The wind on the observation deck carried the New Continent's peculiar roughness, tousling the pink strands over Sakura Haruno's forehead.
She gripped the railing, her knuckles white with strain, but her eyes remained fixed on the profile of the man beside her.
The shouts from the drill ground below, the roar of the workshops, even the atmosphere of savage growth rising from the whole New Capital struck her crumbling understanding like one silent sledgehammer blow after another.
Konoha's "Will of Fire" seemed like a distant, illusory joke here.
But without that... that "something" that could unite everyone, something they would strive and even sacrifice for, what held this vast, rigidly hierarchical empire together? Fear and profit alone?
She took a deep breath, as though trying to suppress the stifling confusion in her chest, and spoke in a dry voice.
"Does the Empire... not have any... values like the 'Will of Fire'? I mean, something everyone feels is... worth giving things up for, worth fighting for?"
Toyotomi Yinglang turned and leaned against the railing. His gaze lingered on Sakura Haruno's tense face for a moment, as though seeing through her confusion and the lingering hope that she might find some "similarity." The corner of his mouth tugged into a smile devoid of warmth.
"Values? Yes, of course." His tone was relaxed, even as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
"But they're rather different from Konoha's."
He pointed at the people below, dressed differently and performing different kinds of work.
"See them? The Great British Empire rules roughly four hundred thousand people now. What were most of them a little over a decade ago? Primitive tribespeople carrying stone spears and wooden clubs, ready to stab one another for a mouthful of food. Savages at the very bottom, ready to slaughter