Inside the carriage, clear broth bubbled in a copper pot, white steam seeping out through the gaps.
Chikage set down his chopsticks and rinsed his mouth with tea.
He looked at Inabi and Tekka sprawled on the blanket and sighed helplessly.
Those two still lacked mental fortitude.
The genjutsu had only reached the first half of the clan massacre when they had blacked out.
Uchiha Yashiro, sitting across from him, was a completely different story.
Yashiro sat rigidly on the cushion, both hands clenched into fists.
The black of his eyes had long since faded, replaced by a dark red.
Three black tomoe had joined together, forming the pattern of a three-bladed shuriken.
It was the Uchiha Clan's legendary Mangekyō Sharingan.
Heavy, oppressive chakra radiated from Yashiro, making the wooden walls of the carriage creak under the strain.
Chikage smoothed the creases in his clothes, the corners of his mouth curling upward.
This was a huge windfall.
Uncle Fugaku's genjutsu really worked. It had actually pushed Yashiro to this stage.
Just as Chikage reached out to wake Yashiro, the horses pulling the carriage suddenly whinnied in terror, and the carriage lurched to a stop.
The clear birdsong outside abruptly vanished.
The entire forest fell eerily silent.
Then came the dull thud of something heavy hitting the ground outside. Clearly, the driver had been killed.
Chikage raised an eyebrow and withdrew his outstretched hand.
He leisurely settled back into his seat and even poured himself another half cup of warm tea.
They had finally arrived.
That old dog Danzo had moved much faster than expected.
At that moment, outside the carriage at the entrance to Sunset Gorge.
Twenty Root elites dressed in black bodysuits and white masks had formed a tight encirclement.
They held standard-issue ninja blades, their edges coated in