"Heh-heh-heh… and you idiots actually dared to stand against our great, invincible Uchiha-sama."
Mei, looking completely like a smug little villain, let out a stupid "Ohohoho~" laugh—exactly the kind of line that only exists to draw aggro onto Uchiha Yōrin. It made Yōrin really want to flick her forehead.
But somehow, that act worked incredibly well on the shinobi-world "common folk." The leaders of the small villages were thoroughly intimidated—one by one, they stared at Uchiha Yōrin with open awe and fear.
Yōrin didn't even know what, exactly, they were "awed" by. But hey—fear was fear.
So next came the real question:
What do we do with these people?
Some argued that, however detestable they were, they still represented the daimyōs' "face." Executing them or locking them up might be too much. Better to use them as bargaining chips—trade them for political concessions, force the daimyōs to formally acknowledge the Ninshū's strength and status. That would still accomplish the goal.
Others were "hardliners"… though to be honest, even the so-called hardliners weren't that hard. Most of them just wanted to squeeze more concessions out of the daimyōs—more benefits, more privileges, more resources.
So the "hardliners" and the "compromisers" started arguing.
But even while they debated, nobody forgot to keep watching Uchiha Yōrin.
They could talk all they wanted—everyone knew the only person who could decide these prisoners' fate was Yōrin.
"It'll probably be compromise. If we can finally wear shoes and sit at the table, there's no need to make it ugly."
"No—Yorin-sama will go hard. The Uchiha have always gone hard."
When the debate reached its peak, they stopped talking and all turned toward Yōrin, waiting for a hint.
Yōrin spoke, calm and measured:
"Your proposals are good. But I've noticed something important you've all forgotten."
Forgotten? Something important? How could they miss something that big?
Everyone leaned in, curious.
Yōrin raised one finger.
"First: for ordinary probing, compromise is possible. But when the malice is this intense, compromise has no meaning."
That sounded reasonable, and it also made everyone think they'd guessed his stance: Yōrin would respond with a tougher posture toward the Five Great Nations.
They had guessed correctly—just not completely.
They got the "tough" part right.
What they got wrong was how tough.
Then Yōrin moved to his second point.
And unlike the first, the second hit like a thunderclap—so shocking that many people couldn't process it.
He said:
"Because of our old mindset and because the Ninshū is newly rebuilt, most of you haven't realized something.
The Ninshū is not subordinate to the Five Great Nations. We are not their vassals.
We are equals—no. Our status is above the Five Great Nations.
We control the world's military force.
Not the strongest military force—the entire thing. The whole thing.
So we don't need to care about their 'face,' or their feelings, or whether our response is 'too harsh' and might make them uncomfortable.
Change your perspective.
If any one of the Five Great Nations were targeted with this level of hostility—if another great power tried to ruin them and erase them—what would they do?
Think. Really think!"
His voice grew sharper.
"Our enemies are evil, insidious, reckless, and treacherous—and most of you still don't grasp how serious this is.
Some of you still think there's room to compromise with them.
I'm telling you: we have no road back.
No road back.
Some fools still dream of peaceful coexistence with the Five Great Nations. Some believe they can play both sides—balance the Ninshū and the Five Great Nations and profit from it.
I'm telling you: No. Never. That will not happen.
The moment you chose the Ninshū—the moment you joined it, built it with me—you gave up your retreat.
This isn't a child's game.
From here on, there are only two outcomes:
Either they destroy us, or we destroy them.
There is no third path!"
Sweat broke out across the room.
Not just the leaders of small villages—even the Kage of the Five Great Villages looked unsettled.
Some people wanted to say something. A few even thought about forcing a strained laugh and saying, "It's not that serious, right?"
But nobody actually dared.
And under the pressure of Yōrin's words, a different question quietly stopped being a question at all:
Do we join the Ninshū? Do we commit?
Under Yōrin's sheer force of presence, everyone defaulted to the same answer:
Yes. We're doing this.
Yes. We're joining.
Yes. We're using the Ninshū to protect our power and status.
Because in that moment, once the shock faded, what surged up was something else—raw exhilaration.
Money. Power. Rank. Everything human desire chased.
If the Ninshū could hand you all of it, what was there left to hesitate about?
So they knelt.
Five Kage. A dozen small-village leaders. One after another, they dropped to one knee and bowed their heads in submission.
"Yorin-sama!"
"Long live!"
"Loyalty!!"
The cheering was so loud it felt like it might tear the ceiling off.
And just like that—
The Ninshū—an organization that had been dead for ages, once meant to lead the entire shinobi world forward before splitting apart in the conflict of Asura and Indra—was rebuilt at last, by Uchiha Yōrin's hand.
It rewrote the world's structure.
From that day on, the shinobi world was no longer "Five Great Nations in opposition."
It became the Ninshū versus the Five Great Nations.
And even though the Ninshū had the smallest population and territory among the six powers—
its military strength was the strongest.
Strong enough that, even if it fought the Five Great Nations one by one, it could win.
Easily.
And then Yōrin made it unmistakable.
His first act after formally declaring the Ninshū's rebirth was war.
War on the Land of Earth.
War on the Land of Water.
War on the Land of Wind.
War on the Land of Lightning.
And then—finally—
War on the Land of Fire.
To prove he meant it, he overruled objections and ordered the prisoners they'd captured executed, right there, right then—despite everyone thinking, Are you serious? Is this really okay?
The news detonated across the world.
Wouldn't the daimyōs go insane? Those were their trusted inner circle—some were even related by marriage. If you kill them all, wouldn't the Five Great Nations explode?
And they did.
When the reports reached them, the daimyōs of the Five Great Nations all reacted like they'd stepped in something foul—howling in rage:
"What the hell is this?! How did it come to this?! How dare Uchiha Yōrin kill my people— I'll tear him apart!"
But after the rage… they did the math.
And they cooled down.
Because—damn it—they couldn't win.
To be fair, a major nation's daimyō did have power beyond the hidden villages. There were priests, shrine groups, onmyōji and other "outside the system" forces. And the daimyōs' own noble-warrior class—at least in theory—still existed.
Even small-country daimyōs had hundreds of personal guards and swordsmen.
And the Five Great Nations? They still had vast "banner" forces, hereditary retainers, and modernized standing troops.
If you added the daimyō's direct forces, noble levies, and everything they could realistically mobilize, a single great nation might raise over 200,000 troops.
Five great nations: a million.
Meanwhile, even if you combined the Five Great Villages and a dozen small villages—counting even fresh academy graduates—the shinobi side still wouldn't top 200,000.
So if you framed it as a pure numbers game…
Two hundred thousand versus one million.
Advantage: Us.