Daimyō's Palace, banquet hall.
The chandelier cast a brilliant yet cold light. It fell across the long table draped in a spotless white cloth, reflecting in dazzling halos. On either side of the table, the surviving nobles had been "invited" to their respective seats by the guards. Their faces were pale, their bodies rigid, like rows of puppets waiting to be painted.
A complete set of gleaming silverware had been placed before each of them, polished to a shine and glittering delicately beneath the lights. Yet these utensils, which should have symbolized elegance and dignity, looked more terrifying to them now than a butcher's hook.
Gulp.
Someone swallowed with difficulty in the deathly silence.
Momochi Zabuza stood at the banquet hall's only entrance with his massive Kubikiribōchō slung over his shoulder, like a silent guardian deity blocking the way. He did nothing, not even bothering to spare them a glance, but the killing intent steeped in mountains of corpses and seas of blood spread like an invisible net over the entire hall.
The air was as thick as congealed blood. The nobles sat on pins and needles, even unconsciously softening their breaths for fear of disturbing the murderous god at the door, who might swing his blade at any moment.
A figure slowly emerged from the shadows behind the seat of honor.
It was not Jingwan, the newly appointed daimyō, but Naruto Uzumaki.
He still wore that Root uniform without a single unnecessary ornament. The black fabric made him seem as though he had melted into the shadows. His footsteps were light and made no sound as he walked to the seat of honor, pulled out the chair that symbolized supreme authority, and calmly sat down.
Every nobleman's pupils constricted violently in that instant.
The puppet daimyō Jingwan now followed