The cicadas of Konoha Year Ten were still crying themselves hoarse, but in Great Britain's rainforest, another kind of scalp-prickling noise had long since taken their place.
It was no longer the scattered, hesitant report of flintlocks, but short, dense bursts of "bang, bang, bang" that seemed ready to tear the humid air apart, linked together in a cold, mechanical rhythm that repeatedly thundered across forest clearings and newly built firing ranges.
The rain had only recently stopped. The soil was still dark brown, and the air carried a mixture of gun smoke, blood, and the rank smell of crushed plant sap. The camp had expanded by another broad ring. Sharpened stakes stood atop freshly rammed earth walls, exuding a forbidding menace. On the watchtowers, sentries in matching dark gray jackets, long guns slung over their backs, scanned the boundless green sea with hawklike eyes.
Inside the Meeting Hall-which should now have been called the "Royal Court"-the construction was still wood and stone, but its scale and grandeur were beyond comparison with before. The Shadow Clone "Yinglang" stood before the increasingly detailed sand table, covered in little flags representing different forces and degrees of control. Yutian stood beside him, holding the latest household registers and military rolls. His voice was steady, yet carried a searing force.
"...There are currently three hundred and seventeen registered Citizens, including the original twenty-three followers, stewards of various ranks, officers, technical leaders, and their families who were subsequently promoted for their contributions. There are more than twenty-four hundred Freemen, mostly tribespeople who submitted, Slaves who bought their freedom, soldiers with meritorious service, and skilled artisans. As for Slaves..." He paused. "More than sixty-eight hundred, assigned to mines, logging sites, major construction projects, and service in Citizen and Freeman households. One hundred and two stewards have