The clan compound was quiet, save for the shuffle of sandals and the occasional cough. The gathered Amamiya shinobi stood uncertain, waiting for an explanation that never came. Raizen didn't bother giving one.
He only spoke once.
"Selection for the Anbu starts today."
That was enough to make half the room stiffen.
Strength came first. No point training someone who couldn't even dodge a shuriken. Skills like infiltration or silent killing could be taught, but raw power couldn't be built overnight.
The second requirement was loyalty — the kind that made you bite off your own tongue before revealing a secret. Anbu would deal in shadows and silence. If even one member broke, the entire clan could burn.
So those two became Raizen's non-negotiables. Everything else could be molded later.
He dismissed the weaker ones, sending out orders to bring the Jōnin forward — veterans with scars that told their own stories. The outsiders were cut from the list immediately. Trust wasn't something Raizen handed out.
He went through the dossiers himself, flipping through each record while the lanterns burned low.
Most of his clan leaned toward ninjutsu; good for large-scale combat, useless for covert ops. Few had the precision or restraint to move unseen.
Raizen exhaled through his nose. "Figures. Guess I'll have to lower the bar a little."
After another round of testing, he found six Jōnin who fit the mold — not perfect, but close enough. Among the Chūnin, he picked twenty-four more with promise.
Thirty in total. A small flame, but if fed right, it could grow into a fire the Warring States would learn to fear.
When the others had left, Raizen stood in the council hall, thirty shinobi kneeling before him.
From now on, this would be the birthplace of the clan's secret division.
He spoke clearly, voice echoing off stone.
"You thirty were chosen from hundreds. From today, you are the first generation of the Amamiya Anbu."
A unified, sharp "Yes!" answered him.
Raizen nodded. "The full name is Ansatsu Senjutsu Tokubetsu Butai — the Assassination Tactics Special Force. Your purpose is simple: protect the clan, eliminate threats, and see everything the enemy hides."
He paced before them, eyes cold but alive.
"From this moment, your names mean nothing. You'll wear masks — animals, symbols — not faces. You'll be ghosts. Tools. Secrets. Understood?"
The thirty looked at one another, realization dawning that this was nothing like the old assassination squads of the era. This was something... new.
"Anbu will be divided into six teams," Raizen continued. "Each led by one of the six Jōnin. The rest will follow as units under them. I'll command the entire force directly."
He let that sink in before his tone hardened.
"Go home. Say goodbye to your families. You won't see them for a while. Starting tomorrow, you train under me. And remember — from the moment you join Anbu, not a single word about it leaves your mouth."
"Yes, Patriarch!"
Raizen watched them bow and retreat, expression unreadable. When the hall finally emptied, he called for Amamiya Kiyomasa.
"Have the construction team prepare the Anbu base in the stone forest. I want the uniforms and masks done in five days."
Kiyomasa bowed and vanished into the night.
Five days later, firelight flickered inside a hidden cave. Thirty shadows knelt before Raizen, who stood dressed in black armor, the Amamiya sigil glinting faintly under his cloak.
He tossed each of them a folded uniform.
"Put them on."
Fabric rustled. The cave filled with the muted sound of masks sliding into place — foxes, crows, hounds, serpents.
"From this moment, you belong to the dark," Raizen said, voice like stone scraping against steel. "Your loyalty is absolute. Your silence is sacred."
The group lowered their heads in unison.
"Yes, Patriarch."
He looked over them one by one. "Your old lives end here. No names, no pasts, no families. You exist only as code names now — Heaven, Earth, Sun, Moon, Yin, Yang… and so on."
Each ninja murmured their new identity, committing it to heart.
Finally, Raizen's tone dropped to a low, final edge.
"One more rule. The only rule that matters."
He let the words hang in the air, the fire crackling behind him.
"No matter who it is — friend, lover, even your own child — if they endanger the clan…"
He raised his hand, cutting through the silence like a blade.
"…you kill them."
The thirty Anbu trembled, but their answer came together — hoarse, unflinching.
"Yes!"