When Amamiya Raizen broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter, there was only one line written inside:
"His Majesty invites Patriarch Amamiya to the City of Fire to discuss national policy in person."
Raizen leaned back, a sharp grin pulling at his lips. "Success."
The Daimyō had taken the bait. Raizen didn't even need to guess why—there were only two reasons a ruler in a dying age called for a ninja like him. Either to reclaim his crumbling authority or to negotiate the birth of something new.
One country. One alliance.
That phrase alone had probably kept the old man awake at night.
The messenger bowed deeply. "His Majesty awaits you at the Royal Mansion. The matter is urgent. He asks that Patriarch Amamiya travel with haste."
Raizen nodded slightly. "Understood."
The envoy gave one last courteous smile before turning to leave, footsteps fading down the corridor.
Raizen waited until the doors closed, then raised his hand. A shadow shimmered behind him—a masked Anbu kneeling low.
"Prepare a unit," Raizen ordered quietly, eyes shut. "We move for the City of Fire in three days."
"Yes, Patriarch." The agent vanished into the darkness.
Raizen exhaled and muttered, "Time to see how deep this game runs."
Three days later, before dawn broke, Raizen left the Amamiya compound in silence. Only three Anbu and two Jōnin followed. No banners, no fanfare—just quiet footsteps fading into the mist.
Even Amamiya Ten and the inner circle didn't know his destination.
Their goal was simple: to forge a One Country, One Alliance system—an agreement that could finally unify the fractured Land of Fire.
The Warring States era had turned the entire nation into a meat grinder. Clans fought for scraps, daimyo clung to hollow titles, and mercenaries sold their blades to the highest bidder. Raizen had learned long ago that brute force alone couldn't fix that.
If he wanted to end the chaos, he needed cooperation. Not through loyalty or faith—those were luxuries—but through interest.
Power, food, safety, recognition. Bind people with what they crave most.
That's why he built the Konoha Alliance on a simple foundation: everyone got something out of it. The library wasn't just about education—it was bait. Free ninjutsu scrolls meant power. Power meant survival. And survival meant allegiance.
It was fragile, yes. Temporary, maybe. But in a world drowning in blood, stability—even bought stability—was worth gold.
Raizen wasn't naive. He knew the wandering shinobi and rogue clans followed him not for ideals but for profit. He gave them missions, shelter, and jutsu. In return, they lent him their blades.
And for the common people? All they wanted was to live another day without hearing the clash of steel outside their doors.
That was the truth of peace—less about righteousness, more about exhaustion.
Fine, he thought bitterly. If greed is the only chain left, I'll use it until they forget what freedom smells like.
Once the alliance grew fat on peace, they'd stop wanting war. And that's when peace would become their prison—and their protection.
That was Raizen's real plan. Not domination. Transformation.
By the time the Amamiya convoy reached the City of Fire, the sun was setting over its crumbling walls. Once a proud symbol of civilization, it now looked weary—its streets quieter, its guards thinner.
A royal escort was waiting. Without delay, they led Raizen through courtyards of faded grandeur and into the heart of the palace.
Gold ornaments, dust-covered scrolls, the faint scent of incense—it was luxury wrapped in decay.
When Raizen entered the audience chamber, a calm voice greeted him.
"Still as spirited as ever, I see, Amamiya-dono."
The Daimyō sat high on the dais, face aged but eyes sharp. He looked more like a schemer than a sovereign.
Raizen bowed slightly. "Your Majesty."
"You must be weary from the road. Rest first," the Daimyō offered with a pleasant smile.
Raizen's expression didn't change. "Better to speak while we still have daylight."
The Daimyō chuckled softly, folding his fan. "As direct as ever. Very well—come with me."
He rose, robes whispering across the marble floor, and led Raizen into a smaller, quieter hall lined with golden screens.
They sat opposite each other on tatami mats.
"Then, Amamiya-dono," the Daimyō began smoothly, "you already know why I asked you to come."
Raizen's tone sharpened. "To deal with your brother."
The Daimyō's fan snapped open with a flick. He hid a faint smile behind it. "My brother? No. He has ambition, yes, and some influence... but against me, he is nothing."
Raizen frowned. "That's not the rumor outside these walls."
The Daimyō's eyes glimmered like steel under candlelight. "Rumors are for the masses, Patriarch. Power, as you of all people should know, hides in silence."
Raizen studied him quietly. The reports had painted the Daimyō as cornered and desperate—a ruler on the brink of being overthrown. But sitting here, in the oppressive calm of that palace, Raizen couldn't see a single trace of fear.
If anything, the man looked like a predator waiting for someone to make the first mistake.
Interesting.
For the first time that night, Raizen smiled. So the old fox isn't cornered after all.