Even if he could use overwhelming strength to suppress the Hidden Leaf by force, it would inevitably cause heavy casualties. With just a little manipulation of public opinion, it would be easy to pin all kinds of unpleasant labels on him.
If it were only about himself, he could let it go—because he believed that without those interfering factors, he could make the Hidden Leaf better. But he had a wife and a son about to be born; he hoped to be a positive figure in the eyes of his family.
His temperament also doomed him to avoid ramming change through the Hidden Leaf; he could only influence it slowly.
"Let's wait a bit. It's not as if we can't afford to wait."
The Third Hokage would, in the end, die of old age. So would Danzō.
The power of the Hidden Leaf would, sooner or later, return to the Hokage.
As long as he lived—no matter how chaotic the shinobi world became—he could steady the Hidden Leaf. Since that was the case, what harm was there in being patient?
The Hidden Leaf of today was decayed, yes, but at least it was still peaceful, wasn't it?
This was Minato Namikaze's thinking.
Boil Daigu Into Soup: "Given my strength, I should be able to secure a slot, right?"
If they were comparing human hosts, he definitely couldn't match the other powerhouses in the chat group.
But if they were comparing what happened after he transformed into Ultraman Tiga, then among the current members of the chat group, there weren't many who could stand shoulder to shoulder with him.
One of these slots really ought to be his.
Uchiha Dance King: "I want a slot."
Uchiha Madara likewise spoke in the chat group. Although his strength was not among the absolute top tier in the group, there were only a handful he acknowledged as above him—and besides, there was no detailed information on how strong that transmigrator actually was.
He did not believe the other party would be stronger than he was.
Oldest Godslayer: "I want one."
Marquis Voban said the same. There was only one thing he cared about: the enhancement attempts with a fifty percent success rate!
He had no intention of falling behind anyone—especially not behind that person, Cult Leader Luo Hao!
Even an alternate-world version of Cult Leader Luo Hao was no exception!
Holy Lord: "Three slots. I want one."
In the world of Jackie Chan Adventures, the Holy Lord sat upon his throne, eyes scarlet and flickering as he watched the chat feed.
He was a demon as well.
Just an Ordinary Group Owner: "Honestly, doing this is pointless."
Just an Ordinary Group Owner: "I just asked the chat group. The number of participants for the mission is determined by a roulette draw."
Just an Ordinary Group Owner: "The chat group will automatically place members whose strength suffices—and who have free time—onto a roulette and start drawing."
Just an Ordinary Group Owner: "As in—right now."
"Ding. Selecting participants… Selection complete."
"Ding. Members Boil Daigu Into Soup, Nature's Child, Holy Lord, please prepare."
The cold mechanical voice sounded in everyone's ears.
Just an Ordinary Group Owner: "???"
Just an Ordinary Group Owner: "Me, the group owner, didn't get picked?"
Just an Ordinary Group Owner: "I'm increasingly suspicious you're not actually my golden finger. Tell me—was my original golden finger a system you swallowed? Or did you eat my group owner privileges?"
Just an Ordinary Group Owner: "I've put up with you for a long time, you miserable freeloader!"
After Roxie Vale looked left and right to confirm her own name wasn't on the list, she vented angrily in the chat. Everyone was a transmigrator—so why was it that she, after becoming the chat group's owner, had to be this miserable?
Unacceptable!
"Ding. The group owner does not possess the strength to participate in this mission."
"Pfft!"
The chat group's voice sounded again, and she felt as if a needle had pricked her little heart.
Not strong enough… Forget what I said earlier.
The zombie world, somewhere amidst a mountain range.
The ground was covered in flesh and gore; corpses lay strewn everywhere.
The air reeked of blood.
At the very center of this carnage yawned a massive pit filled with scarlet blood. Floating upon the surface of that blood was a crimson cocoon, constantly absorbing the deathly miasma, baleful aura, and the energy within the blood of this place.
That colossal, seemingly endless tide of blood-flesh energy poured into the cocoon; as time passed, a faint sound like a heartbeat began to echo from within.
Until at some moment—perhaps sensing something—the cocoon suddenly convulsed. From its core, a gaze, icy and utterly devoid of emotion, seemed to pierce space itself and look toward a certain direction.
"Has someone discovered my existence?"
"According to its explanation, a world where spiritual energy has nearly dissipated shouldn't possess powerhouses capable of detecting me."
"The Child of Destiny of this world, perhaps?"
"How interesting."
"Unfortunately, discovery does not equate to the ability to resist."
"You are fated to die by my hand and become the power by which I grow stronger."
"Then I will slaughter every living thing in this world and refine myself… By then, my strength should break through."
"Demon Ancestor… I, the chosen one, am destined to surpass you."
"I will prove with power who is the true king of the demon race!"
As if the thought excited it, the crimson cocoon began to throb violently. A terrifying pressure burst from within, and countless blood-lights fanned outward. Trees and flowers in the surrounding radius, upon contact with the blood-light, seemed to have their life force drained in an instant and withered at once.
Oldest Godslayer: "So I wasn't chosen."
Oldest Godslayer: "Looks like I'll have to wait for next time."
Marquis Voban regarded the three selected names with a trace of regret in his eyes.
But if it was these three, he had no objection.
Holy Guard, Left Wing: "@Nature's Child, I'm very much looking forward to your power."
Not only Angel Yan—nearly every member of the chat group was curious about Brandon White's strength. Although Brandon had never displayed it, the abilities he had described—if there were no lies mixed in—would be unexpectedly powerful.
Precisely for that reason, they were all the more eager to witness Brandon's power.
How much of the Authority of Nature could that transmigrator force him to reveal?
Boil Daigu Into Soup: "So I really got picked."
Boil Daigu Into Soup: "Don't worry, Uncle Nine. With me here, nothing will happen to your world."
Holy Lord: "Let that demon give me a pleasant surprise."
Holy Lord: "If it's too weak, it'll be boring."
Lin Fengjiao: "…If possible, I'd still prefer it to be weaker."
When immortals fight, mortals suffer.
The stronger the combatants, the greater the residual shockwaves of battle, and heavy casualties were all too likely.
He really didn't want the common people hurt because of this.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Crisp sounds—like dry twigs being crushed underfoot—rang in the air. In the night, a figure walked slowly through the darkness.
It felt as if this space contained only that single sound. Besides the noise stirred by his footsteps, there wasn't the slightest other sound.
(End of this chapter)