fresh, deep gouge—the old era was dead.

He still wore an unremarkable black robe, utterly out of place amid such lavish surroundings.

He leaned back slightly, one elbow braced against the armrest, fingertips resting against his forehead, his eyes closed.

The pale light fell from above, outlining his young yet sharply defined profile.

Like a statue of an evil god resting within an ancient temple.

At the lower left, Ryūichirō Uchiha sat kneeling.

He had changed into his most formal black montsuki haori and hakama. His back was straight, but the exhaustion and lingering terror beneath his lowered eyelids could not be concealed.

Beside him, Kentaro Uchiha wore a dark kimono. All arrogance had vanished from his face, leaving only fear and confusion.

In the corner, Michiko Uchiha stared blankly ahead, her face pale as paper, as though she had yet to recover from yesterday's shock.

Below the steps, three men were currently kneeling prostrate—

On the far left was a middle-aged man in a suit, his hair slicked back with pomade: Fujita.

On the surface, he ran several legitimate Muggle import-export companies. In truth, he was the president of the Friendly Association, Chinatown's largest smuggling organization; a carefully cultivated front man for the Yagyu Family who controlled multiple illicit trade routes.

At that moment, he wore a standard, almost fawning smile.

Yet deep in his shrewd eyes was confusion over the current situation, especially whenever he secretly glanced at the "young man" resting with his eyes closed upon the main throne.

In the middle stood a bald, burly man built like an iron tower: Ghost Bear.

He wore tight black clothes, his bulging, knotted muscles nearly tearing through the fabric. A vicious scar ran from his temple to his jaw, and his eyes were as fierce as a beast's.

He was the leader of the local Japanese gang, the Black Dragon Group. Though he was a Squib, his methods against outsiders were exceptionally cruel.

He was chiefly responsible for the prostitutes around Chinatown and the bloody underground bare-knuckle fights. Though he was kneeling now, his eyes were filled with contempt and impatience toward the young "new master."

On the far right was a silent elderly man: Moriyama.

He wore old work clothes bleached pale from washing and stained in places, while thick calluses covered his wrists and the webbing between his thumbs and forefingers—

Marks left by years of heavy labor.

He was the representative of the local Japanese Laborers' Mutual Aid Society. With hundreds of construction workers and dock laborers under him, he formed the foundation through which the Yagyu Family controlled lower-class Squibs, gathered intelligence, and handled dirty, exhausting work.

He kept his head lowered, his expression obscured. Only his tightly pressed lips revealed a trace of heaviness.

These three groups were the Yagyu Family's primary tentacles in the Muggle World.

The air in the hall was thick and stagnant.

Only the faint hum of the magical light spheres and the suppressed breathing of those present could be heard.

Finally—

"Mr. Ryūichirō," Fujita could not help speaking, his voice abruptly ringing through the empty hall.

He rubbed his hands together, piling a thicker false smile onto his face. Deliberately using the old form of address, he glanced toward the throne. "You said there was an important matter, one concerning the interests of all us Japanese people in London?"

His gaze fell upon Madara, filled with scrutiny.

Ryūichirō Uchiha's body stiffened almost imperceptibly, and his voice trembled. "Mr. Fujita, Mr. Ghost Bear, Mr. Moriyama. Allow me... to formally introduce... this man. He is the leader of our Uchiha Clan, and the new master to whom you must pledge loyalty—Lord Uchiha Madara..."

"Uchiha?" Ghost Bear cut him off with a sneer. He even made an exaggerated show of digging at his ear with a thick finger.

"Never heard of them! Ryūichirō, since when did the Yagyu Family secretly change its surname? Where's that Lord Munenori from your Magic Institute? You think you can make us swear loyalty by bringing in some brat? What kind of joke is that?"

The two black-clad underlings behind him joined in with malicious laughter, its echoes rolling through the silent hall.

Perhaps he had been disturbed by the noise.

Upon the throne, the young man slowly opened his eyes.

The hall suddenly darkened!

An icy pressure swept across the entire hall like a tidal wave!

"Urgh!" The sneer and arrogance on Ghost Bear's face froze instantly, then turned into indescribable agony!

He felt as though an invisible giant hand had clamped around his throat, leaving him unable to breathe!

His two underlings collapsed limply to the ground like mud. Dark wet stains quickly spread across their crotches, and a faint stench of urine filled the air—

"Too noisy."

Madara's voice rang out.

He merely raised his right hand casually and made a grasping motion toward Ghost Bear.

"Aaargh—!!!"

Ghost Bear let out a brief scream! His entire body was lifted from the ground by an invisible force and suspended in midair, his limbs twitching helplessly! His eyes bulged from the immense pain, bloodshot veins spreading across them!

"Worms only need to obey," Madara said in an utterly calm voice, as though stating the simplest fact in the world.

"Why insist on seeking death?"

The fingers against his forehead had not even moved.

His outstretched fingers slowly curled inward.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

A series of bone-breaking sounds erupted, enough to make one's scalp go numb!

Ghost Bear's limbs twisted and snapped at angles no human body could possibly achieve!

Jagged white bone fragments tore through his clothes and flesh. Warm blood poured onto the polished dark wooden floor like red paint—

Leaving behind a broad, hideous, glaring stain!

Ghost Bear could no longer even scream. All that remained was the rasping sound of his breath, like a broken bellows.

The next moment—

Bang!

He was flung away like a ragged sack, his body smashing heavily into the hard corner of the hall before sliding to the floor.

Aside from the occasional convulsive twitch, he was no different from a corpse.

Dead silence!

The color drained completely from Fujita's face. Overwhelming terror made him shake like a leaf, his upper and lower teeth chattering uncontrollably.

He finally understood that this "brat" before him was a monster beyond his comprehension, one he could never oppose!

Moriyama pressed his forehead hard against the floor, even holding his breath for fear of drawing Madara's displeasure.

Ryūichirō Uchiha, Kentaro, and the others beside them instinctively prostrated themselves as well—yesterday's terror had once again become vividly clear.

Madara's gaze slowly swept over the two remaining men.

"You... are trash." His tone was like that of someone evaluating pebbles by the roadside. "But even trash has its uses."

"The current Uchiha Clan is too small." His voice echoed through the hall.

"The cleansing begins now."

His voice was soft, yet it carried an unquestionable command.

"Three days. I will give you only three days."

"Use the methods you know... to clear out every Japanese shop, casino, and smuggling route in Chinatown that does not belong to the Uchiha Clan."

He paused.

"Mr. Fujita, you will temporarily take charge of the Black Dragon Group as well. I trust you will find a way to 'persuade' them, won't you?"

As he spoke, a black Magatama slowly spinning in the depths of those scarlet eyes suddenly lit up, radiating an eerie blood-red glow that seemed capable of freezing one's soul!

That mental pressure forced Fujita to scream with all his strength, his voice warped by terror.

"Y-Yes... yes, my lord! This one... this one will handle it immediately! I guarantee... I guarantee it will be cleared out completely!"

He did not doubt that if he showed even the slightest hesitation now, his fate would be a hundred times worse than Ghost Bear's in the corner!

"As for the Mutual Aid Society." Madara's gaze shifted toward Moriyama, who had nearly curled into a ball on the ground.

Moriyama shuddered violently and buried his head even lower.

"Your people are ears and eyes." Madara's voice allowed no doubt.

"I want to know every scrap of information in this area, every stir of the wind and grass, especially anything concerning... those 'wizards' holding little wooden sticks and thinking they are hiding so well."

"I want to know immediately. Do you understand?"

Moriyama repeatedly slammed his forehead against the floor, producing dull thudding sounds.

"Y-Yes! My lord! From today onward, this one and everyone in the Mutual Aid Society will be your most loyal eyes and ears!"

"Very good."

The suffocating, terrifying pressure receded like the tide.

Yet the chill and stench of blood within the hall did not fade.

"Get out."

"Remember, your names are still on the Uchiha Clan's list for now. Whether they remain there depends on your performance from here on."

Fujita and Moriyama felt as though they had been granted a pardon. They scrambled and crawled out of the hall, not daring to look back even once.

Madara leaned back into his throne once more and closed his eyes.

His fingertips returned to his forehead.

As though everything that had just happened had been an insignificant interruption.

Subduing the Muggle factions was only the beginning.

His true targets had always been those magical forces that lurked like poisonous insects around them, spying upon this Uchiha territory—

The cleansing had only just begun.