An adviser held the drafted declaration of war in both hands, his fingers trembling.
The ink was still fresh on the paper, which boldly listed the names of five nations:
Declare war on the Land of Fire!
Declare war on the Land of Wind!
Declare war on the Land of Lightning!
Declare war on the Land of Earth!
Declare war on the Land of Water!
"Lord Hanzō, declaring war like this... is it really all right?"
The five pillars of the Shinobi World's balance of power.
Ever since the First Shinobi World War ended, they had been tacitly acknowledged as the rulers of this world.
Now Hanzō intended to declare war on all five at once.
As the adviser drafted this document, every nation's name he wrote seemed to shave another stretch off his life.
By the time he reached the last one, he could already imagine the inscription on his tombstone.
Here lies an idiot who personally drafted the document that doomed his nation.
He deliberately spoke the words "is it really all right" very softly.
He feared that saying them too forcefully would anger Hanzō, but saying them too softly would fail to convey his terror.
What he really meant was: Hanzō, are you in your right mind?
Hanzō stood with his back to him before the enormous War Map in the Council Chamber.
Still in his prime, Hanzō did not turn around.
"What, do you lack confidence?"
His tone was as casual as if he were asking what was for dinner.
The adviser's knees reacted before his brain did.
"I wouldn't dare!"
The adviser's tongue suddenly became remarkably nimble.
"I only meant to say that the Land of Lightning is full of black barbarians."
"And the Land of Water is a tiny place stranded overseas. Even if we conquered it, we'd have to send people across the ocean to govern it."
"Our Land of Rain isn't wealthy to begin with. Why pour our resources into that bottomless pit?"
"Then there's Ōnoki of the Land of Earth, that old fox. He spends all day riding rocks through the sky, thinking he's someone important just because he has a kekkei tōta."
"Their land has nothing but rocks. Anything you plant dies. Even mushrooms won't grow there."
"Conquering that barren wasteland would only tarnish your title of Demigod!"
At the word "tarnish," the adviser's voice abruptly rose, filled with genuine indignation.
As though his only concern were Hanzō's reputation.
The Council Chamber fell silent for a moment.
Raindrops struck the sheet-metal eaves, repeating the same monotonous rhythm.
Hanzō stood with his back to everyone.
The adviser knelt on the floor, his heart pounding so hard it nearly leaped out of his throat.
He mentally reviewed every foolish thing he had done in his life.
Drafting this declaration of war took first place.
Then he heard Hanzō laugh.
"Fine, then."
Hanzō sounded as though he had reluctantly agreed to something.
As though conquering the Lands of Lightning, Water, and Earth really would dirty his hands.
As though, when it came to declaring war on the Five Great Nations,
the only obstacle for him was not whether he could win, but whether he could save face afterward.
The adviser jerked his head up, his lips trembling twice.
He wanted to say something in response to that unbelievable answer.
At that very moment,
a cold gleam flashed in from the side.
"An assassin!"
The quickest to react among the advisers
had not even managed to force the words fully out of his throat
before the assassin's kunai was already at Hanzō's throat.
The assassin had disguised himself as an attendant.
He had served in the Council Chamber for three full years.
Every day, he poured tea and water, wiped tables, swept floors, and ground ink and handed brushes to the advisers.
Three years had been enough to etch every inch of this room into his muscle memory.
This Root assassin had waited until the perfect moment.
For a Root elite who had devoted his entire life to the Assassination Technique,
there was no reason for this strike to miss.
The blade's tip was half an arm's length from Hanzō's throat.
An ordinary shinobi could not have dodged it, even if they had reacted in time.
But Hanzō was no ordinary shinobi.
He did not even turn his head.
His arm muscles tightened, and somehow, a kusarigama was already in his hand.
None of the advisers present saw where he had drawn the weapon from.
The kusarigama's sickle blade swept across from the side.
As though the motion had been rehearsed countless times.
The cut entered through the assassin's left ribs, passed through his chest, severed his spine, and emerged beneath his right shoulder blade.
One stroke cleaved him in two, clean and decisive.
The assassin did not even have time to change his expression.
The lampstand split down the middle, and the corpse hit the floor at the same time.
Only then did blood begin pouring from the wound.
Hanzō had already put his weapon away.
The entire sequence, from the assassin's strike to his corpse hitting the floor, from Hanzō drawing his blade to putting it away,
was so fast that it seemed someone had forcibly ripped a stretch of time out of the timeline.
This was the Demigod of the Ninja World.
Not a nickname, not empty boasting, but sheer strength.
Hanzō did not ask who had sent the assassin.
Nor did he need to.
To plant an assassin in his Council Chamber,
to lurk at his side for three years without being discovered,
required a level of infiltration, precise intelligence, and execution beyond any minor shinobi village.
It could only have been one of those great nations.
Which one did not matter.
The important question had never been "Who sent him?"
What mattered was that someone had struck first.
"Assassinating the leader of Amegakure on Amegakure's own territory?"
Hanzō finally turned around.
His gaze swept over the face of every adviser present.
Some were ashen, some had chattering teeth, and one instinctively stepped back half a pace and knocked over the low table behind him.
Only the adviser who had knelt to dissuade him remained in his original position.
His knees stayed planted on the floor. There was no fear on his face, only the bewilderment of someone waking from a long dream.
Hanzō glanced down at the corpse at his feet.
"I was just thinking that we needed a suitable reason to go to war."
Hanzō's voice was not loud, but every word reached everyone present with perfect clarity.
"Now the reason has delivered itself to our doorstep." His gaze left the corpse and settled on the enormous War Map on the wall.
The map marked the borders of the Five Great Nations, along with several small countries squeezed between them.
Hanzō extended a finger and dipped it into the blood splashed across the table.
The Amegakure leader's finger moved over the map.
He drew a circle around the Land of Fire's borders.
His pressure was neither light nor heavy. Blood seeped into the parchment's fibers, leaving a dark red finger mark.
His finger moved to the lower left corner.
The Land of Wind.
Its deserts were vast and its resources scarce, but Sunagakure's fighting strength could not be underestimated.
Its border with the Land of Rain was not long, but once war broke out, the Land of Wind would surely exploit the chaos.
Better to strike first than passively defend.
A second bloody circle appeared over the Land of Wind.
His finger continued moving.
The Land of Iron.
A nation of samurai, neutral for a thousand years, uninvolved in the Shinobi World's conflicts.
But the Land of Iron possessed the finest weaponsmithing techniques and the most comprehensive iron ore resources in the entire Shinobi World.
More importantly, the Land of Iron lay between the Lands of Fire and Lightning.
Controlling the Land of Iron meant cutting off the Land of Fire's northeastern expansion at the throat.
"Declare war on the Land of Fire."
"Declare war on the Land of Wind."
"Declare war on the Land of Iron."
"Wait."
The adviser who had knelt to dissuade him spoke again. His face still bore that dream-dazed bewilderment, but his tone was a little firmer than before.
"Lord Hanzō, what about the Land of Earth? Ōnoki may be annoying, but Iwagakure's forces-"
"Ōnoki won't move."
Hanzō cut him off.
"That old fellow is shrewd. He'll wait until Konoha and we have battered each other, then step in to reap the rewards."
He paused, the corners of his mouth curving upward.
"But by the time he's finished watching the show, we'll already be back."
"Take the Land of Iron within three days, and crush the Land of Fire within seven!"
The adviser froze for a moment, then closed his mouth.
Hanzō, still in his prime, radiated the presence of a long blade fresh from the forge.
He even felt that, if he wished, he could reshape the Shinobi World with a wave of his hand.
"Send people to deliver my handwritten letters to Kusagakure, Takigakure, and Hoshigakure."
Hanzō added one final instruction.
"Tell them that the Land of Rain will draw its blade at the front, while they collect the spoils behind us."
"If we win, everyone shares the feast. If we lose... tell them the Demigod of the Ninja World will not fail!"
"This is the last time the fires of the great nations will burn our small nations."
"Since the great nations have never thought anything of us..."
"Then let the Shinobi World burn!!!"