"Mr. Suzuki, that army is almost here. Should we rethink our ambush tactics?"
The man wearing a yellow headband spoke with a hint of urgency.
"What more is there to consider?"
"That's an army of tens of thousands! At least a thousand of them possess spiritual power, and they're all heading straight for us! We only have two hundred men. Even if we all have spiritual power, how can we possibly stand against them? Why don't we retreat first? What's the harm in leaving that water source to them?"
"But isn't this what you wanted to see, Eiju?"
"Lord... What are you talking about?"
Suzuki Makoto smiled, looking at the man's confused face.
"I told you not to call me 'Lord.' You get nervous and slip back into old habits. Besides, didn't you meet with that scout seven days ago? You told them you'd bring me to this very valley. Right now, there's already a team lying in ambush at the back of the valley, just waiting for me to come out."
Eiju's control over his emotions shattered. Panic and ferocity flashed across his face, finally settling into a strange sense of liberation.
"So you knew all along that I was a mole sent here?"
"In fact, one hundred and seventy-two of the people in this team are moles sent by other factions. Most of them are from your united forces; I imagine you must recognize quite a few. After all, some have been reporting directly to you."
Suzuki Makoto spoke candidly, showing no surprise.
The survival philosophy of the strong preying on the weak had permeated Zaraki District for untold years. The powerful dominated everything, and the weak were simply meant to perish—this deeply ingrained logic couldn't be altered by Suzuki Makoto's mere two months of preaching. He hadn't expected to gain any true followers from this land, as none of the strong here had ever cared for anyone but themselves.
The people Makoto left in those villages were either those who had witnessed him killing everyone else with their own eyes—or they were children, still young enough to be guided.
As for the individuals possessing spiritual power who sought to join him, Makoto brought them all along. Even those who feigned a lack of spiritual power and attempted to enter the villages were exposed. Ultimately, they formed this team of two hundred. This allowed him to prevent them from causing trouble in his absence, while also granting them the opportunity to collude and exchange information.
Predictably, these individuals preferred to follow him rather than remain in the villages he had established. After this period of observation, most proved to be spies. Their factions had allied, intending to permanently eliminate Makoto.
Coincidentally, however, Makoto harbored the exact same intention.
What both amused and exasperated Makoto was that the remaining thirty individuals were, in fact, maniacs who simply lived for battle.
For these thirty, following Makoto represented a dream existence—constantly rushing to the next battlefield, always fighting, freed from any other concerns. Each day was spent eating, drinking, and battling to their hearts' content. Though Makoto bore the brunt of most engagements, there was still plenty of action for them to partake in.
Even when Makoto informed them they would be facing an enemy outnumbering them tenfold, his team didn't mysteriously suffer any desertions or opposition to the ambush. The spies were delighted, while the fanatics simply didn't care, openly rejoicing at the prospect.
Eiju fell completely silent, confirmation of Makoto's words echoing in his mind. He did recognize many people, and many recognized him. At first, they'd worried about exposure, but soon realized Makoto didn't care in the slightest, simply pressing onward. They had numbly watched as he carved his path to this very day.
In fact, as far as Eiju knew, some individuals had already begun to waver. The future Makoto envisioned for those villages was too beautiful, too peaceful. Most people, even within Zaraki District, were ordinary folk who longed for serenity. They had families and friends. If they could genuinely live under the order Makoto brought to Zaraki District, it seemed like a truly good choice.
But everyone was watching each other, keenly aware of the terrifying power wielded by their combined factions. Thus, they could only follow in silence.
"What are you thinking? As someone who shatters the established order, being attacked by everyone like this must have been something you anticipated from the very beginning, yes? What is your background? What kind of trump card do you possess?"
Eiju stopped pretending, voicing the question aloud. Everyone else's gaze also converged, eager for the answer.
"I have no background, no trump card. I only have myself."
"Can't you at least let me die knowing the truth?"
"I won't kill you, Eiju. I just want Zaraki District to be different."
"But Zaraki District has been this way since its founding, for untold years!"
Eiju became more and more agitated.
"Just because it has always been this way, does that make it right?"
Makoto's face still bore that calm smile.
He didn't argue with Eiju any further. A verbal dispute so mundane would yield no results. Makoto simply stood up and began calling out names.
"Ken, Shota, Kaito... Follow me. The rest of you can disperse. Go back and tell the people who sent you that I'm in this valley. If they want to kill me, then come."
Thirty individuals stood up. They glanced around at the others, their brows furrowing as killing intent flared and blades were drawn simultaneously.
"Sir, shouldn't we kill them all first?"
"No need. Let's go."
Makoto wouldn't engage in such a wasteful act. These individuals had followed him for quite some time and were intimately familiar with his rules. If they were genuinely willing to join him, they would make very competent militia captains—he simply needed to let them witness firsthand how the power they once feared was so easily crushed by true might.
What kind of background could a lone swordsman who had crossed over have?
As for a trump card... he didn't need such a thing to cut through this rabble.
____
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