Yakura Province, October 19, 1423.
Warring States Period.
Flames consumed the heavens, turning the once-mighty Yakura Castle into a pyre. Smoke thick as ink choked the air, blotting out the stars. The scent of burning flesh and spilled blood tainted the wind.
"Someone help my child—he's burning!"
"Monster! Stay away from my daughter!"
"D-Dad, please! Please wake up! They're dragging my sister—!"
"AHHH—don't kill my son, you bastards!"
Screams of the dying merged with the clash of steel, the crackle of fire, the sickening squelch of blades carving through flesh.
Bodies littered the stone corridors.
Guards, nobles, peasants, children. It did not matter.
The castle would fall.
The dynasty would end.
Men were slaughtered. Women were raped.
The once-proud Hoshikawa Clan was being erased from history.
Inside the certain Throne Room
BOOM!
A tremor shook the throne room, dust raining from the rafters. The gilded chandelier above swung wildly, its golden frame cracking before it crashed into the marble floor—shattering into a thousand shards.
Daimyō Hoshikawa Tenga gripped the hilt of his ceremonial sword, his fingers trembling. His golden robes, once pristine, clung to him soaked in sweat.
Before him, Ishiba Renji, his most trusted advisor, knelt—face ashen, hands trembling.
"My lord… the enemy has breached the last gates."
His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
"The Ishigawa and Haruno clans have betrayed us. The mercenary shinobi we hired—they took the gold and vanished. There is no one left."
Tenga's eyes widened.His hands shook.
"No one?"
"The Senju—where are they?! Where are the so-called mighty clans?! Didn't we commission them?! How can they betray our land?! Did we not pay for their protection?!"
Renji clenched his jaw.
"The Senju are too busy fighting the Uchiha." His voice was bitter. "We were never their concern."
BOOM!
The eastern wall exploded, a shockwave rattling the room.
Fire surged in, devouring the drapes, consuming paintings of Hoshikawa ancestors.
A noblewoman shrieked. The daimyō's wife clutched their youngest son, while his eldest—barely a man—held a katana with shaking hands.
"Damn it all!" Tenga roared, slamming his fist against the throne.
"Are we to die like dogs?!"
Renji swallowed hard.
"There is still the underground passage beneath the throne—if we leave now, my lord, we might still—"
"Damn it! Damn it!"
Tenga's chest heaved. His vision swam with rage, despair gnawing at his gut.
Suddenly, his hand shot out, grabbing Renji's collar. His fingers dug in, eyes burning with a last desperate glimmer of hope.
"What about him?" Tenga's voice was almost a snarl.
"Have you called for help from that man? The one they call 'Sky of the Shinobi'?!"
Renji stiffened.
"My lord… I sent an offer beyond measure. But there was no reply."
Tenga's blood turned ice.His grip loosened.
Renji's mind flashed back to a single image—
A man standing atop a battlefield.
Golden irises.
A white-blue-white wheel shifting endlessly within them.
The Shinkūgan.
BOOM!
Another explosion. The final door to the throne room cracked, splintering as warriors forced their way in.
Tenga's breath came in ragged gasps. He staggered back, collapsing onto his throne.
"Damn it… damn it…" His voice was barely above a whisper now.
"That bastard Hashirama swore to me that he could save us. But that man—"
He clenched his fists.
"—that man is a coward who isn't even showing up."
And with those words—
The last of Yakura's hope crumbled.
Meanwhile…
Time waits for no one.
The night was painted in fire and death.
Once a prosperous land ruled by the Hoshikawa Clan, Yakura Province now lay in ruin, its streets awash with blood.
The warring clans had descended like locusts, their chakra-infused warriors tearing through the masses with merciless efficiency.
Women were dragged from their homes, their shrieks of terror swallowed by the night.
"Hold her down—she's still squirming!"
"I said STOP SCREAMING! You're only making this worse for yourself."
"No… please—AAAGHH!"
"I have a husband!"
"That useless civilian? Bitch, I'm giving you a chance to sleep with gods."
A blade flashed.
Flesh parted.
Blood splattered against the broken cobblestone. The sobs died out. The corpse was discarded like waste.
Elsewhere, a father shielded his son with his own body, trembling.
"Please… not my boy! He's just a child! I'll give you everything I have!"
A masked shinobi from the Murakumo Clan sneered, gripping his kunai tighter.
"Your gold means nothing."
With one smooth motion, he drove the blade through the father's throat.
The man gurgled, clutching his bleeding neck as he collapsed.
His son—no older than six—was too stunned to scream. He could only watch as the blade turned toward him next.
Atop Yakura Castle…
Above the carnage, in the highest pagoda of Yakura Castle, seven figures stood, their gazes cold and indifferent as they surveyed the destruction below.
Each of these men was a Jōnin-level shinobi, the leaders of mercenary clans.
They had accepted commissions from a rival Daimyō, hired to wipe Yakura Province off the map.
At the center of them stood their commander—Gazan Kuromiya, the Phantom General.
A former warlord turned shinobi, Gazan was Kage-level, his massive frame towering over the others.
Thick plated armor covered his body, and a monstrous greatsword rested against his back. He watched the chaos below with absolute indifference.
"How much longer?" he muttered.
One of the seven, Daigo of the Fuma Clan, wiped blood from his kunai, grinning.
"A few more hours at most. By dawn, Yakura will be nothing but corpses."
Beside him, Tetsuya Kurogane of the Black Fang Clan chuckled.
"Too bad the Hoshikawa Daimyō's royal whore took her own life before we could have some fun."
The group erupted in laughter.
All except one man—Shiba Kaguya.
Unlike the others, Shiba did not laugh. He merely sighed, running a hand through his long silver hair.
"This is a waste of time. No shinobi worth their salt should lower themselves to killing peasants."
"Spoken like a man without a bounty on his head," Daigo sneered. "We're getting paid to do this, Kaguya. You don't like it? Leave."
Shiba's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
Gazan Kuromiya exhaled through his nose.
"This is war. We're here to burn this land to the ground. Once the Daimyō is dead, our contract is fulfilled."
He turned to Rokuemon of the Sakota Clan, who had been silent thus far.
"Status?"
Rokuemon smirked.
"The Daimyō is still holed up in the throne room with his family. They're trapped like rats."
"Let's finish this quickly. If the Senju or Uchiha catch wind of this, things will get complicated."
"What if Hashirama Senju gets angry that we destroyed land under his protection…?"
"Tch, I know him. If we beg a little, make him emotional, that fool will believe us anyway. He's not as strong as people say. Hell, I think even I could kill him. Hah! His fiancée also looks delicious."
"Hashirama Senju should not be taken lightly."
"Damn it. Fine. Then find the royal family and finish this quickly."
The group fell silent.
They were about to leave—
When a whisper carried through the air.
A voice so calm, it sent shivers down their spines.
"Rain of Swords."
The sky darkened.
Above the burning city, a storm of chakra-infused swords materialized from thin air, their edges gleaming with deadly light.
Blue and white swords.
Golden swords.
And then—
They fell.
"Wha—?!"
The first to die was a shinobi about to plunge his kunai into a woman's chest.
A sword pierced through his skull, impaling him into the ground before he could even react.
The second was a man tearing through a house, laughing.
His laughter died as a dozen chakra blades skewered him like a puppet, pinning him against a burning wall.
The third—a man unbuckling his pants above a sobbing girl—never even saw his end.
His head rolled across the dirt, cleanly severed.
All across Yakura Province, Gazan's forces were annihilated.
The screams of the dying invaders replaced the screams of the innocent.
The pagoda shook.
The seven shinobi froze.
And then—
Footsteps.
A lone figure walked through the flames.
He moved leisurely.
His black cloak trailed behind him, embroidered with intricate silver kanji.
A blue headband gleamed under the firelight.
At his hip, his katana rattled against the pavement with every step.
But it was his eyes that sent ice through their veins.
Golden irises.
And within them—
A white-blue-white wheel, turning slowly.
The seven men felt it immediately—an overwhelming pressure, like the air itself had turned to stone.
For the first time, Gazan Kuromiya, the Phantom General, hesitated.
"Why is this monster here…?"
This was no ordinary man.
This was the sky of the shinobi world.
Goruden Tenkawa.
And as those golden eyes turned toward them—
For the first time in their lives—
They felt fear.
"What is the World-Ending Sword doing here…? Shinobi have an unspoken rule—we do not interfere in each other's missions. Does Goruden Tenkawa intend to make enemies of the seven clans?!"
Hearing Gazan's arrogance, Goruden Tenkawa smiled slightly.
"What clans?"
And then—
He snapped his fingers.
For a moment, the world itself seemed to shudder.
And then—
It rained.
But not water.
Heads.
Countless severed heads plummeted from the sky like droplets, splattering across the battlefield.
The seven men stared, speechless.
The heads belonged to their own people.
Their sons. Their families.
"Just like you, I also received a commission," Goruden murmured. "And like you said… shinobi should not interfere with each other's work."
His golden eyes gleamed.
"So do me a favor—please die."
At that moment, the seven shinobi understood—
They had already lost.
A violent surge of chakra erupted from them.
"You bastard! Today will be your death day!"
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( End Of This Chapter)